Staring down at his hands, hands that someday would likely kill, George swallowed the sickening knowledge that he had become absolutely powerless.

Why it’s my favorite, I don’t know. But every time I read it something stirs inside me, some sort of sense of justification.

I run a hand over my hair, unable to comprehend that I finaled in a writing competition. Maybe later tonight hell will freeze over and donkeys will start flying out of my ass. It all seems possible at this point.

I swivel the chair and survey my room.

Trophies and medals and accolades for playing ball are scattered on the wall, the shelves, my dresser. A Reds pennant hangs over my bed. I know baseball. I’m good at it. I should be. It’s been my entire life.

I’m Ryan Stone—ballplayer, jock, leader of the team. But Ryan Stone—writer? I chuckle to myself as I pick the paperwork up off the desk.

All of it describes in detail how to continue to the next phase of the writing competition, how to win. Not once in my life have I backed down from a challenge.

But this…this is beyond what I am. I toss the papers down again. I need to stay focused on what’s important and writing isn’t it.

Beth

GYM IS AN ABOMINATION to self-esteem. While changing out of the white ruffled shirt into the required gym attire of a pink Bullitt County High T-shirt and matching shorts, I take stock of the other girls. They gossip as they change.

Most brush their hair. Some fix their makeup.

All thin. All fit. All beautiful. Not me, though.

I’m thin enough, but I’m not pretty.

The girls who really irritate me are the ones God gave everything to: money, looks, and a C-cup chest. Gwen is the worst. The moment she enters the locker room, she strips her shirt and walks around freely in her lace bra. Her nonverbal reminder that us B-cups are inferior.
 
Busting out of the locker room, I relax when I see the gym is empty. Most of the school is a no-cell zone, but not the gym. I desperately need to speak to Mom. It’s been two weeks since the last time I talked to her and her last words to me were that pathetic

“please…probation” in the parking lot. Trent wouldn’t permit her to say goodbye to me at the police station. God, I hate him.

I duck under the bleachers, pull the phone out of my shorts pocket, and dial Mom’s number. I’ve called several times over the last two weeks, but she’s never answered. Anytime after four she’d be at the bar. Mom told me once that you’re only an alcoholic if you drink before noon. Good thing for Mom she never wakes before three.

The phone rings once then three loud beeps answer. A calm, annoying voice states a message of doom: “Sorry, the number you have dialed has been disconnected.”

Regret becomes a weight in my stomach.

Last month, I could pay the electricity bill with Mom’s disability check or I could pay the phone bill. The electricity company sent a disconnect notice. I thought I had more time on the phone. I picked the electricity bill.

My throat becomes thick and my eyes burn.

Crap—my mom. I messed up. Again. Imagine that. I should have paid the phone bill. I should have found a way. I could have taken on more hours stocking at the Dollar Store. I could have sucked up my pride and asked Noah or Isaiah for money. I could have done so many things and I didn’t. Why am I such a screwup?

I suddenly wish it was ten at night. Isaiah and I talk then—every night. Usually, it’s not for long. Just a few seconds or so. He’s not a phone talker by nature, but the first time I called he asked me to check in nightly and I do. His voice is the only thing keeping me sane.

I slip the phone into my pocket as everyone files into the gym. They chatter and laugh, oblivious to the real problems of the real world. I need to find a ride into Louisville and I need to find one fast. A sharp pain slices through my head and threatens to form into a headache when Lacy breaks away from Chris and Ryan to join me. I’m not in the mood for this—not today.

“You changed quickly,” Lacy says. “Are you okay? You look upset.”

“I’m fine.” But I itch to wipe my eyes.

Somehow, they’re wet and full, and I refuse to touch them around Lacy or anyone else. I never cry and I’ll never let anyone believe that I’m capable of the moronic act.

“Five-minute round up!” Mr. Knox, our health teacher, calls.

He wears a shiny whistle around his neck.

“On the bulletin board is every exercise you are required to perform in order to receive credit for this class. We will be spending three days in the gym and two in the classroom.

Some exercises you can do on your own.

Others require teamwork. You have two opportunities to impress me, so I suggest that you use your time wisely and do not come to me for credit unless you have practiced the item to perfection.”

We stare at him in silence. Mr. Knox jerks his thumb behind him. “Get to work.”

I lag behind the others, praying that most of the exercises can be done on my own. My insides twist as I watch people pair off into twos and threes to complete their assignments.

Left alone, I sidle up to the board and sigh so heavily that the posted paper moves. Surely I can convince Mr. Knox that I am, within myself, a four-layered pyramid.

“You can work with me.”

My heart stutters at the sound of Ryan’s voice. Damn, why do I have to find everything about this boy attractive? His voice, his face, his biceps, his abs… stop it! I cross my arms over my chest and turn to face him. “I thought we had an agreement.”

“No. You threw a hissy fit on the first day of school. That doesn’t constitute an agreement.”

Ryan isn’t wearing his baseball cap and I love it. His sandy-blond hair has a golden tone.

It’s styled-yet-not-styled into the disarray of not quite curls that kick out in various directions. Get a grip, Beth. Hot guys don’t go for loser girls. “Leave me alone.”

I walk away from Ryan because he shows no sign of leaving me. Stacks of equipment line the wall on the other side of the gym. One of the four items that can be completed on my own is jumping rope. I can do that. I think. I used to jump rope when I was a kid.

I grasp one of the ropes and twenty others tumble out of the box along with it. All of them knotted and intertwined. Gwen and a group of girls giggle as they gawk at me. I wonder if they’ll still be giggling when I turn and beat them with the jump-rope knot from hell.

“Trust fall.” Lacy magically teleports in front of me.

Still holding the train of ropes, I glance up at her. “What?”

“Trust fall. Me and the boys are doing it and you’re going to do it with us.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are. Requirements say that we have to have at least two girls in the group.”

I blink twice. “Go ask one of the girls grooming each other like monkeys.”

“Those aren’t girls. They’re vultures.”

Ryan and Chris watch us. The other one studies the five-foot platform we’re supposed to “fall” from. I ask, “What’s the guy with black hair doing in this class?” He wasn’t last week, but he is in my English class and had the balls to tease me on my first day. Platform guy is lucky to be alive.

Lacy waves him off. “That’s Logan. He tested out of his math and they switched his schedule and the rest is totally not important.

Let’s go.” She snatches my hand and the rope drags with me until I remember to drop it.

She releases me when we reach the platform. Ryan gives me a condescending smile. “Changed your mind? Don’t worry, most girls do when it comes to me.”

I wish I had a jacket that I could pull around myself and hide in. I don’t, so I do the next best thing. “Did you have to bribe those girls with tacos or was that reserved for me?”

Chris and Logan chuckle and Ryan angles his shoulders away from me. On the other side of the gym, Lacy kicks at a huge foam mat.

The boys rescue her by lifting the gigantic mat into the air like it weighs nothing, then tossing it in front of the platform. A spark of panic hurts my lungs. “What’s that for?”

“In case we drop you,” says Logan.

“In case you what?” Frantically, I eyeball the wooden platform that reminds me of a diving board at a public pool. I can’t swim and I don’t jump.

“Drop you,” he repeats.

Lacy smacks the back of Logan’s head.

“Stop it. We won’t drop you.”

Of course they won’t, because I’m not jumping. I step backward.

“What’s the plan, Boss Man?” asks Logan as he looks at Ryan. I snort and Ryan glances at me. Of course, they see perfect Ryan as their fearless leader.

Ryan rearranges the mat to center it with the platform. “Each of us takes one practice run.

We perfect our technique and then we show Coach. Logan, you’re first. That way if we have the wrong technique, we drop a guy, not a girl.”

Chris, Ryan, and Lacy gather around the mat. I stay planted in my spot. “If you’re the boss, then why don’t you go first?”

“Because Logan’s crazy and would go first even if I didn’t ask. At least now someone’s here to catch him.”

“It’s true,” adds Lacy. “Logan’s too smart for common sense.”

“Fear.” Logan sits on the platform. His legs dangle over the side. “Too smart for fear.”

Lacy shrugs. “Potayto, potahto. Same thing.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Shut it down,” says Ryan. “Come on, Beth.

You and Lacy take the area toward his feet.

Chris and I will handle his back.”

“Why, so we can get kicked in the head?

That’s real gallant.”

“No,” says Ryan with forced patience.

“Logan’s all upper body. Chris and I are going to take the heavier part.”

Logan pumps his chest with his fist. “Solid wall, baby.”

“Less talking, more jumping,” says Chris.

“Let’s go, dawg.”

I take my place across from Lacy. Without giving me much of a choice, Lacy grabs hold of my hands and seconds later we grip each other tighter when heavy legs plop onto our arms.

“Son-of-a-bitch, Junior,” swears Chris. “You were supposed to count down before you jumped. Drop his sorry ass.”

Okay. Lacy and I let go and Logan falls the remaining way onto the mat. He laughs as he scrambles up. “You caught me just fine.”

“My turn!” Lacy hops over the mat and climbs the platform.

Ryan takes Lacy’s place across from me and offers me his hands. I stare down at them. I don’t touch people and they don’t touch me. I mean, Lacy has, but it’s different. We used to be friends, even if was a long time ago. Sweat forms on my palms and I rub them against my shorts and place my hands over Ryan’s. His fingers clutch mine. His skin is the right mixture of strength and warmth, and his touch sends shivers through my body. I’ve gone two torturous weeks without a cigarette and I really crave one right now.

“All right, Lace,” Ryan says in that deep, soothing voice. “Whenever you’re ready.”