KAGE (KAGE Trilogy #1) (5 page)

“You really think so? I was feeling like such a fraud, like a cheater or something.”

Dr. Washburn leaned forward and put a hand on my shoulder, peering up at me through his glasses. “You did fine. You taught everyone in this class some things today, and you entertained us in the process. That’s what journalism is all about. Educating and entertaining your audience, using whatever you can get your hands on, however you can get it. Within reason, of course.”

A light suddenly came on inside my head. It wasn’t about being perfect; it was about getting the job done. With his simple words, it felt like Dr. Washburn had just opened up my entire future for me, and I couldn’t help smiling all the way home after our talk.

I FLOATED through the end of school with a kind of euphoric confidence, earning straight A’s on all of my final exams. Several times, I thanked Dr. Washburn for what he’d told me. I don’t know if he’d understood how profound his words were when he said them, but they had really made an impact on my attitude. I was starting to realize that my outcomes were dependent on and directly related to the amount of effort I put in.

“What’s got you so fired up about school?” Layla asked me over lunch the day before our last exams. “You seem different. I’ve never seen you so concerned about your grades before. You’re not going all nerdy on me, are you?”

She was teasing, I knew, but it rubbed me the wrong way. Suddenly I was that little guy in elementary school again— the one with glasses and a book in his hand. The one who joined the football team to seem more like the other boys.

“Everything is not about sports and partying, you know.
Some
of us have aspirations.” I picked at my spaghetti with my fork, dragging the overcooked noodles around on the plate.

“I have aspirations, Jamie. I’m not just some air-headed cheerleader. I’m going to be a school teacher. That’s an important job.”

There was hurt in her eyes, and I immediately felt guilty. I reached over and slid an arm around her narrow shoulders, pulling her into a one-armed embrace. “I’m sorry, Layla. I didn’t mean that you don’t have aspirations. It’s just… I guess I just don’t like being called a nerd. I heard it enough when I was a kid. Do you really think I’m a nerd? I play basketball.”

“Of course not. I was only joking.” She rested her head on my shoulder. “You’re like what Dr. Bayne would call a renna… renna...”

“Renaissance Man?” I supplied the term begrudgingly, because knowing it just further solidified my nerd status.

“Yeah, that’s it. That’s what you are.”

But the whole conversation over lunch left me feeling unsettled. Not because I thought I was a nerd, though I guess if I was honest with myself, I had to admit it was something I’d always been worried about. What really bothered me about the exchange with Layla was that it had felt so strained, and it wasn’t the first time. More and more over the past few weeks, I was getting the impression that the two of us were drifting apart, with only a gossamer cord of desire still keeping us tethered to each other.

“Do you love me, Jamie?” She asked suddenly, lifting her head from my shoulder and searching my eyes with her own. I knew what she was searching for. I was also sure it wasn’t there. The knowledge made my stomach roll.

“You’re my girlfriend,” I said lamely. “We’re together, aren’t we?”

She just kept looking at me like she was waiting for something better to come out of my mouth. Something with emotion. It wasn’t going to come, though, and we both knew it. And if by some miracle I’d been able to get the right words to cross my lips, she wouldn’t have wanted them anyway. Not if they were coerced and only half true.

Instead of giving her what she thought she wanted to hear, I squeezed my lips together and looked away. I took the coward’s way out. But then she surprised me— no, a better word would be shocked. She shocked the shit out of me with what she said next.

“I’ve been talking to someone else,” she said quietly. “For a while.”

My head snapped back around, and I was suddenly able to look at her. “What?” I could feel how wide my eyes were, and how indignant my expression was, even though I had no right to be indignant. “Another guy? You’ve been cheating on me?”

My brain struggled to process the words. My pride told me I must have misheard.

Layla pulled away, surprisingly calm as she folded her hands into her lap and regarded me with a sober expression. “I haven’t cheated on you, Jamie. I wouldn’t do that. But… I’ve thought about it. Well, not about actually cheating on you, but about going out with this other person. You and I are just—”

After a few drawn out seconds, I whispered, “Over?” I looked into her eyes. “Are we going to be able to stay friends?”

“I think so.” She smiled wistfully. “You don’t seem too upset.”

My heart was beating fast. I felt like I should say something profound, something to make it all okay, but it wasn’t okay. We were breaking up, and it was awful because I didn’t seem to want to fight to change that.

Dammit, why can’t I just be a good boyfriend? I need to do something.

“Maybe we could—” I began slowly, but Layla cut me off with a resolute shake of her head.

“It’s okay, Jamie. I understand you don’t want the same things as me, you know? That’s why I just needed to move on. I may seem tough, but deep down I’m just a girl. I can’t help it. I want the fairy tale.”

“And this other guy… He gives you the fairy tale?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.” Layla shrugged and scanned the room, and I couldn’t help feeling like she was looking for a way out, like she’d rather be anywhere but sitting here talking to me about relationships. Because the truth was, ours was over. Maybe the other guy was waiting for her somewhere in the cafeteria, watching all of this go down.

If he was watching, he didn’t get much of a show. We could have at least argued, shared a few tears, but instead it felt like nothing, and the nothingness was ultimately more painful than any drama we might have had. I just sat there awkwardly, feeling the nothingness like a boulder in my gut, not wanting to stay, but not knowing quite how to say goodbye and get up and walk away.

And that was how I became single again. Emasculated in the cafeteria by a tiny blond cheerleader with a Mexican twang.

MIRANDA didn’t seem surprised when I got home and announced to everyone in my living room that Layla and I had broken up. In fact, except for Trey’s half-hearted
Really?
and Braden’s overly-shocked
No!
, there was no reaction to my earth-shattering news. Trey and Braden continued playing their video game.

“It’s about time,” Miranda said, earning a suspicious glare from Braden. “I mean, you two were just not compatible. Did you know there was a rumor that she was seeing Matt Foster?”

Fuck. One of my teammates?

“She didn’t tell me it was him. Just said she hadn’t cheated on me, but that they had been talking.” I plopped down on the sofa next to Miranda. “We’re still friends, though.”

I feel numb. I must still be in shock.

Miranda snorted. “Okay.”

“What? We
are
friends.”

“I said okay.”

She clearly didn’t believe me, and I didn’t bother trying to convince her. Either Layla and I were friends, or we weren’t. She’d be busy soon with her new boyfriend and probably wouldn’t have time for friends, anyway, so what was the point?

“I got all A’s so far,” I said, changing the subject.

“Nerd,” Braden accused, still without taking his eyes off of the game.

“I’m not a nerd,” I protested for the second time within hours.

Braden snickered. “Yeah, right. You make straight A’s without studying, you wear those Clark Kent glasses when you read, and you’ve started dressing like one of those male models in the magazines. What are they called?
GQ
, or
Cosmo
. Some shit.”

“
Cosmo
is a women’s magazine, hon,” Miranda corrected.

“Whatever,” Braden said. “He knows what I mean. Jamie, you need to stick to the basketball shorts and snapbacks. That’s what the chicks dig. I’ll bet that’s why Miranda broke it off with you. Matt Foster doesn’t try to be GQ. He dresses like a jock.”

“I dress like a jock a lot of the time,” I pointed out indignantly. “And my body is way hotter than Matt Foster’s.”

That claim actually got Braden to look up from the game long enough to give me an amused look. “The shirts you wear are too tight. Guys need breathing room. And those skinny little pants you wear when we go out are ridiculous.” He elbowed Trey like he’d just made the joke of the century.

“You’re just jealous, Braden. I look damn good in tight t-shirts and Clark Kent glasses.” Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Miranda nodding in agreement. “Besides, we’ve got to start growing up at some point, man. You think you’re going to wear snapbacks and basketball shorts to your first job? I guess that would be okay if you’re a pro ball player, but that won’t fly in the real world.” I looked to Miranda and then Trey for backup, but they were no help. “Trey, I’m not a nerd, am I?”

Trey laughed. “What’s so bad about that? I’m a nerd, and proud of it.”

“You got that right.” Braden piped up. “College is for partying, man. You’re gonna be forty years old looking back on this time wishing you’d sowed your wild oats like me.”

“Yeah, you think so?” Trey asked him. “I’m okay with that, because when I’m looking back, I’ll be sitting in a nice house counting my money. Meanwhile, you’ll be crying in your beer in some one-room hovel wishing you’d done your homework and taken life seriously.”

Braden waved him away, obviously not buying into Trey’s vision of the future. “My daddy’s got money, man.”

The room was thick with Miranda’s sudden disdain for the turn the conversation had taken. “Sowing your wild oats, huh?” She asked her boyfriend pointedly.

“Figure of speech, babe,” Braden said. Then he let loose with a barrage of virtual gunfire on the video game, jumping to a standing position and pounding frantically on the buttons on his controller. “Motherfucker shot me! Did you see that? We’ve got to get better internet, because this shit is lagging. No way he could have gotten me. Did you guys see that?”

Trey threw up his hands. “Thanks, man. Nice going. You just got me killed.”

Miranda rolled her eyes at me. “I guess this is what they mean by sowing oats? Wearing a hole in the sofa playing video games?”

“Hey, it’s better than going out and banging other chicks,” I pointed out. Miranda didn’t seem too thrilled that I had put that particular thought into words, and I didn’t relish exploring the idea further with her. “Give me that controller,” I told Braden. “Let the master take over. I’ll prove to you there’s no lag.”

“It’s your funeral.” He handed me the controller and headed off to the kitchen. “Anybody want a sandwich?”

Trey raised his hand like he was in class. “I’ll take a PB&J.”

“Let me rephrase that,” Braden said. “Anybody named Miranda want a sandwich?”

Miranda got up and followed him into the kitchen, leaving me and Trey to battle bad guys on the game. I needed some brainless man-fun. Anything to get my mind off the fact that I’d just been dumped.

THAT night, I went to the gym later than usual.

The place smelled of chlorine and sweat. It was a smell I’d come to associate with being healthy, and the second it hit my nostrils, I got a surge of adrenaline. I strode across the crowded space to secure a locker for my cell phone and wallet, taking in the familiar sights and sounds of the gym— muscles pumping, men grunting, the clang of heavy weights hitting the floor. Treadmills whirred, ponytails bounced, and sneakers tapped out a choppy rhythm on the treadmill belts. In the background, sneakers squeaked on the basketball court, and children squealed beneath the gushing fountain in the indoor pool, which should have been closing any minute.

My brain shifted into workout mode, and I turned everything else off.

Whether I was straining to eke out that eighth rep on a weight machine, pushing myself to failure, or zoning out on the treadmill for an hour, it was always cathartic. Focusing on pushing my body gave my mind a much-needed vacation. I didn’t have to think about school, or relationships, or whether I could afford to go out with my friends on Friday night. It was just me and the machines, and we had only one goal in mind: physical exhaustion.

When I was almost finished with my Thursday night arm routine, a guy sat down on the machine directly in front of me. It was one of those awkward situations where both of us were forced to stare directly at each other as we worked. I was doing lat pull-downs, and he was on the ab crunch machine. I’d never seen the guy in school. He was slightly shorter than my six-foot height, with light hair and a broader build. I was of the opinion that people who took part in sports had a slightly different musculature than people who only worked out in a gym environment, and this guy had a gym jockey look about him. Not that it wasn’t a good look on him, because it definitely was.

Normally, I would have tried to engage him in a little chat to dispel the awkwardness of staring right at each other while we worked out. Except for my horrible attempt at impersonating a reporter during the MMA event, I’d never had a hard time talking to people. But after Layla knocked the wind out of my sails, I hadn’t felt much like socializing.