“Why would I want to fit in?” I cross my arms in front of my chest.
Megan steps closer to me and bends a little so her face is close to my face. She’s put white mascara on her eyelashes, which makes her blue eyes a little creepy. It’s not a good look for her. “You obviously don’t want to since you keep hanging out with these freaks. Wheelchair boy and hyper girl.”
She starts walking away but I reach out and grab her by the arm. It’s icy and cold. “What did you say?”
She doesn’t answer. My fingernails make half moons on her skin, but I don’t loosen my hold. I say, “Don’t threaten my friends. And don’t insult them.”
Ripping her arm out of my grasp, she stares me down. Then she flounces her hair back over her shoulder and says, all condescending, “Oh, little princess. It’s not me you need to be scared of.”
She bounds up the bleachers to go sit with her people. They all start doing the popular girl laugh. I ignore them. She yells down, “You know all that peace and love crap went out decades ago. And John Lennon is dead.”
“You’re shaking.” Devyn says. “Zara, it’s okay. Sit down.”
I look down at my T-shirt. Something inside me breaks a little and I must gasp or something because Issie grabs my hand and tugs on it. I can’t figure out how to sit down. Why would I want to sit down with her staring at me? I want to run, to just get away from here. Where can I run? I start looking for ways to escape. My breath pants out and my heart beats eight hundred beats a second, I swear.
“Zara . . . ,” Devyn repeats. “It’s okay.”
“I grabbed her,” I manage to say. “I never grab people. Never.”
Issie opens her mouth, a little panicked looking, but then Coach Walsh saunters into the gym with Ian. Ian runs ahead and stands by me.
“I’ll be your partner for the sit-ups,” he says. “Hold your feet.”
I nod. “Sure. Fine. Uh . . . Megan won’t be cool with that.”
“So?” He stares hard at me. He has little crinkle lines by his eyes.
“So, you’re friends and everything and I don’t want her to get mad at you.”
“Megan isn’t my keeper, Zara.”
I eye him, struggle to find words to fit together. “Yeah, uh, right. Um. That okay with you, Issie?”
“Yep.” She scrambles up. Her shoes, I must mention, are beautifully tied, with no laces flopping on the floor. “Devyn, can I tuck my feet under the sides of your wheels? Will you count for me?”
“Anytime,” Devyn says. His dimples show. Issie starts blushing. Again. I wish I could be that cute with someone.
Ian puts his arm around my shoulders and steers me to a spot on the mat. “So, Megan’s giving you a hard time.”
“I’m fine,” I say as I settle into sit-up position on the mat. It smells like wrestler sweat and chalk. Ian scowls. I don’t know if it’s at me or at her.
I glance to my side where Nick and Megan work on their crunches. Nick whispers something to her and her face scrunches up, annoyed. If he likes me why is he helping Megan? Whispering to her? If he’s friends with Issie and Devyn how can he even talk to her? Issie is so clueless sometimes. My heart stabs at me a little bit for some stupid reason. I do not like Nick Colt. I will not like Nick Colt. Or, maybe I’m afraid of liking him.
“Hey, Ian,” I say, pulling up to look at him. He has nice teeth, really white and even. “Issie and I are starting this Amnesty International school chapter. We write letters to try to free political prisoners and stuff. You want to join?”
“What do I get in return?”
I slam back to the floor and up again, faster and faster. “My undying respect?”
“Good enough,” he says. “And maybe you’ll go out with me Friday?”
I smile at him and we switch off. I hold his feet and wonder what he’d think about our pixie theory, what he thinks about the Beardsley boy. He could be in danger too. Every single guy in here could be in danger.
“Well?”
I finally answer him. “Maybe.”
It’s not like I have a chance with Nick anyway.
“So, I hear you think I’m ignoring you,” Nick says, folding himself into a chair at the cafeteria table.
My mouth must drop open, because Devyn reaches over and pushes my chin back into place while he says, “Uh-oh.”
Issie cringes and leaps out of her seat. “Oops. Sorry. I’m going to go get a cookie. Anyone want a cookie?”
No one answers. Issie pulls on Devyn’s arm. “Devyn, I know you want to help me get a cookie.”
“What?” He finally gets it and he throws his napkin on the table. It flops there, dead. “Oh, right.”
“They’ve abandoned me,” I say.
“Us,” Nick corrects. “They just don’t want us to fight.”
“I don’t want to fight either. I hate fighting.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, really. Why do you look all surprised?”
“Because I’d say you like fighting.”
“You obviously don’t know me well.”
“I’d say you like fighting but you hate that you like it.”
“Oh, thank you, wise one.”
“You handled Megan today.”
I run my hand over my eyes. “That was horrible.”
“You didn’t slug her.”
“I grabbed her arm, and I never grab people’s arms.”
“She was attacking your friends.”
“Yeah. She was. And then you helped her with her sit-ups. That was rude of you.”
“Why was it rude?”
“Because they’re your friends too. It’s like you went all traitor or something.”
He shakes his head. His hair flops over his ears a little. A muscle twitches near his jaw. “Zara, I would never go traitor.”
“It’s okay. She’s pretty.”
“I was talking to her. I was telling her to leave them alone. Leave you alone.”
I stab at a piece of lettuce. My fork pierces all the way through but when I bring the fork up to my mouth the lettuce rips, flutters down. Everything seems to be fluttering down: Devyn’s napkin, the lettuce, my heart, my ego, my everything. When I talk again my voice is soft. “I just don’t like that I grabbed her arm. I don’t like that I had to yell at her. I hate yelling. I’m not into conflict. I promised myself a long time ago that I would never hurt anyone for any reason . . .”