7: Call It a Coincidence

☆ Evan ☆

My shoes squeak against the bright floors of the gymnasium, coming around the corner for the fourth time. In front of me are the basketball nets, rising far above my head. A few students in my class are faster runners than I am; last week, when we evaluated who could run for the longest during the pacer test, I ended in eighth place.

The substitute teacher sits on the bleachers with her water bottle, taking note of every lap the class completes. As we aren't allowed to use our phones in class, I'm forced to run to the tinny country song playing on the stereo resting in the middle of the gym.

In the same class are the majority of the hockey team, not that I've spoken to them yet. Sam Fields forges a path in front of the group, like he thinks he's winning a medal for coming in first place. Not too far behind him is Lucas Azan, the cord of his headphones partially hidden from view by the collar of his sweatshirt.

I pass the girl in front of me, catching up to Lucas. His pace slows until we're running side by side, and he takes the earbud from his ears to look at me sidelong. "I heard you're quitting the soccer team," he says softly.

"I wasn't aware that was gossip," I reply.

He falls silent as we pass the teacher, as if making the extra effort to seem dedicated. And judging by how easily he's clearing each lap, he could overtake Sam if he wanted to.

"Anything is better than that party stuff," Lucas says. "I hope that blows over soon. I'd do anything to get back to the petty drama about you quitting the team or Jenny breaking up with Sebastian again."

"You're a bit late on the uptake there. They're back together now," I say between heaving breaths. We've slowed to a relative walking speed, but I pick up the pace when the teacher is watching.

Lucas chuckles. "Both are on student council together. Let's just say that one of them is going to have to quit if they want to get any planning done for prom. We haven't even decided on the theme yet."

Lately, all I ever hear about is prom. It's September, and one minute I can be minding my own business, talking about this class or that assignment—then, out of nowhere, Claire will start discussing prom, like we have a week instead of months. I need to buy a dress. You need to help me pick a colour. We have to match, Evan.

It's driving me mad.

"That's high school relationships for you. It never works out. They're practically destined to fail," I say.

Lucas shrugs. "If my parents weren't high school sweethearts, I'd agree with you. Maybe it's just North High relationships that are a new level of fucked up. No offence."

"None taken. Claire is annoying me to high hell with her gossip about the party. I don't understand her sometimes."

"I can't help you there. Girls are a mystery to me. But I didn't know you were at the party. I saw Claire, but where were you?"

"Left early," I say. "What about you?"

Lucas hesitates, sliding his phone from his pocket to change the song. "I was inside when it happened. It was a total frenzy. As far as I know, Sam was wasted and thought it was funny to play a prank on Peter and pretend to make a move. Obviously, that was a bad idea for more reasons than I can count."

Sam Fields happened. That was what Peter said when I drove him home. But no version of the events is exactly alike, and the two people who know are both keeping to themselves.

"It's messed up," I say, and leave it at that.

I finish my laps in relative silence and excuse myself to the changing rooms to check my phone. My Claire sense is tingling—by now, she's probably texted me a dozen times. And she doesn't like it when I leave her hanging without a response.

When I locate my clothes amongst the others, I rifle through the pocket of my jeans. Only one text is waiting for me.

Elaine:

Dad's coming back on Monday

Evan:

finally some good news

question: how do you think he'll feel about signing a permission form?

Elaine:

for?

Evan:

me

Elaine:

yes duh!!! >~<

what FOR

Evan:

Quitting soccer

Elaine:

Not in a million years

Evan:

I figured that yeah

Elaine:

Forge it?

Evan:

Oh yeah, like I hadn't thought of that already

I am such a bad influence

You shouldn't even know what the word forge MEANS

Elaine:

I'm thirteen, not three

Very bold of you to think I don't have Google

Evan:

:/ You mean to tell me you're NOT still three?

She grows up so fast

Elaine:

:/ Shut up.

Evan:

Love you too!

No way in hell she's responding to that. I wait a few seconds just to be sure, but showing Elaine any form of sibling affection has the same effect as telling her I have to go: she leaves me on read and pretends she never saw it.

Smiling, I shove my phone back into its place and head back towards the gymnasium. I step into the connecting hallway, nearly running into someone in the process. It takes me a moment to recognize him; the last time I saw Peter, it was in the passenger seat of my car, and it was dark.

But it's definitely him. He's wearing the same clear glasses, and his hands are carrying a stack of papers. Neither of us speaks for a second that seems to drag on for forever, and when I finally manage to say anything to break the lull, it's an apology.

"Sorry," I say, and it bursts out of my mouth in one breath. "Are you looking for something?"

His eyes are glued to the floor, but he looks up to point down the hall. "Yeah, I—I... my friend disappeared. She does that a lot. You didn't see anyone?"

"No. Sorry." Why the hell am I apologizing so much?

Peter nods and starts to turn away. "It's fine."

I take a step forward. "Wait."

When he tilts his head in my direction, I continue, "About the party... I had no idea about any of it. I swear to you. It shouldn't have happened. You don't deserve that."

When I'm done talking, the silence is palpable. Peter brushes it off with a terse, "Yeah, I'm aware."

He rushes out of the hall, passing the trash can on his way out. In one swift movement, Peter dumps the papers into it. The bright colours flutter into the canister, landing scattered on top of empty juice boxes and coffee cups.

I rejoin the gym class after that, but the conversation refuses to leave my mind. I'm betting that he thinks I'm lying, and why wouldn't I? Every other player knew about it. It wasn't just Sam. The whole team joined in with the scheme.

Maybe it's not a bad thing that I hardly ever leave the bench. Sam doesn't consider me a part of the team, so he didn't let me in on the plan.

After class, I change back into my regular clothes. I haven't received anything from Claire, which is honestly a blessing at this point. I step past the trash can on my way out, but almost immediately find myself backpedalling.

The papers are exactly where Peter left them. I take one, just to see what it says.

North High Astronomy Club. I didn't know we had any other clubs besides sports and chess, (which nobody goes to, as far as I recall).

The start date is today. While I walk to my next class, I fold the page in half and stick it in my back pocket, along with the form that still doesn't have a signature.

Even if Randall is coming back, he's not signing shit. I'll have to figure it out myself.

I could talk to my dad. Not Randall, but my biological father, Adrian. Not that he's easy either, especially when I don't know where he is right now, or if he's even in Northwood. Just like Randall, my father works seasonally; I guess Carolyn has a thing for dating men who leave her alone for extended periods of time.

At least Elaine has one decent parent. When I ask Randall for favours, he pulls the ask your mother trick on me.

I head to Claire's locker on the second floor, leaning against the cold metal while I wait. She appears from the adjacent hall and mutters under her breath as she twists her combination into place. "You could text me, you know."

"This is much faster," I reply. Claire opens her locker and purposely holds it in front of my face, so that I can only see her through the tiny slits in the door. "Cee, don't be petty."

"I'm not. You want me to cover for you during practice? That's why you're here. Not to see me, or even to talk to me. I'm your get-out-of-practice free card."

"Fucking hell, Claire. It's not—"

She slams her locker shut, pressing her textbooks against it. "Don't. I don't even want to hear anything about it. Tell me where you're going."

I fumble for an exit. "I have to take the car into the shop. To get the heat fixed." Luckily, this isn't totally a lie. I scheduled the appointment for today, just not until five in the afternoon.

Same difference, really.

She sighs. "Fine. I can cover for you. I can tell you what happens at practice later."

"Cee," I say as she moves to walk away. "Let's do something this weekend. Your place?"

It serves nothing to clarify. We always hang out at Claire's house. Her expression softens. And just like every other time, she doesn't question it. "Sure. You get that heat fixed so that we don't crash on the way there."

I have to work to get myself to smile at the nonexistent joke. "You got it."

☆ ☽ ☆

I lean back in my chair, craning my neck to look at the ceiling. A pencil is lodged into the tile, hanging over my head. I'm three minutes away from lunch, and time is dragging its feet on me. The last time I checked the clock on the wall, a minute hadn't even passed yet.

Two hundred and eighty days, three hours, eleven minutes and twenty-four seconds.

My countdown clock started on the first day of the school year, and it ends when the bell rings in June. Elaine calls it my Doomsday Clock, but I refute that. It's the exact opposite: I'm not counting down until the end of the world. I'm waiting until the end of my world. The one that revolves around this town and this school.

For the time being, I let time define my actions. I check the clock again, and the hour hand clicks over to twelve. The bell rings, so I rise from my chair and hurry to the cafeteria. The line is relatively short, and I reach the front within a few minutes. After getting my food, I search through the empty seats near the window. Not wanting Claire to catch me in the act, I duck out of the room and climb back to the second floor.

Before I realize what I'm doing, I've reached Ms. Crozier's classroom. Without giving myself time to think about it, I push the door open and walk inside.

The walls of the classroom are light blue, filled with posters of famous scientists and diagrams. My eyes fall upon the three students, and the teacher behind her desk, at the same time they notice me.

And I'm wearing a hockey jacket; which, in retrospect, probably wasn't the best decision.

"We got another one!" one of the club members shouts. She's perched on the desk, her long legs swinging through the air.

"Cut it out," Peter's voice replies from the other end of the room. "At this rate, you've scared off every single—"

His attention is focused on the paper in front of him, but when he looks up, the volume of his words pitfalls until it has disintegrated into silence.

"Sorry, I thought that's what you were trying to accomplish," the girl replies. She stands, extending her hand towards me. "Hi. I'm Nicole Duford. She/her pronouns. What about you?"

I stare at her for a moment before my mind quietly reminds me to shake her hand. "Uh... Evan McKenna. And, he/him, I guess?"

She laughs. It's a bright, bubbly giggle that carries through the room. "You guess? I can work with that. You let me know when you figure it out."

I don't have the slightest clue what that means. "Sure."

Nicole directs me to the chair across from Peter. "You can take that one. Pierre, could you please—"

Without waiting for her to finish, Peter hands her a sheet of paper. She smiles as she slides it over to me. "Here's your introduction sheet. Say, why are you joining the club?"

I search my backpack for a pencil while I ponder about what to answer. "I don't know. I have free time on Thursday."

Nicole gawks at me. "Oh, you're serious. I thought that was a joke for a second. Well, it's not the worst reason in the world."

She passes the other paper to the student with black hair sitting a few seats away from me. I nod and say, "Nice to meet you."

"You, too. I'm Lexa Canley. Oh, and I already said it earlier, but you weren't here for that, so... they/them pronouns. Cool?"

"Cool," I echo.

Nicole frowns. "I should have brought buttons."

"We're not the GSA," Peter says with a scoff.

Nicole rolls her eyes. The introduction sheet in front of her is already completed, and she looks bored out of her mind waiting for Lexa and me to catch up. "Four people. That's not bad."

I tackle the paper in front of me, completing the first half easily. The second half is the question asking me about myself.

I never know what to answer to that. I can describe myself accurately, but it always feels strange. Like I'm putting myself in a defined box. I end up staring at the given space for a while before I settle on drawing in the margin.

Halfway through doodling, the doors creaks. Another student enters, and Nicole runs over to welcome him. A mop of dark brown hair falls over his round face, and he introduces himself as Jay Yang. Pointing him to the collection of empty chairs, Nicole skips back over to her seat.

The teacher—Ms. Crozier, judging by the poster—gets out of her seat. She smiles at me. "Finished?" she asks the group.

Lexa nods and passes their sheet over. I follow suit.

"Okay!" Nicole gets to her feet and claps her hands together. "Since we're pretty much ready, I'd like to get started. Everyone, let's get ready to do two truths and one lie as an icebreaker."

Jay groans. "Do we have to?"

"Yes! We should get to know each other. Come on, I can make it so fun, trust me. I'll go first to prove it. Here you go: my favourite drink is lemonade. My middle name is Marigold, and I don't know how to ride a bike."

Peter lifts his hand. "It's the—"

"You already know the answer." Nicole glares at him. "Does anyone else want to try guessing before I let Peter ruin the game?"

"The third one?" Lexa asks.

Nicole looks at me. When I shrug, she says, "No, but good guess. It's the second one. My middle name is Nyra. If you want, you can go next, Lexa."

They nod. "Fine by me."

We pass through Lexa's round quickly, and Jay volunteers to go. After Nicole successfully guesses which was the lie, she turns back to me.

I sigh. "Okay. Um... to go with the same theme as Nicole, I don't have a middle name. I'm ambidextrous. And my favourite colour is black."

Peter places his hand on the desk. "I think it's the second one."

"Agreed!" Nicole grins.

I shake my head. "No. It's the last one. My favourite colour is blue. Black is a shade."

"Prove it." Peter flips the sheet of paper toward me. I just smile, grabbing another pen from my backpack and writing my name twice. My blocky handwriting is mirrored; my right hand is a little more lopsided, but it's an almost perfect copy.

Nicole leans over to watch. "Oh, that's neat. I never would have guessed. Now are we seeing how fun this is?"

Jay shrugs.

Dramatically, Nicole points at Peter like a game show host. She pretends to pick up an invisible microphone and points it at him, imitating a booming voiceover. "Last one. Do the honour!"

"Fine." Peter sighs, pushing up his glasses with his fingertip. "For the record, this was not my idea."

"I have to plead guilty on that one. It was me," Nicole says to the group.

Sighing again, Peter shifts in his seat. "Anyway, uh... I speak three languages, I—I used to play the drums in the school band, and I'm an only child."

"So easy," Nicole whispers.

Since he guessed for me, I do the same. "The second one?"

Nicole claps her hands together and grins. "Oh, wow! Jeez, that was fast. What did you actually play, Peter? I'm forgetting at the moment."

He glares at her. "Clarinet, briefly."

This causes Nicole to stifle a giggle. She clamps her hand over her mouth in an attempt to keep the laughter from escaping. "Now that we've got that over with, let's get on with the club. Ms. Crozier?"

The teacher flicks on the overhead projector, showing the class a PowerPoint presentation. "First, I'd like to get the logistics out of the way. This is a fairly new club, so please bear with me. We plan on holding events after school. However, you are under no obligation to come to those, and we still have a few things to cover before we reach that stage. For now, Nicole and Peter will walk you through how to read a star chart and little activities like that."

"Yes!" Nicole replies. "And I would also like to suggest thinking about an election of sorts. Peter is our dictator"—she grins, mostly to herself, then coughs to cover it—"sorry, President. Anyone who wants to run for club Vice President is welcome to submit their application to Ms. Crozier, and we can all vote on that later."

The club continues as normal, with the occasional interjection from Nicole. I find myself occasionally glancing between my phone—waiting for a text from Claire—and avoiding Peter's chance looks. I'm getting the memo loud and clear that he wasn't expecting me, and I get it.

The presentation is finished before the bell rings, and my chance to leave opens up. I could slink away, unnoticed, and never return.

But hell if I don't want to prove a point. I stay in place, listening as Lexa discusses astrological signs with Jay.

And the club doesn't seem that bad.