11: Alone

☽ Peter ☽

I crack a smile, driving back on the route to school. As I approach, the roads become clustered with cars. I'm stuck in the bustle of traffic, sighing as I reach the outside field. From a distance, the bleachers are full to the brim; silver and red, North High's team colours, dominate the posters and jerseys in the sea of people. The opposing team's side consists of an equally large group, waving and jumping in an effort to rival us. For this early in the semester, team spirit is at its peak.

As her sights settle on the field, Nicole gasps. "Holy shit, I did not think the whole school would come."

My hands rest on the wheel, slowly forming a fist, as my fingernails dig into the skin. All at once, I have to avert my eyes from the students around me. Everyone on the bleachers seems to be staring directly through me, hollowing me out, and I have to shake myself out of it.

Nicole hands me my ticket before we reach the table near the front of the field. Two teachers and the student council sit in plastic chairs, punching a hole in every ticket and letting the stream through to the seating area. On a separate table, refreshments and snacks from the cafeteria are available to be sold.

The closer I inch to the table, the more I focus on the student council. Among them is Lucas Azan; I didn't realize he was part of that group, but he doesn't seem out of place next to the outgoing twelfth grade representative, Willow Rowan. It's a strange contrast from how I remember him at the party.

When I'm next in line, Lucas takes my ticket. "It's nice to see you here. How's it going?" he asks quietly.

"Uh, I—I'm doing about as well as expected, considering."

His smile almost seems sad. "Well, I really hope you enjoy the game. This time for real."

"He brought backup," Nicole says. "And as long as I'm here, he won't do anything dumb."

Lucas scoffs. "We could all use a bit of backup sometimes."

I move into the row of bleachers, with Nicole clutching my side and scanning for any trace of Evan. I have no idea why she's convinced that he will be here—no doubt about it—but I guess she's been doing her research on the subject. Either way, within a few seconds of seemingly aimless walking, she settles herself on an empty section of the bleachers about halfway from the top row. The game hasn't started yet, so the steady trickle of students passing us continues.

And then a couple descend from the upper row. The boy is decidedly Evan McKenna, only he's wearing a hoodie, and his hands are shoved in the pockets. The girl next to him I don't recognize, but she keeps glancing between Evan and the field in front of her, as she holds onto the purse over her shoulder, as if paranoid somebody will steal it.

"Jenny Durst," Nicole comments in a low voice, "also known as a volunteer for the school garden, and a goddamned gossip monger. And don't worry, Evan really hates her."

I give her a sideways look. "Nicole, what—and I mean this with all the seriousness in the universe—have you been doing?"

"Stalking, evidently," she replies without missing a beat.

"Isn't that, I don't know, illegal?"

She grins wickedly. "Oh, don't be silly. I would never commit a real crime. Lucky for you, I am very careful. I doubt he noticed. But, yes, I did in fact sit and listen to his friends over my lunch period, which was totally not boring, and totally not creepy."

And she told me she was at the coding club. "You are something else, you know that?"

"I love it when you insult me in that nice, polite way of yours."

I scoff. Nicole returns to observing her suspects, and the game starts shortly afterward. North High's mascot, the panther, is plastered on the front of every jersey. The team disperses, and Evan raises his hand to wave at one of the brunette girls playing near the front.

"Claire Lethbridge, the panther's best striker," Nicole says. "Also Evan's girlfriend of three years."

Oh. I don't know why it surprises me; Evan is obviously, (to use Nicole's terminology) straight-as-a-ruler. But I didn't expect him to have a girlfriend, and to be so enamoured with her. It's the first time his face has shown any emotion other than his usual neutral, unfeeling expression. For a moment, he seemed happy.

"I'm happy for him." And I am.

Nicole doesn't jump to make fun of me, but it doesn't matter—I know she won't believe me. After all, she knows my type, and according to her, it consists of the three deadly aspects, also known as the triple S: Short, sporty, and straight.

I don't purposefully develop crushes on guys who can never reciprocate, it just happens. I mean, come on, I didn't wake up and decide to like Sam Fields, out of everyone.

To Evan's side, Jenny stands up and tugs her silver jacket closer to her neck. I'm too far away to catch her words, but I'm pretty sure she's asking him something. Once Evan nods, she turns and shuffles past the students in her row and heads down to the canteen table.

Evan checks his phone, and then does it again a few seconds later. I wonder if his lock screen is a photo of him and Claire, but I can't see it as the image is shielded behind the glare from the sun.

It takes Jenny a few minutes to return, and she's carrying a coffee in her hands. She crosses in front of Nicole to get back to her seat, and halfway between steps, she halts. Her face scans the two of us, and she says: "You wouldn't happen to be Peter? Like, Delacroix?"

My blood freezes. I open my mouth to respond, but I can't think. I can't get out of that state, where I'm floundering like a fish out of its natural habitat. The steam from Jenny's coffee rises in the stutter of a camera flash, combining with the washed-out white hue of the surrounding mist. Like many times before it, the sound of my heartbeat thudding in my ears overpowers the noise.

"What's it to you?" Nicole's face pales. Like me, she wasn't expecting that Jenny would recognize me. I didn't even know that it was possible for Nicole to be shocked, but I can't find it within me to muster the same reaction. How does she know? And why does she care?

"Yeah, that's me," I finally manage to whisper, and Jenny's smile turns ferocious. She takes a sip of her coffee and gawks at me like she's a boxer about to deliver her finishing blow.

"Huh. What a surprise. I didn't think anyone would be bold enough to come back to a game after what happened. But what do I know? Maybe you both like the drama. The attention that comes with—"

"Jenny." Evan is next to her in a flash. "Don't be a bitch. Drop it."

She turns her baleful eyes towards him, gripping her coffee cup until her knuckles turn the same colour as the chilly air. "Tell your girlfriend I'm with Sebastian."

And she stomps off in the other direction. Nicole stands up, and I try to stop her, but she just glares at me and trails Jenny. I heavily doubt she's going to do anything, but then again, Nicole can be unpredictable.

When I turn back in front of me, Evan is still there. He hasn't moved, even though he had the time to leave. He's rubbing his temple with his palm, sighing. "Fucking hell," he mutters under his breath. Then, louder: "I am so sorry."

I am starting to get tired of this cycle. "You need to stop apologizing to me every time you see me."

Evan's eyes meet mine. I smile, if a bit unsteadily. "I'm joking. I just think it's ironic. And, in case you were wondering, I still don't think it was your fault," I continue.

"That is only somewhat reassuring," he admits with a light chuckle. It's the first time I've heard him laugh, even briefly, but it sounds hollow. He points to the space next to me. "So, are you open to letting me sit, or is this more of an alone thing?"

I've noticed he always asks; he did it when he drove me home, too. It's actually kind of comforting that I feel like I can answer him honestly. "Go ahead, sit."

He leaves a fair distance between us when he sits, but it doesn't seem rude. Actually, now that he's closer, I catch the splotches of paint on his sweater, and the occasional strand of his curly hair that sticks up where it shouldn't. There's a sturdiness to Evan when he isn't speaking; his jaw is locked tight, and his shoulders are squared like he's waiting for permission to run and never come back. When he speaks, though, my perception of him turns on its head, and he almost seems softer.

"What happened to Nicole?" Evan asks.

I shrug. "That girl could be part of a disappearing act. One minute she can be right next to me, and the next, she's gone. I've gotten used to it."

Evan chuckles softly. "You know what, if she punches Jenny, I will personally thank her. She deserves it."

"Okay, now I have to ask. Why, then, are you friends with her?"

"We tolerate each other. Jenny is around because my girlfriend likes her. That's the way it's always been."

I cannot fathom having to deal with her. "Sounds terrible. But I didn't know—uh... who's your girlfriend?"

Evan brightens. "Oh, right!" He points to the field, directing my attention to the girl who he was waving at. She's weaving between the opposing team, blazing a trail for the ball. I watch her sprint towards it, her hair blowing in the wind. "That's her. Number thirty. It's also why I'm here. I have to support her. Girls, right? I really don't understand them."

I blink. "Yeah, well... better than I do, I'd assume."

He snorts. "Highly doubtful. Actually, I don't think anyone knows."

He just... he could have brought it up. I gave him the opening, and he sidestepped it.

"What are you doing for the next club meeting?" Evan asks. "Anything interesting?"

Before I can stop myself, the question I've been wanting to ask slips out. "You're coming to that?"

A half-smile sprouts across his face, and fades as quickly as it appeared. "Yeah, why not? Unless, you know, I'm permanently banned for being the best at two truths and a lie, which would be perfectly understandable."

"You're not banned. In actuality, we sort of need more members." I take out the sheet Ms. Crozier gave to me, and by now, I've already listed my name and Nicole's. "You don't have to show up. This just means that you're officially in the club."

I offer him a pen. He considers it for a moment before taking it from me, and scrawls his name in the third column with his left hand. He gives the sheet back to me and returns to watching his girlfriend play.

I twirl the pen between my fingertips as I stare at the bleachers. I expected the silence to be uncomfortable—it always is with people I don't know—but this feels different. I can't exactly place it, but it's like Evan has no expectations for me to speak to him. It doesn't bother him.

The only other person I've ever had that with is Nicole, and that's because she knows me better than anyone. But she likes to occupy herself, either by filling the empty space with pointless chatter or by fiddling with nearby objects.

This is different. It's new.

And I don't hate it. I am sitting next to Evan McKenna, saying nothing at all, and he isn't talking either. It's a form of mutual quiet; the kind that doesn't need to be broken.

I could get used to this.