Unmaking Hunter Kennedy (8 page)

“Oh right. That’s where you hide. I always pick weights.”

“I know.” Vere nodded, hitting a whole new level of painful-blush-burning at the tops of her ears. “You lift with Charlie. He tells me you guys have fun,” she covered.

Curtis didn’t seem to notice her ears because he was intently studying her cami. What was
in
her cami!

Maybe he’s checking out the chest that doesn’t fill out my cami?

Help. So awkward.

Where in the heck is Jenna? I need a rescue.

In horror, she watched as his eyes travelled lower then back up. He didn’t seem repulsed.

His gaze seemed almost appreciative!

But then, a glint in his eyes suddenly gave her the urge to deck him. And deck him really hard.

The heat plus the stress of him talking to me must be making me bonkers. As if I’d ever publicly deck Curtis Wishford again.

Even if he deserved it.

Which he might right now...if he doesn’t stop.

She sought solace in the fact that she and Jenna had done the exact same thing to Curtis for years. Secretly stared him up and down, any chance they got. The
chip-eating
, prom-dreaming conversation was just a snapshot of years and years of inappropriate staring plus commentary about this one guy.

Karma in action.

But why hasn’t he stopped looking yet?

If he won’t end this madness, I will.

Curtis and I both know we don’t talk to each other.

Why would he break the rules?

“Have your legs always been that long?”

“Since seventh grade,” she reminded him, grabbing her binder to hold it in front of her like a shield.

“Seventh grade feels like ancient history to me.”

“I wish...” she started, but then changed her mind. There was no point in continuing that sentence. She looked away, determined, this time, to never look back at his beautiful face.

“Vere, you’re so—” Curtis stopped mid-sentence when Howie Rutherford, his teammate, stood and knocked over a stool, distracting everyone in the room.

“Mr. Peterson!” Howie called out.

I’m so what? So what?!

Vere gritted her teeth and figured she didn’t want him to finish his sentence.

She could guess what he was thinking:
So hopeless. So pink and red? So weird. So challenged in every way?

“Mr. Peterson!” Howie hollered again. He was one of those kids who didn’t know how to speak, only shout.

“What is it, Howie?”

“You’re going to have to give an extra one of these head injury forms to Curtis Wishford and maybe to Vere Roth too.”

“Why?” Mr. Peterson sighed and tapped his foot. Everyone was used to Howie’s classroom antics.

Vere locked eyes with Curtis and hugged her binder tighter.

Her heart had officially stopped beating one second ago.

Curtis shot her a half-smile, one that couldn’t hide his obvious regret. Regret that had to stem from him approaching her at all.

The classroom grew silent as Howie continued, “Does the person who
CAUSES
the concussion have to sign the form, or is it only the person who
RECEIVES
the actual injury?”

Howie had turned an innocent stare to Mr. Peterson, who’d zeroed in on Vere and Curtis.

Vere figured it was medically impossible for someone to blush black. She tried not to care that she’d reached this extreme status and with a maximum audience.

She couldn’t do anything about that, but she could at least keep her face straight. “I hate you, Howie Rutherford,” Vere called out just before biting down on the insides of her cheeks.

Hard.

Howie grinned.

“Vere? Curtis? Do you—or do you NOT—have the Concussion Form?” Mr. Peterson waved the forms in the air.

All remaining chatter ceased. Every eye in the room swiveled to them.

“You’re so lame, Howie.” Curtis placed his hands on Vere’s table, glowering at his friend. “Let it go,” he added, shooting Vere an unreadable glance.

A few students giggled quietly.

“Howie, you have two seconds to explain yourself,” Mr. Peterson bellowed. “Or all three of you can hit the principal’s office.”

“Curtis needs one of those forms in case Vere knocks him out with a head-butt again.” Howie bobbed his head like a chicken for effect. “Get out of range, Curtis. She’s dangerous. We have a game in two weeks.”

The entire room erupted into laughter.

Jenna materialized out of the sea of staring faces, her expression appalled. She held up two ice-cold, dripping water bottles.

“Don’t let them see you sweat,” she whispered, sliding in to her seat. Ever protective of Vere, she shot Curtis and then Howie her
back-the hell-off-my-bestie
glare.

To make the moment even more memorable, a drop of sweat slid off of Vere’s head and smacked onto Curtis’s hand.

Perfect.

Vere stole a glance at Curtis through her lashes. Under Jenna’s glare his smile had faded to a pained grimace. He retreated back to his seat, rubbing the back of his hand on his shirt.

Attempt at ever charming Curtis Wishford: FAIL.

“Oh, Mr. Peterson. Don’t let Vere hurt me. She’s scary,” Howie whined, mock cringing in his seat.

Vere looked away from the sea of staring faces and twisted a lock of hair at the base of her neck, as she memorized every single scratch etched on the surface of her lab table.

More laughter ensued and then, whispers.

She figured the few kids who hadn’t heard about her and Curtis were getting filled in on details. She glanced again at Curtis who’d chosen to ignore the entire scene. He was now busily signing his pile of forms as if the world had disappeared around him.

Who could blame him?

Vere pasted on her best poker face and tossed a half shrug to Jenna, but she couldn’t meet her best friend’s gaze for long. Grateful for the water bottle because it gave her something to do while everyone continued to stare, Vere opened it and took a long drink.

No matter how much water she swallowed, the lump in her throat would not wash away.

Her phone buzzed and rattled against the desk.

VERE MAKE SURE CHARLIE COMES HOME WITH YOU. ALONE. REMEMBER. NO DILLY-DALLYING. I REALLY NEED YOU KIDS TO BE READY TO HELP ME.

“Miss Roth. Are you texting? You may bring that phone up here. I’ll return it after you collect and sort everyone’s forms for me.”

“Yes, Mr. Peterson.”

7: landing

HUNTER

“Flight attendants, please prepare for landing.” The captain interrupted Hunter’s thoughts as the plane circled outside Denver to avoid some giant thunderheads.

He let his forehead rest on the oval shaped window, peering at a small pod of city skyscrapers and highway interchanges framed on one side by a long strip of distant mountains, grateful for the pair of plain, boring, sporty looking sunglasses his ‘imposter-twin’ had given him.

Crazy ain’t sexy. Crazy ain’t sexy.

Martin’s words still consumed his thoughts.

Am I crazy? No. No. Barry said I wasn’t.

Said it more than once, and he’s a professional.

“Sir? Sir.
Young man
.”

Hunter jumped and pulled away from the window, trying to make himself disappear into his seat. A woman in a red scarf and navy suit stood there looking at him expectantly.

His stomach clenched in white-hot fear.

Does she recognize me?
What am I supposed to do? I have zero bodyguards.

Please don’t let me get mobbed.

Please no screaming.

He looked around for a pen.

Maybe she only wants an autograph. I could ask her not to tell.

I’ll beg. After today, I’m all about not waiting to beg.

The man next to him bumped his arm. “She wants your trash, bud.”

“And you need to pull your seat back up from the reclining position.” She blinked at him as though he were an idiot.

“Oh. Right. Sure.” He pulled a soda can, napkins and his squashed plastic cup out of his seat pocket. He held it out for the woman to take, risking a breath.

“Drop it in the bag,
please.
” She rattled the white trash bag.

“Right.” Hunter reached over and released his pile into the sack.

She stalked away in a huff.

The man shook his head. “Bet she lives alone.”

“Ya think?” They shared a smile.

After they’d handed out the snack and drink, Hunter had determined his seat mates were not
GuardeRobe
fans. When no one else around him had given him a second glance, he’d relaxed enough to curl up against the window and sleep.

Now the guy next to him was packing up his laptop, and the woman in the aisle seat had just placed her Kindle into a cool looking, paisley bag.

Both still seemed blissfully unconcerned with him!

Hunter marveled at the idea that they had been sitting next to him for two hours and knew nothing—
thought nothing—
about him. The flight attendant had actually scorned him!

Hunter counted back. It had been at least five hours since he’d been recognized.

This was some kind of record.

For some reason he suddenly wanted this disguise to hold. At least for a little while. It was kind of cool being one of the nameless, faceless many.

The lady in the aisle seat leaned over the middle guy to peer out the window. Hunter had to steel himself from flinching. He hated when strangers came too close.

“These darn afternoon storms. It’s going to be bumpy on the way down. Going home?” She leaned back, but continued to eye him curiously—but not in an way that threatened him.

It was so cool.

“Sort of. You?” he answered, trying to keep his voice quieter than normal.

“Denver’s home. Been away on business. Where’s home for you?”

“Uh...Monument.” The word sounded strange on Hunter’s tongue. “I’m moving there to live with my aunt. Haven’t seen it since I was little. Do you know it?”

“I call it Little Siberia,” the guy in the middle seat said.

The lady smiled. “It’s beautiful, but you always get extra snow during winter. Nice good-sized town these days, though. Beautiful views of Pikes Peak.”

“Oh.” Hunter tried to remember the town all over again, but could only visualize his Aunt Nan’s smiling face. He actually couldn’t wait to see her. Maybe get one of her hugs. He could never forget those.

The plane bounced and jerked. It shot though the edge of one of the giant clouds. Everything shuddered and the carry on bags shifted overhead.

Why do the people next to me look so calm?

A rays of yellow-white sunlight blazed through the windows on the other side of the plane. Hunter gripped the sides of his seat as the plane bounced again.

This time, there was no cloud to blame for the turbulence.

“Is this a normal landing, or should I be nervous right about now?” he choked out.

“This is pretty par for the course for late summer. You got a name?” The man held out his hand.

Hunter nodded.

Feeling like a total fraud, he peeled his right hand loose from the death grip he had on the armrest and gave the man’s outstretched hand a short shake. He had the strangest urge to smile—probably because he was about to
lie
to this guy—so he sucked in a half breath and cracked the grin.

“I’m . . .
Dustin
. Dustin McHugh.”

8: spotting panic

VERE

Vere slammed the screen door. “Mom! Charlie ditched me. I sat in the parking lot for twenty minutes waiting and waiting, and he never showed up or called. I had to drive home
ALONE
.”

Her brother’s shout blasted her eardrums as he slammed in right behind her.

“
UNTRUE
. I texted her during last period but she didn’t check her phone. I grabbed a ride with Curtis! We were right behind her in Curtis's truck, so technically she was never
alone
.”

Vere glared bullets into her brother’s eyes. “Do you hear him?
Mom!
He just admitted to disobeying.”

Charlie laughed, lowering his voice. “Kiss kiss. Don’t be all mad. Curtis drove away. But not before he asked about you. What’s up with that?”

“Shut up.” Vere shoved past him. “I’m not an idiot. I’m actually positive he won’t bring up my name again.” Vere hung her backpack on one of the mud-room hooks.

“Vere. Honest. He did. Whatever happened today had him all sappy and weird. Kind of creepy.”

Charlie blinked his large brown eyes innocently—eyes that matched hers—before throwing his hoodie and backpack into a heap on the floor.

“He also asked me if you were going out with anyone. Ha. As if.”

Vere shook her head and gave him her most scathing glare, refusing to let him tease her about her crush. “
Mom!
Charlie’s too cheap to call me on his cell and text messages have a really long delay at the school. And he knows it!”