the count? 21 days since the fight with henry
“For our next project,” says Mr. Majors, the music appreciation teacher, as he paces back and forth across the classroom, “you and your partner will pick a classical composer. I’d like you to prepare a ten-minute oral report, including a biography of the composer’s life and an analysis of how that composer’s work has inf luenced current music. Also, I’d like you to play a recording of a piece of music written by that composer and tell us what it means to you. So now, please go ahead and choose your partner and your composer.”
Even though he hasn’t been speaking to me, I automatically look at Henry, who’s sitting in the desk right next to mine. He glances at my face, and after frowning his perpetual frown, he turns away. “Yo, Bates,” Henry shouts across the room. “You’re with me.”
Bates, who was already moving to sit with his usual partner, looks from Henry to me and back at Henry again. Shrugging, Bates says, “Sure, whatever.”
“Henry,” I say. “Come on.”
He shakes his head. “I’m working with Bates on this one.”
A bunch of other kids start looking at me and Henry, wide-eyed. The whole class is silent.
I pick up my pen and start clicking it repeatedly, hoping the noise will distract me, because I’m about to smash something. No other football players are in this class. Maybe I just won’t do the project—I don’t give a shit about this class anyway.
But if I get a bad grade, the principal could make Coach bench me for a few games until I bring my grades up. And I can’t stand to miss a game—I’ve gotta prove to Alabama that I’m the best high school quarterback in the country, and that when I join their team, they should let me play.
As I put my head down on my desk, I feel a tap on my shoulder. I turn and find Marie, Henry’s recent f ling.
“Hey,” she says softly. “I need a good grade on this, and since you did great on that disco project, I was hoping we could work together?” She smiles at me.
“Um, sure.”
“Cool,” she says, sitting down next to me. “I’ve been meaning to tell you I loved your f lea-f licker play the other night. You don’t see those very often.”
My mouth drops open. “You know what a f lea-f licker is?”
Marie shrugs and pulls a nail file from her purse, running it across her fingernails. “Sure. Who doesn’t?”
•••
After practice, I try to catch Henry before he drives off, but he leaves without saying anything. Leaning up against my truck, I pull out my cell and dial his number, but he doesn’t answer. This must be the hundredth time I’ve tried to call him in the past two weeks.
Why oh why did I accuse him of not being open on the field? And why did I defend Ty? Why didn’t I just let Henry sleep over anyway? How do I fix this? “Sam,” I say to his voice mail, “I hope you’re feeling okay. Can we please talk? I miss you so much.”
As I’m f lipping my phone shut, Carter walks up. “You okay?”
I nod. “Just worried about Henry.”
“Me too,” Carter replies as he shifts his bag from one shoulder to the other.
I’m sick of talking to my journal about this shit. “Do you think I should dump Ty? Do you think Henry would go back to normal if I did that?”
Carter focuses on his sneakers and clutches the strap on his bag. “I dunno…”
“I mean, I like Ty, but it’s not like I’m in love with him or anything.”
YOU ARE READING
Catching Jordan
Teen FictionONE OF THE BOYS What girl doesn't want to be surrounded by gorgeous jocks day in and day out? Jordan Woods isn't just surrounded by hot guys, though-she leads them as the captain and quarterback of her high school football team. They all see her as...
