Chapter One

 

 

 

September

 

“Gemma!” Tony yells from downstairs. “Gemma! We have to leave, or we’ll be late!”

I set my hairbrush down on my nightstand and roll my eyes. He’s been doing this all morning—rushing me out the door when we have time. Usually, I’m the one to nag my brother about leaving for school all the time. But today is the pep rally, where we honor our cherished football team. To be completely honest, I couldn’t care less about the team. Even if my brother and best friend are both players. The school puts way too much money into the sport when they should be putting that money into things like new computer labs, new equipment for gym so it doesn’t feel like going to class could be a possible death sentence, or even air conditioning for the already-too-hot halls and classrooms. But, instead, they spend money on an inflatable mascot that will probably get a hole from the students who show “school spirit” by throwing rocks at it during the games. 

The team isn’t even that great. Or—let me rephrase—they weren’t that great. I’ll admit, with Ryan Davis as the new quarterback and my brother and best friend Nathan as defense players, we might actually have a shot at winning the whole dumb thing this year. Not that I care. The only reason I go to games is because of free admission. Mainly for my sports column for the school paper. Trust me, I didn’t ask for it. Mrs. Ledger, the school’s journalism teacher, thought I would be the perfect fit due to living with and next door to two of the best players on the team. I have insight, I guess. Yay me… A dream come true. This is definitely how I want to spend my free time.

“I’m coming!” I yell down the hall. “Gosh, it’s just a stupid pep rally. We won’t be late if we leave in five minutes. It doesn’t even start until the end of the day, anyway.”

Loud footsteps trod up the stairs. I heave a sigh, grabbing my burgundy red cardigan from my closet. Tony stands by my open door, arms crossed and face sour with a scowl. Mom used to tell us his face would get stuck like that if he wasn’t nicer to me. Considering he only ever gives me that look, she definitely wasn’t wrong. 

“I know you don’t care about the game,” he says, walking into my room.

“Excuse me,” I cut him off. “I didn’t invite you in.”

“But,” he continues, “this is big for us. We’re about to go against our rival team and if we don’t have a rally, it will be bad luck for the game Friday. And the rest of the season.”

I scoff. “Yeah, right. You know that’s total bull. The football gods won’t shame you for having a poor pep rally. Most people wouldn’t go if it wasn’t mandatory.”

“You’re just salty because you have to write about it. Why don’t you just quit the paper if you’re so miserable? Or ask for a new assignment?”

“I’ve tried,” I huff, swinging my backpack over my right shoulder. I pull my blond hair from underneath the strap of my bag, letting it fall down my back. “But, because I live with you and Nathan lives next door, which both of you are labeled as the greatest defense players this school has seen in who knows how long, and because your best friend is the star quarterback, it’s set in stone. There’s no way out of it. No one can get the same intel as me, apparently.”

I shove past him, making my way to the stairs. “Come on, Mr. Punctual. You’ve been busting my butt all morning. Let’s go.”

🌸

A dull pain tugs at my chest. It’s not enough to make me visibly flinch, but enough to make me uncomfortable. I rub at the base of my neck, at the area of skin between my collarbones. As fast as the pain starts, it disappears. I swallow, keeping my warm hand pressed against my skin. 

“Did you even hear a single word I just said?” he asks, bringing me out of my stupor.

“Hm?” I ask, looking at my best friend.

I’m too preoccupied, wondering if that weird pain is something I need to bring up to Dad or not. 

When I was younger, I was in and out of hospitals. I was born with a crap immune system. Before I was born, Mom’s doctors expressed numerous concerns about my health. Some tests just weren’t coming back right. They tried to get her to terminate the pregnancy “on the side of caution.” Mom refused. She didn’t explain in full detail what these concerns were, but when I was born, I left the doctors scratching their heads. I wasn’t malformed, was neurologically sound. Mom called me God’s little miracle.

Nothing appeared to be amiss. Until months later, when I started getting extremely high fevers. They left me with no energy and put me in a rather dangerous situation. From my research, a 102 degree fever for an infant was a major cause for concern. And I had won the lottery. It’s been years since I’ve had one of those fevers, or even a cold for that matter, but Dad takes me to appointments four times a year. I’ve been going to these appointments since I was nine. Four years before Mom died. And Dad still takes me to appointments. Just like Mom would have wanted.

“I asked,” Nathan says, “if you studied for the Chemistry test today.”

I roll my eyes and nudge him with my shoulder, careful not to drop any of my school books. “No, I stayed up watching The Bachelor the entire night. It was so uncool that Arie chose Lauren instead of Becca.”

Nathan laughs and shakes his head. His messy brown hair flops around the crown of his head. “You did not and you’re a few years behind.”

I shove his arm and stop by my English class. A few students file into the room. 

“Whatever. The point is, of course, I studied for the Chem test. Who do you think I am? My brother?” 

I look back into the classroom, ignoring the way my stomach flips. The pain returns. I take a deep breath, trying to rid my head of these thoughts. Everything is fine. Everything will be—

“Hey,” Nathan says. He places his hand on my right shoulder and looks at me. “You’ll do great. I don’t think Shakespeare could have analyzed his work as well as you can.”

I roll my eyes and shrug his hand off. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Anyone can analyze a dead guy’s life work.”

“You know that’s not true,” he says, shaking his head. “You are going to kill it. Now get in there before you’re late.”

My brother, Tony, and his friend walk down the hall towards the classroom. I take a deep breath and nod. 

“Right. See you in Chem.”

I walk into the dimly lit classroom and head for my seat. Unlike my other classes, the seating chart for my Senior English class isn’t based on last names. Mr. Bright, one of my favorite teachers on the face of the planet, probably drew names out of a hat and put us in random seats. While it makes me cringe at the idea of no actual system, I do feel rather blessed that I was placed in the last row. I’m not called on out of the blue like other students. It’s not like I would need to be called on. I participate every chance I get. English is easily one of my favorite classes and Mr. Bright makes learning the material fun and easy. Or, at least I think so. It’s hard to dislike him.

I set my yellow backpack on the ground as I sit in my seat. It’s presentation day, which means anything can happen. I.e., I could get called on to present. I loathe the idea of presenting. It makes me feel sick to my stomach. It appears to be a deadly combination today.

Just as I set my black English notebook on my desk and a couple of pencils, I watch my brother walk in. Tony Richards. He’s a year older than me and completely mortified by the fact that we share not only a class but the same grade, too, all thanks to my freakishly big brain. Tony likes to pretend that I don’t exist in class. Keep up the whole act of “I’m super cool now, so act like you don’t know me.” I mean, it’s not like we grew up with the same people for about sixteen, seventeen years. How could anyone possibly know? The dirty blond hair, emerald green eyes, and same face shape don’t really scream “siblings”.

Walking in behind him is football prodigy, Ryan Davis. The female population basically swoons over him. Every single girl. Except for me. I can’t stand the guy. While Nathan is the type of guy a girl can make mud pies with and laugh about it, Ryan is the type of guy to make a mud pie and shove it in someone’s face. He’s arrogant. And rude. And has pretty much brain-washed my brother to treat me as a social outcast. 

Believe it or not, Ryan and I used to be best friends, too. Possibly even more. But then “the thing” happened, and Tony chose his side. We weren’t always that way. Especially after Mom died. We had to stick together. It’s crazy how things can change so quickly.

Remember how I mentioned that whole seating chart thing? One thing that makes my skin crawl is the fact that I have to sit right next to Ryan. If I could change seats, I would in a heartbeat. But it won’t work. I guess there is a silver lining, though. Tony sits in front of Ryan. But I still haven’t exactly decided if that’s a blessing or a curse.

“Hey, man,” Ryan says to Tony as they sit down in their seats. 

I tie my hair up in a loose bun, trying to ignore their conversation. I’m basically trying to ignore their existence, but that hasn’t exactly worked out for me.

“How was that party last night?” Ryan asks.

Oh, you mean the party you invited him to right in front of me and didn’t bother to invite as well? That party? I’m not salty. I swear. Just clarifying.

“It was amazing,” Tony says as he sets his backpack down. “I wish you could have been there.”

“Me too, man. But my parents were complete menaces. They forced me to watch The Great British Bake Off with them. Said that’s what I get for failing a math quiz.”

“Brutal,” Tony says.

I roll my eyes and sit back in my seat.

“Ryan!” a high-pitched voice calls out. 

Tiffany Matthews walks in and makes a beeline to our little corner of hell…I mean classroom. Any fragments of peace that were still there are now gone. Obliterated. Never to be seen again. 

Ryan and Tiffany aren’t exactly a couple, but everyone knows she’s been trying to dig her claws into him for years. He keeps playing along, like the jerk he is. Then he complains to my brother about how she doesn’t get the hint. 

“Hey,” she says, placing a perfectly manicured hand on his right shoulder, “we need to talk to Mr. Bright about changing our seats.”

“Tiff,” Ryan says with a sigh, “he’s not going to change it. We’ve tried for weeks. It won’t work.” He shrugs her hand off his shoulder and shifts closer to the window. “Besides, it’s just one class. What’s that little nobody going to do for forty-five minutes? Plus, she’s easy to cheat off of.”

Tony laughs.

“The better grades I get, the closer we get to play-offs.”

“Wow, a little nobody? And here I thought we were best friends.” 

I didn’t realize I said anything until the words hang in the air. Impossible to take back. Heat creeps into my cheeks. I clear my throat and act as if I’m talking to myself. If they already think I’m crazy, what’s the harm?

“I guess you’re right,” Tiffany says, implying none of them had heard what I said. Which is typical. Why did I even bother to think I was that important? Or that I was even noticeable. I could probably punch one of them in the shoulder or face and none of them would notice. But I’m too scared to try. No one needs to die that early.

“Anyway,” she says, as if she finished the hardest part of her day. “How about we hit the mall after school? What do you say?”

“Sorry, Tiff. I already have plans with Tony.”

“But you’re welcome to join us. We’re probably just going to play video games or something,” Tony says.

I hear Tiffany gag. Like, actually gag. “Um, thanks, Tony. But I think I’ll pass.”

The bell finally rings. The chatter comes to a minimum as Mr. Bright walks into the classroom. Tiffany blows Ryan a kiss and walks back to her seat.

“Okay, class. Sit down, sit down,” Mr. Bright says as he sets a stack of papers on the mahogany desk at the front of the classroom.

“Do you think those are our tests on Hamlet?” Tony asks, turning to face Ryan.

Ryan shakes his head. “I hope not. I totally bombed that test. If my parents find another failed assignment, they’re going to kill me.”

Mr. Bright takes attendance before grabbing more papers from his brown briefcase.

“Well, lucky for us, I have a brainiac of a sister.”

I shoot Tony a look. He glances my way and rolls his eyes. Just kidding is what he would say. But he definitely isn’t. The Felicity High Indians haven’t made it to the play-offs in a long while. As the quarterback, it’s Ryan’s job to lead us to victory. If he’s out, there’s no telling what will follow. I would guess all-out war.

I see Ryan glance at me from my peripheral vision. Idiots, I think.

“All right,” Mr. Bright says, bringing attention back to the front of the class. The whiteboard reads WHY IS SHAKESPEARE SO IMPORTANT TODAY? in green marker. 

“Today we start our presentations on Shakespeare’s importance. You’ve had a week and a half to prepare for this, so I expect stellar outcomes. However, because I’m aware you have other classes and responsibilities, I will give you the first twenty to twenty-five minutes to make some additional changes to your reports, despite our shortened class time today, courtesy of our very own football team.”

A few of the guys holler and clap as Mr. Bright walks over to the trash can and throws in a red whiteboard marker. 

“This is your last time to prepare before we start. Unless you do not present today. We’ll only have time for one or two presentations today. Remember, this project is worth 15 percent of your quarter grade. So, make sure your information is accurate and your debate is applicable to why Shakespeare is important and suitable for an academic environment. I will start to call names after the allotted time is up. Get working.”

I pull out my red erasable pen from my pencil pouch and open my notebook to a series of unorganized pages of research, ignoring the sudden onset of dizziness. I shake my head and pay attention to my notes. Quotes and points are scattered and scribbled over a total of seven pages. While my notebook looks like a mess, my notecards are pristine. 

As I start to add more information—such as how Shakespeare understood his audience, which in turn helps us to understand the culture during the rule of Queen Elizabeth and King James—I try to organize my final thoughts and tune out my classmates. Like always, the sounds of beeping phones, soft snickers, and the lone sound of pen to paper fill the small room.

I set my pen down on my desk and bend over to grab my notecards from my bag. They’re all color-coded to make my presentation go a little smoother. Hopefully. Blue represents textual evidence, pink is historical evidence, and yellow focuses on opinions. More specifically, why I think Shakespeare is important today. 

I hate presentations with a burning passion. Basically, anything that involves public speaking. Which means plays or talent shows, too. The memory of throwing up on Jake Kaminski during my presentation in the fifth grade still haunts me to this day. I shudder at the thought and try to clear my head. My stomach tumbles. Jake wasn’t really a fan of mine after the incident. If I recall correctly, he got his parents to homeschool him after the disaster. I don’t think he ever forgave me.

As I unzip my backpack, I hear my pen start to roll off my desk and hit the floor. Sighing, I switch positions and reach for the runaway utensil. My head is almost completely under my desk when I see another hand—that is definitely not mine—grab it before me. I glance over to find bright blue eyes staring at me, my pen in his hand.

Ryan Davis is holding my pen. My pen! Out of fear, I quickly sit up, hitting the back of my head in the process. The next thing I hear is a roar of laughter as I sit upright in my seat. Heat begins to creep into my cheeks. My hands feel sweaty. Blood rushes to my ears. My stomach tumbles, yet again. Game. Over.

Ryan laughs a little as he places my pen on the tan surface of my school desk. Mr. Bright turns around and the class silences immediately.

“I guess that means we’re ready for presentations.” He stops and scans the room. I look away, rubbing the back of my head. “Gemma, would you mind starting us off?”

I’m pretty sure my heart plummets to the pit of my stomach.

“Um, Mr. Bright, I don’t know if that’s—”

“You either present now or you receive a zero,” he says firmly. I think I hear a hint of an apology, but I might be imagining things. 

I take a deep breath and try to compose myself. The back of my head is throbbing as my stomach does several flips. As I stand up out of my seat, I try to make sure my knees don’t buckle beneath me. It’s highly plausible they will. Especially with the day that I’m having.

It’s just a presentation. You’ll be fine. Everything will be fine. 

I step behind the mahogany podium at the front of the class and set my notecards down with shaky hands. Deep breaths. I wipe my palms on my jeans, attempting to compose myself.

“W-William Shake-Shakespeare,” I start, “is important in an academic setting because—”

I hear my stomach rumble. Oh no. I turn to Mr. Bright and look at him, my eyes slowly filling with tears.

“I’m, um, I’m not feeling good.”

“Uh-oh,” Tony says, smiling. His left arm rests on the back of his chair as he leans his back against the window. “You better listen to her, Mr. Bright. The last time she made a presentation, she threw up all over Jake Kaminski. The kid was never seen again.”

Laughter bounces off the walls in a deafening manner. I can feel the bile travel up my throat and, before I know it, I’m emptying my stomach all over Tiffany’s black floral print Doc Martens. Did I mention she sits in the front row?

Tiffany screams and looks up at me, her eyes an icy blue. They scream pure evil. Well, I’m dead. I cough and stand upright, grabbing a tissue to wipe my mouth. I’m sure by this point my face has turned at least fifteen shades of red. I glance over at Tony, his head thrown back in laughter as he pounds his fist on his desk.

“Ms. Richards, you can present the project to me Friday,” Mr. Bright says as he dials the front office. “Hello, we need a custodian in room 160. A student threw up in class. Thank you.” He hangs up the phone.

I walk back to my desk, grab my bag, and leave the room. With my phone in hand, I text Nathan.

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The bell rings just as the school custodian walks past me and into the room I just vacated. Some students exaggerate taking a deep breath once they escape the confines of the small room.

I’m sure the news of my incident has traveled across campus by now. I would be surprised if it didn’t. Last year, there was a minor bus crash while the seniors were on their class trip. Within five minutes the news wasn’t only spread around school, but it made headlines on the local news. I wouldn’t be surprised if there was a video, too. If I wasn’t too mortified, I’d be laughing right now. The look on Tiffany’s face was actually pretty great. It morphed about five times before settling on complete disgust with the intended message of “I will annihilate you.”

I walk up the stairs to my last class of the day: Chemistry. Hopefully, Nathan will give me the biggest hug and offer to hide under a rock with me for the rest of eternity. Who needs education, anyway?

Unfortunately, Ryan seems to occupy this class, as well. He’s not exactly someone I want to see right now. I walk into the classroom and sit in my seat. Thank goodness for seats in the back.

When I sit down, it dawns on me: I forgot my notebook. Great. Pushing the thought to the black hole of my mind, I set my head over my arms and try to avoid eye contact as much as possible. I already hear the whispers filling the room, “Gemma” being a common denominator. I groan.

“It was bad, wasn’t it?”

I look up as Nathan sits in his seat in front of me. I nod and set my head back down again. “I threw up all over Tiffany’s shoes.”

“What?” Nathan asks.

I bite my lip and look up at him again. “I threw up all over Tiffany’s shoes.”

Nathan stares at me for a few seconds before a slow grin begins to form on half of his face. He laughs and shakes his head.

“You’re serious,” he says.

I nod. “Yep. I mean, if I wasn’t completely mortified, I’d be reveling in it right now. She had the audacity to convince Ryan to switch seats again.”

Nathan shifts in his seat and grabs his textbook and notebook from his backpack.

“And why does that matter to you?”

I feel a pang in my chest. Why does it bother me so much that he’s not as offended as I am? Am I overreacting? Is it really not that big of a deal?

“Because it’s rude,” I finally say. “And then Tony and Ryan proceed to treat me like trash. So, it bugs me.”

Nathan shakes his head and smiles slightly. “No, I get it. It’s the stupid social norms of high school. I would be upset, too.”

“Would you?” I ask without thinking.

Nathan opens his mouth to probably make some sort of retort, but he doesn’t get the chance. Someone stands by my desk, a soft shadow looming over me.

My notebook lands on my desk with a plop. I glare up at a smirking Ryan. He opens his mouth, but before he can say anything that will make me see red, Mrs. White walks in and heads in my direction. Bless you. 

“Hey, Gemma,” Mrs. White says, stopping in front of my desk. She has her long auburn hair tied in a low bun. “Are you okay to sit in class today? I heard you weren’t feeling well.”

I nod. “I’m fine. Presentations and I don’t mix well.”

Mrs. White smiles and nods. “I’m glad to hear that. If at any time you’re not feeling well and need to leave, you can do so.”

She walks away and stands behind her desk, gathering papers before the bell rings. I look to my right to find Ryan still standing by my desk. He looks as if he’s about to say something, then he stops and walks back to his seat.

“Are you okay?” Nathan whispers, turning back around in his seat to face me.

  I nod. “Yeah. I just want this day to be over.”

  “Hey,” I hear Joey Frost whisper to Ryan, “did Gemma really throw up all over Tiffany?”

My stomach twists in ways it should not twist. I ignore what he says.

“All right, settle down,” Mrs. White says. “After looking over the scores of your last test, I decided to postpone today’s test.”

Everyone claps and begins to turn to their friends, sharing their excitement.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” Mrs. White continues. “I’ve decided today will be a review day. Some of you need the extra help. So, I’ll be assigning some of you tutors. I have asked these students beforehand if they are available to be a tutor. They have the best scores in the class. Take advantage of their knowledge.”

“Are you a tutor?” Nathan asks.

“Yeah. Are you?”

He shakes his head and shuffles in his seat. “I would, but I have too much going on. You know, with being a genius and a pro football player and all.”

I suppress a smile and roll my eyes. “The horror. How in the world do you survive?”

“I have my ways,” Nathan says with his signature lopsided grin.

Mrs. White walks around, handing out study guides and assigning tutors to prospective students. She approached me late last week asking if I could spare the time to help a student study. I won’t lie, I almost passed, but I thought it would also look good on my resume. When I agreed, I could tell I had just lifted a massive weight off her shoulders. I already know who I’m tutoring, and I’m not mad. I think we’ll get along fine. 

“Who’s my tutor?” I hear Ryan ask.

“Gemma.”

Knots instantly form in the pit of my stomach. That’s not right. The rock really looks good right about now.

“You’ll have to discuss scheduling with her,” Mrs. White continues. “If you fail another test, you risk failing the quarter completely. Take advantage of this setup. It’s meant to help you.”

I groan and fold my arms over my desk, setting my head on the soft flesh. 

“Feeling sick, Gee?” Nathan asks. “Since this is a study session, I’m sure I can see if I can drive you home. We don’t really need to be here today, anyway.”

“I wish I could,” I say, the desk muffling my voice. “But I have to meet my tutee.”

“Who is it?”

I look up to find Nathan sitting backward in his chair. My heart flutters as I see the concern in his face. I try to ignore it and take a deep breath.

“I’ll give you three guesses.”

He laughs and shakes his head. “Only your arch-nemesis?”

I roll my eyes. “He’s not my arch-nemesis.” I look over at Ryan, who is talking to some of his football buddies. He laughs and gives one of them a high-five. “He’s just my brother’s idiot best friend.