“WHEN THE WORLD around us doesn’t make sense, we find ways to make sense of it ourselves.” Miss Ives is talking about the novel, but it feels like she’s talking about my life.
“The author, Tim O’Brien, tells us a lot about the items from home the soldiers carry—photographs, comic books, good luck charms, a pebble—because these objects are more than just reminders of home. But O’Brien also writes about the intangible things the men carried, like hope, sorrow, and fear.”
I swallow hard, but my throat feels like it’s stuffed with cotton. Owen scoots his chair a little closer to mine.
Miss Ives leans against the front of her desk and watches the class, searching our faces for a reaction. “I want each of you to keep this in mind as you’re reading. Ask yourselves what each of the soldiers is carrying—because at the end of this unit, I’m going to ask you to write an essay about the things you carry. Not the objects you brought in when we started the novel, but the intangible things you can’t hold in your hand.”
Her statement is met by a chorus of groans from the class.
Whatever. I’ll make up something poignant and meaningful—BS that will pass for introspection. English teachers love that kind of stuff. I won’t write anything personal. So why does it feel like I’m choking on a baseball every time I swallow?
Owen nudges my knee with his. It’s his way of asking if I’m okay without asking. I smile to reassure him.
I’m relieved when the bell finally rings, and I rush out the door. Thanks to Miss Ives and Tim O’Brien, I dread English class. But even a depressing war novel can’t kill my mood today.
“Why are you smiling?” Owen asks once we’re in the hallway.
“I’m not.”
“I know a smile when I see one,” he says. “And that was a smile.”
We walk down the hall side by side, close enough for his hand to graze mine, which it does more than once.
“Would it be wrong if I told you that I really want to hold your hand?” Owen asks, reading my thoughts.
“Friends don’t walk around school holding hands.” I move closer and let my hand brush his.
“Just friends do,” he whispers.
We pass the hallway Owen takes to get to his locker. “Maybe my just friend wants to stop by his locker so he doesn’t have to bum paper off everyone.”
“Mine is too far away. I’m saving trees. No one uses all the paper in their notebooks anyway. I think my time is better spent escorting you to your locker.”
We get to my locker, and he leans against the one next to mine, watching me. I spin the lock but I keep missing the numbers.
“Having trouble?” he asks. “Maybe you’re distracted.”
I’m so transparent.
“No. I’ve got it.” I’m still looking at Owen when I open the door. I catch a glimpse of something falling. It’s coming right at me.
Is it more soccer balls?
A girl screams, and the object hits me for a split second before Owen bats it away. It happens so fast that I don’t even see it. Owen pulls me next to him, and I look at what fell out.
A mound of gray fur lies on the floor—a tiny leg and a long paw jutting out from underneath it.
My stomach heaves, and I cover my mouth.
Owen puts his arm around me. “It’s okay.”
Cameron jogs toward us. He spots the ball of fur in front of my locker and my proximity to it. “Where the fuck did that come from?”
“Peyton’s locker.” Owen says the words slowly, through gritted teeth.
“What is it?” I peek at the pile of fur. It’s some kind of animal.
A crowd gathers. This is a repeat of the soccer balls, but a hundred times worse.
Cam yanks a T-shirt out of his backpack and uses it to pick up the dead animal. “It’s a rabbit.”
That’s when I notice the rabbit’s body is flat. It’s not just a dead rabbit.
It’s roadkill.
I want to scream, but there are too many people around and I’m willing to bet one of them is the person who did this.
Cam holds the carcass away from his body and turns his back to me so I don’t have to look at it.
“What have you got there, bro?” Christian calls out. He’s grinning, like he thinks Cam is messing around or pulling a prank. I can’t see Cameron’s face, but his expression must be serious because Christian’s smile instantly vanishes.
“Someone put this in Peyton’s locker,” Cam says.
“Are you shitting me?” Christian slams my locker door closed hard enough to dent it. “Who did it?”
April is standing next to her locker with Dylan, and her smug expression makes me want to strangle her.
“I’m pretty sure I know.” I slip past them and storm down the hallway.
Owen and the Twins follow me.
“You’re sick, you know that?” I shout at her.
April’s expression changes from amusement to confusion. Not that I buy her act. She starts to say something, then she sees what Cam is holding.
“You think I did that?” She points at the roadkill dangling from Cam’s hand.
“You or your piece-of-shit boyfriend,” Christian says.
Dylan drops his backpack and gets in Christian’s face. “What did you call me?”
“You heard me.”
“I’m not a sick asshole like you,” Dylan fires back. “I’d never put anything like that in a girl’s locker.”
I stare April down. “Then she did it on her own.”
“You think I go around collecting roadkill?” She eyes the rabbit, scrunches up her nose, and looks at me. “That I’d pick up that disgusting thing?”
“You hunt. Dead animals don’t bother you,” Cam says.
“I haven’t hunted with my dad in years. And it’s not like we ran over things and then went back and picked them up.” April’s eyes dart to the carcass.
“You went from soccer balls to a dead animal? That takes commitment.” I shake my head as if I feel sorry for her. “You had to drive around and look for it. Then you had to pick it up and put it in your car, drive to school and carry it in here. Personally, I would’ve puked. Did you put it in a bag, at least?”
People in the hall start whispering and April looks around, frantic. “It wasn’t me! I put the soccer balls in your locker. I admit it. Are you happy now? But I don’t know anything about a note, and I did not touch that thing.” She points at the flattened rabbit.
As much as I can’t stand April, I don’t think she did it. But I’m not sure if Dylan was involved.
Dylan points at Christian. “I bet you put it in there yourself so you could come over here and start shit or get April in trouble.”
Christian’s eyes cloud over. “What did you just say?”
“You heard me.”
Christian lunges at Dylan and slams his back against the lockers. Dylan throws a hook and catches Christian in the jaw, stunning him just enough for Dylan to slip out of Christian’s grip.
“Fight!” someone shouts.
Dylan plows into Christian, but he has trouble moving the linebacker more than a few feet.
“Heads up, Cameron. Here comes the cavalry,” Owen says, watching four tall guys sprint down the hallway toward them.
Cam drops the dead rabbit and cracks his neck. “You take the two on the left.”
“No. I’ll take the two on the right. Beck Johnson wrestles,” Owen says. “If he gets you on the ground, you’re screwed.”
Cam cusses under his breath. “I’m gonna get benched.”
Christian and Dylan hit the floor, and within seconds they’re grappling in the middle of the hall. Dylan is taking a beating.
“Get off him, Christian!” April shrieks.
“Peyton, get out of there,” Owen yells.
April scurries out of the way, and I head in the same direction. She seems like she knows the drill.
The tall guys, who look like basketball players on Dylan’s team, don’t say a word before they start swinging.
Cam leans forward and charges. He catches the two around their waists and tackles them. The other two go straight for Owen, but they hesitate. “We don’t want any trouble, Owen,” one of them says.
“Then walk away, Beck,” Owen says. “It will be hard to defend your title as state wrestling champ if you can’t wrestle.”
The other guy isn’t as smart as the wrestler. He moves to the side and tries to sucker punch Owen.
Owen blocks the punch with almost no effort, grabs the basketball player by the back of his neck, and slams the guy to the floor.
“Teachers!” someone yells, and students scatter.
Owen grabs Christian by the back of his shirt and hauls him off Dylan. “Your coach is coming.”
Christian points at Dylan. “We’re not done.”
Dylan scrambles to his feet. His nose is bleeding all over his Warriors basketball T-shirt, and his face is red and blotchy.
Owen walks up to Dylan and stops in front of him. Even though the basketball player is a head taller than Owen, he shrinks back.
The football coach and another man wearing a Warriors warm-up jacket call out names. “Rollins! Carters! Law!”
Owen takes a step closer to Dylan. “If I find out that you had anything to do with this, or you knew anything about it, I’m gonna break my rule about only fighting guys with my level of training. And I’m going to come after you.”
Dylan swallows hard.
“And if anything else happens and I find out that you have anything to do with it, I’m gonna come after you again. And we’ll see how well you play basketball with two broken arms. You and your boy Beck can share a hospital room.”
Owen steps back just as chaos erupts.
The football coach is yelling at the top of his lungs. He shoves Dylan’s friends toward one side of the hall and Cam toward the other. Cam looks fine, but the other two guys who went after him didn’t fare as well.
“Christian Carter!” Coach shouts.
The coach wearing the warm-up jacket lays into the basketball players.
Owen turns toward me.
“Not so fast, Mr. Law.” Miss Ives marches down the center of the hall with her hands on her hips. “I think you should stay right here while we sort this out.”