I think everyone on our street was tuned in to the news last night. We’ve all lived bits and pieces of the tale, and human nature is so curious. Eleanor wanted to watch alone with her family, so I stayed home with mine. Even Grandpa Hank was subdued throughout the piece, and as Morgan and Eleanor cried on camera, so did my mom.
If Addy is out there somewhere, someone will notice her after this. I think the world is compelled to take up the cause.
Still, Eleanor insisted on coming to school today. Nobody would have balked at her staying home the day after putting something so raw out into the world, but she’s determined to keep moving forward. Tomorrow is game day, and she wants her spot back on the sidelines. She’s been drowning out her anxiety with extra hours of practice, working with Gemma on the routine and making her tumbling crisp. I’m not sure what that means, but the two of them say that word a lot.
Regardless, it’s good that she has this to focus on today. I only hope it helps her avoid seeing everyone else whisper behind her back . . . like they are right now.
“Dude, school lunch blows. This is why I always go out!” Jake lifts his wilting slice of pizza then drops it back down on his plate.
“There’s nothing wrong with that. It came from Ango’s across the street. They order dozens of large pizzas for lunch every day. It’s the same. Damn. Thing,” I insist, taking the slice from his plate and biting off the cheesy end. I’ve already finished mine.
“Yeah, well, something happens to it on the trip across the street. I don’t want it.” He pushes the plate closer to me and I shrug, folding the slice in half and devouring it.
“Suit yourself,” I mumble with my full mouth.
Gemma and Eleanor are getting in some last-minute practice, and I didn’t want to race off to lunch with Jake and miss her if she finished before lunch was up. Besides, I somehow scored two lunches for the price of one by staying.
Jake kicks his feet up on the table and leans back in his chair, pulling his phone out to scroll through social media. He shares a few stupid memes with me while I polish off his lunch and then I scoot over to watch videos with him. We’re both laughing at a cat that leaps into a bucket full of water then leaps right back out, and after our third viewing, I notice a few guys nearby seem to be laughing with us.
Jake and I both look over our shoulders, and I expect to see someone close enough to see our screen. Instead, it’s three dudes who spend more time smoking pot in the bathrooms than actually attending class. Maybe they’re high. Still no excuse for what they’re doing.
Eleanor and Gemma are weaving through the tables on their way to us, and these losers are locked onto them with their eyes, watching every sway of their hips. I never thought I was the kind of guy to get possessive, but I’m downright caveman right now.
Jake stands from his chair a hair before I do, which is good because my jealous, protective side is still new at this. I follow my friend as he pushes a few chairs out of his way and turns one around to straddle backward about a foot from the loudest of the three guys.
“Hey. I’m Jake,” he says, offering his hand while brandishing a commercial-ready smile. My arms are folded over my chest as I stand behind him like some skinny body guard.
The dude closest to him gurgles out a laugh and glances to his side toward his friends.
“You believe this guy?” They all laugh the same stoned nonsense but the guy turns back to face Jake and offers him his hand.
Dumb move.
Jake’s grip tightens fast and he pulls the guy toward him with enough force that he stumbles from his chair and ends up on his knees. Good thing, because I’m pretty sure he’s going to need to beg his way out of this.
“You guys having a good time watching our girlfriends? Is that fun for you?” Jake’s head is cocked to the side and if it weren’t for the way his veins are popping out of his arms, I wouldn’t think his muscles were working hard at all.
“Come on, man. You’re being a dick,” the guy says. I laugh out hard and run my hand over my mouth.
“He’s not the one being a dick,” I respond over Jake’s shoulder.
My friend jerks him forward one more time and the guy’s forehead hits the back of the chair Jake’s straddling.
“Fuck, man!” The guy flails his other hand at Jake, slapping at him to try to break away, and a few people gather around us.
Our point is made, so I swing my hand into Jake’s back to get his attention and encourage him to deescalate before we’re both thrown in detention. It seems like a good plan. Only one problem—the potheads can’t keep their mouths shut.
“You cry on command for that camera last night?” This shitty comment comes from the guy behind the one Jake’s holding hostage, and his eyes are right on Eleanor. A darkness comes over me so fast I don’t even realize what’s happening until he’s lying flat on his back with my knees on his chest and my fist making a third pass into his face.
“Jonah! It’s all good. He gets it. Come on,” Jake says, pulling at my shoulders.
Perhaps it was more than three punches to his face.
My friend drags me to my feet, and I’m snarling like a wild beast. My body is pumped with adrenaline and my eyes see the world in shades of red. I thrash against being held back, kicking at chairs while my friend pulls me off-balance and moves me to the other side of the cafeteria.
I taste metal. I shirk my arm free from
