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  “Are you some kind of fag or something?”

  “Kory!” This time the name came from three different sources. Kaleb looked as appalled as Connor felt, and his mom, who had come into the room at the commotion, looked pissed.

  “Kory Martin Fitzpatrick. We do not use language like that in this house. Apologize this instant.”

  Kory rolled his eyes. “Sorry.”

  “Now get in the kitchen. Bring your books. It’s time for homework.” Connor’s mother didn’t use her Mom Glare often, but when she did, it was particularly effective. Kory grabbed his bag and slunk into the kitchen.

  Kaleb shook his head. “He’s an idiot. Ignore him. I do.”

  “No worries. I’ve been called worse.”

  Connor cringed. Christ, he’d nearly forgotten. If he’d been through what Graham had, Connor didn’t think he’d be as cool about people’s dumbass comments.

  Kaleb turned to follow his twin into the kitchen, but Connor stopped him. “Kaleb, do you think you could find Abby and ask her to come see me?”

  “Sure.” Kaleb shrugged and headed upstairs.

  “And sometimes,” Graham commented, as though their previous conversation hadn’t been interrupted, “I’m grateful to say I’m an only child.”

  Connor’s laughter caught him by surprise. “If you only knew. You don’t have to stand there. Go ahead and have a seat.” Connor gestured to the desk chair. “It squeaks, but it works.”

  Light, halting footsteps padded down the stairs. Abby’s eyes were rimmed with red and snot gleamed under her nose.

  “I’m sorry, Abs.” Connor held out his arms. Abby launched herself into him and wrapped her arms around his neck. The impact jarred his sore leg, but it was worth it. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell at you. You know I love you, right?”

  She nodded in the crook of his neck. “Love you, Con-Con.”

  Connor grabbed a tissue from a box on the end table and shifted Abby around. He wiped her eyes and under her nose, and pressed a kiss into her curling blonde hair. “There, all better. Want to meet a friend of mine?”

  The back of her head hit his chin when she nodded again.

  “This is Graham.”

  “Like the cracker?” she asked around the thumb she stuck in her mouth.

  “Yep. Just like the cracker,” Graham said.

  Abby hunched her shoulders and giggled. The chair squeaked as Graham stood up. He held his hand out to Abby solemnly. He didn’t even cringe when Abby shook his hand with the fingers that had been in her mouth. “Nice to meet you.”

  Abby settled into Connor’s lap and pulled Mr. Bear into her own.

  “So, what did they say?” Graham nodded to Connor’s knee.

  The reminder made nausea roil in his stomach. “Torn ACL.”

  “Shit.” Horror crossed Graham’s face.

  Yeah, as an athlete, Graham would understand what that meant for Connor. He nodded in acknowledgment. “Yep.”

  “What are they going to do?”

  “Surgery in a couple of weeks. Physical therapy after that.”

  “And baseball?”

  “Is in my past. At least for the next year or so.”

  “Shit.”

  Abby looked up from her teddy bear. “You said a bad word. Again.”

  Graham cringed. “Yeah, I did. I promise not to do it again, okay?”

  She nodded. “’Kay.”

  He turned his attention to Connor. “Your eyelids are drooping. It’s probably time for you to sleep.”

  Connor blinked up at him. Until that moment, he hadn’t realized that he was fading. “Probably the pain meds. They seem to knock me out.”

  “They did the same to me. It’s probably the best thing for you. Abby, take good care of him.”

  “Okay.” She tucked her thumb back into her mouth.

  Connor yawned. “I’m glad you came.” The details of his surroundings were growing hazy, and he gave in to the overwhelming need to close his eyes.

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. Missed you.” For a second Connor thought that Graham pushed aside a lock of his hair. But that wasn’t likely, right? He must be imagining things. Sleep took him before he could decide.

  Chapter 26

  “OH MY God, Connor! How are you feeling?”

  Connor stared ahead and ignored the query, focusing on maintaining his forward momentum with the crutches. If one more person asked him that, he was going to do something stupid. Or violent. Maybe both.

  It was his first day back after his accident. Marc and Allyson had spent hours with him over the weekend, claiming they were keeping him company. When they weren’t there, his mom or Becca hovered nearby, ready to provide anything he might have needed or wanted. If it was this bad after only a couple of days, the next couple of months were going to royally suck.

  The constant coddling drove him batty. Hell, his mom would probably piss for him if she could. Which was ungrateful of him—she only wanted to help—but seriously, what did a guy have to do to be left alone for a while?

  The only bright spot in the last few days had been Graham. They hadn’t spoken again, not really, but Graham had started sending him funny pictures and links about athletes who’d continued to play after ACL surgery and therapy. In return, Connor had sent exasperated rants about his family, or pictures of the stuffed animal pile Abby had built for him. When he wasn’t feeling sorry for himself, Connor thought they might be able to be friends, after all. He had feelings for Graham, he knew it, but he could fake it. No one had to know.

  Allyson’s attention was the worst. Guilt ate at him with every moment they spent together. He’d kissed Graham. No, not kissed. What they’d done was so much more than a simple kiss. And he hadn’t once thought about Allyson. Not until Graham brought it up. He’d cheated on his girlfriend, which made him scum. Every time he saw her he wanted to confess, to clear his conscience. But to do that he’d have to admit what he’d done. Cheating was bad enough, but wanting to do it again made it a double cheat. And, maybe worse, he wanted to do it again. Every time Allyson did something nice for him, he hated himself more.

  So, yeah, he wasn’t in a particularly good mood.

  When he reached his locker, he opened it with too much force, causing the books on the top shelf to tumble to the floor. He stared down at the three books at his feet. With the brace on, there was no way he could squat down to pick them up, and bending at the waist would put too much strain on his injured knee. What the hell was he supposed to do now?

  “Hey, Con!” Marc bounded forward and slapped him on the back. “Need a hand?” Without waiting for an answer, he stooped down and picked up the books. He shoved them back into the locker. “Dude, if you didn’t take so many hard classes, you wouldn’t need so many thick books. That’s total craziness.”

  Connor braced himself on one crutch and swung his backpack around to his front. He pulled out his physics book and notebook, and swapped them with his calculus book, calculator, and another notebook. He slammed the door and smiled grimly at the metallic clang.

  “Chill out, Connor. What’s got your jock in a twist?”

  Connor looked incredulously at his best friend. “Seriously? Did you really ask me that?”

  “I sure did. Look, I know you got a raw deal and you’re probably hurting, but taking your temper out on innocent books and lockers really isn’t productive.”

  “It’s better than taking it out on innocent bystanders.” He hissed when swinging his backpack over his shoulder caused something in his knee to object. They made their way down the hall toward the math wing.

  “I wish people would leave me alone. The sympathetic looks and the overly cheerful voices are going to drive me crazy. Joelle Peterson actually talked to me in a baby voice, like I was a three-year-old who’d skinned his knee. I swear she even called my injury a boo-boo.”

  “Is it so hard to believe that people genuinely like you and want you to get better? Besides, you were injured in the line of
duty. You’re practically a hero.”

  “You know, making that last play royally screwed me over. If I had known how it would turn out, I’d have let the guy score.”

  “No, you wouldn’t have,” Marc countered. “It’s not in you to give up.”

  “It might have been. My plans are screwed now. Without baseball, I’m going to have to work even harder to get a scholarship. Good grades aren’t going to be enough. I need to figure out how to pad my applications.”

  “There are student loans—”

  “To get into the schools I want, I’d end up in debt for decades.”

  “Have you even decided what you want to go to school for?”

  Connor frowned. “Not exactly. Probably business.”

  “See, that doesn’t make sense. You have every move planned out for the next five years, but you don’t know what you want to major in?”

  “It doesn’t matter. Whatever it is, it’ll get me out of this town for good.”

  “When did you become such a snob?” Marc stopped, making students shift around them. “Green Valley is a nice town. When did you get too good for the people here?”

  “I’m not—”

  “You may be the Golden Boy—”

  “Not that again!” Connor punched his crutch onto the tiled floor and felt the impact throughout his entire arm.

  “—but you’re no better than the rest of us.”

  “I don’t think I’m better than anybody. I… don’t you feel claustrophobic here? Everyone and everything is the same. Don’t you want something bigger, something better? More things to do, more people with a variety of beliefs and views?”

  “Sure I do. I think everyone plans to get out of town the minute they graduate. But this obsession you have can’t be healthy.”

  “Just because I have a plan and I’ve worked to make sure it happens doesn’t make me obsessed.”

  “You act like college is some kind of Holy Grail.”

  “What, you don’t want to go to college?”

  “Yeah, but just because it’s the next stage and part of a successful future.”

  The bell rang, cutting off their conversation.

  “Look, think about it.” Marc turned toward his classroom. “I’ll see you at lunch.”

  Think about it? About what? Like he didn’t think about his future every single day?

  He hobbled his way into his calculus class. Every eye in the room was on him. The pressure of those gazes weighed down his shoulders, making him hunch over his crutches. He did his best to avoid making eye contact. When he got to his desk, he leaned his crutches against the wall and pulled his books out of his backpack before sliding into the seat. The teacher, Ms. Kramer, a craggy old spinster who scoffed at the principles of “new math,” had started to review the homework questions from the previous day when his crutches fell to the tiled floor with a crash that echoed off the whiteboard at the front of the room. Laughter rose around him. His blush was so hot he thought his skin would blister.

  He reached down to pick them up.

  “Oh, Connor, don’t hurt yourself. I’ll get them.” Tina Radtke jumped up and grabbed his crutches.

  Connor muttered his thanks to her under his breath. Someone in the back said in a mocking, high-pitched voice, “Oh, Golden Boy, is there anything else I can get you? Coffee? Tea? Me?”

  Connor really wanted to find out who made the comment, but turning to identify the jerk would prove that he cared. And he didn’t. Really.

  “If you’re all done, can we get back to calculus?” Ms. Kramer’s voice rasped like gravel in a cardboard box.

  His mind wandered throughout the rest of class, a dangerous thing. Calculus wasn’t his best subject by any means. Every now and then he thought he saw a couple of people eyeing him with speculation instead of sympathy in their expressions.

  How had Graham stood it? After his attack he’d spent weeks in hospitals and months in therapy. Connor hadn’t been able to resist a quick Internet search, so he also knew Graham had been featured in every possible news media. Here, Connor only had to deal with living in a small-town fishbowl, but Graham had faced regional and national exposure.

  After class it seemed even more people looked at him as though he had suddenly sprouted wings and a tail. A group of sophomore girls watched him shuffle by and then leaned into each other, whispering and giggling furiously. One of them showed the others something on the screen of her phone.

  One of the guys from the baseball team lounged against a locker and shouted at him, “Yo! Fitzpatrick. I hear you’re batting for the other team now.” The center fielder guffawed and elbowed the guy next to him.

  What. The. Hell.

  He reached the cafeteria and contemplated the line. He’d forgotten to grab his lunch on the way to school that morning. He’d snapped at his mom after she’d reminded him about it for the fifth time before she took off for work, and then he’d still forgotten it on the kitchen counter when Allyson picked him up for school. He hadn’t thought anything of it. He figured he’d grab something from the cafeteria. Now, though, the line for food reminded him of another problem. He couldn’t put pressure on his knee, and two hands weren’t going to be enough to manipulate the crutches and the lunch tray. His stomach growled, reminding him that skipping lunch was going to suck. Almost as much as asking someone to grab something for him was going to. As if his thoughts conjured her, Allyson appeared at his side. “Hey, Connor. Why don’t you go sit? I’ll grab some lunch for you.”

  “Nah, I got it.” He adjusted the crutches under his arms.

  “Don’t be stupid. Or stubborn. Whichever. You’d end up dumping your lunch on the floor or hurting your knee. What do you want? The Salisbury steak or the chicken patty?”

  She was right. It didn’t make him feel better about it, but he couldn’t argue the logic. He sighed. “Fine. The chicken, I guess.” He dug his lunch money out of his pocket and handed the bills to her. “Extra milk too.”

  “You got it. Marc’s over there. I’ll bring you your lunch in a minute.”

  He saw Graham sitting with some of the other soccer players. Their eyes met and he nodded. Graham gave a slight half smile and nodded in return. There was a sudden chorus of catcalls and whistles.

  “Have people completely lost their minds? What is going on around here?” Connor slid carefully into a chair across from Marc. His knee throbbed twice at the change in angle and then calmed.

  “I’ve given up trying to understand people.” Marc didn’t have to say anything for Connor to tell that he was still ticked about their earlier argument.

  “Look, I’m sorry,” Connor began, but stopped when he heard Allyson snarl, “Get a life.”

  He and Marc shoved their seats back at the same time. While Marc surged to his feet, Connor gasped and clutched at his brace-covered knee.

  “Some people are total asshats.” Allyson slammed the tray in front of Connor. The pile of fries shifted, half of them spilling into the peas.

  “What happened?”

  “Just Jimmy Darrin being a prick. Eat.” She pointed to his tray and pulled her own bagged lunch from her backpack.

  “I’m not really hungry.”

  “Eat anyway. You need to go to the nurse’s office after lunch to take a pain pill, and you can’t take them on an empty stomach. You’ll make yourself sick. So, eat.”

  Again she treated him like a child. His guilt kept him from snapping at her. Connor picked fries out of the peas. He hated mushy fries.

  “What did Jimmy say?” Marc asked.

  Allyson gave him a significant look, as though she was trying to say something without saying something. “Nothing important.”

  Marc gave a small nod and dug into his Salisbury steak.

  Connor slammed his fork down. “Really? What in the hell is going on around here? People acting like idiots, Allyson using words like asshat, and now you two have some kind of secret code? How did things get so twisted up?”

  “Dude, relax.�
�� Marc leaned forward. “There’s nothing going on.”

  “You never could lie worth a damn.” The ice in the pit of his stomach layered the words with frost.

  “Connor….” Allyson reached out to touch him.

  “Forget it,” he snapped. “I’ve got a pill to take.” Leaving his mostly full tray on the table, Connor stalked, at least as well as he could with the crutches, out of the cafeteria.

  Chapter 27

  “HELLO?”

  “Hey, Connor. It’s Graham. Do you have access to the GV Viking Net?”

  Connor stared at his phone. He’d only gotten home from school a couple minutes ago and was in a rotten mood. A mood that hadn’t been improved by having to wait for his mom to pick him up like he was back in elementary school. And Graham wanted him to go to some stupid online forum Green Valley kids used to gossip or bitch about school and parents? “Why?”

  “There’s something you have to see. Go to the Out and About page.”

  “Graham….”

  “Just do it, please.”

  He grabbed his crutches and hobbled to the rickety desk that held the family’s computer. It had been so long since he’d accessed the site—he found it a colossal waste most of the time—he had trouble finding the link. The green-and-white banner began to load. His family was probably one of the few in the civilized world that still relied on dial-up Internet service.

  “What am I looking for?”

  Graham’s laugh was bitter. “You’ll know it when you see it.”

  Once the home page loaded—finally—he found and selected the tab for student photos.

  The image on the page loaded from the top to bottom, one millimeter at a time. Dread curled in his stomach when he saw the top of the large central photo. Neon lights and a pale haze on a dark background. The picture was of three girls, all about his age, smiling widely at the camera. To their left, however, was the image of a tall blond boy in a white tank top plastered against a tall dark-haired guy in a blue shirt and leather pants. The blond gripped the brunet’s face, kissing him wildly. A smaller boy in silver shorts stood by, grinning like a fool.