Page 1 of Manny

PROLOGUE

MANNY

Agefifteen

I stare out of the window. Trig isn’t exactly my most favorite subject. Then again, I do have a high IQ, and that’s not even bragging. It’s just the truth. It could be worse. I could be outside doing laps and listening to Coach Teller yell at me, blowing that goddamn whistle that I want to shove up his ass. He’d probably enjoy it, damn asshat.

I hate this town. They’re not my people, the only person worth any of my time is my grandmother. She gets me like nobody else ever could. She doesn’t question my weird dress sense, or why I wear my hair this way, or any of the things that my mom and stepfather do.

They both act as if I’m barely a blip on their radar. Like I’m in the way.

I’ve learned to control my tremble of fear whenever my stepfather is around. I’ve also learned to dodge his fists more times than I care to remember. Sometimes he makes contact, but it’s easier when he’s been into the booze. That way I can get out of his way and keep the peace.

My mom has been putting up with his abuse for years and she won’t listen to anything I say. She’s not a great mom, truth be told. I’ve had to fend for myself for most of my life because when Mom isn’t out trying to get high, she’s out doing other unscrupulous things to get money. Then she blamed me; I was one more mouth to feed. Another ungrateful stain on her life to riches, the life she never got to live because she fell pregnant with me.

Grandma has tried a million times to get Mom clean, but somewhere along the way, she washed her hands of it all. I can’t say I blame her. Sometimes Mom is nasty, especially when she’s drinking tequila. In that way, I think Mom andhimare really quite perfect for each other.

I’ve thought about dropping out of school, getting a job. I could live with Grandma, but I also don’t want to create waves for her and put her in the firing line of family drama. Heaven knows, there’s been enough of it lately. I hide the bruises from Grandma; I don’t need her coming in to bat for me. That would be worse.

I turn, feeling someone’s gaze on me. Big, hazel eyes find mine and I blink once. Twice.

Why is Shep Daniels staring at me?

He’s the quarterback, and quite possibly the savior of our town if this season goes as planned.

He looks away quickly, but not before I see his jaw clench. It’s probably the lip ring he hates. It’s new. And it’s also not what people do around here in Pineville, Iowa, but I didn’t get it to try to fit in. I’ve come to realize that this sleepy little town is set in its ways, and it doesn’t appreciate kids who are different.

I’ve also known for a little while that I don’t just like girls. I mean, I really, really like girls, but I’d be lying if I said I haven’t had weird feelings for dudes, too. And because I dress weird and refuse to cut my hair, it’s plainly obvious that the whole schoolthinks I’m gay. Most of the townsfolk in Pineville don’t like that idea. It’s a town that’s heavily built on religion and repenting for one’s sins; I wouldn’t expect any allies in my corner. Pineville is way behind the rest of the world when it comes to compassion and understanding. Those rules don’t apply here.

I don’t have any friends, well, maybe one or two, but they’re more like refugees who hide out in the library because the bullies can’t touch them when teachers are present. I’ve already had a bloody nose and fat lip this semester. If I graduate high school with my head still attached, it’ll be a freaking miracle.

And as for Shep? I don’t know what the heck he’s staring at me. Of course, he hates me like everybody else, but I’ve never had too much to do with him.

Things get even weirder when we’re placed together for a project in art class the following week. I really love art, and I’ve always been artistic; trying my hand at painting and sketching. It’s a solace that keeps me calm when all I want to do is scream.

I can tell by Shep’s annoyed demeanor; brow furrowed, eyes avoiding me and his arms folded, that he’s not happy partnering up with me, but I don’t make the rules. Our teacher is a tyrant, and neither of us dare ask if we can pair up with someone else. I mean, Shep’s pretty laid back. He’s the quarterback. It isn’t like he has to do much to get attention.

“Listen, queero,” Shep says, the second the teacher isn’t within earshot. “How about we come up with an arrangement?”

I quirk him a brow.Queero?I guess I’ve been called worse things. “What sort of arrangement?”

He snorts. “I need practice time. You need protection.”

I blink a couple of times. “What?”

He rolls his eyes, like I’m dumb. “I’ve seen how the other kids treat you. How would you like all of that to go away?”

I think about it for a second. I’ve had my head in the dumpster more times than I care to remember, sure, but it’s onlythis last year I grew a backbone and got an attitude. It sits nicely with that huge chip on my shoulder. “It depends what it entails.”

“Easy. I’ll get back to practice, and you finish the homework.”

I don’t let on that this is hardly homework, but we both know Shep will be off the team if his grades slip. And he isn’t exactly what you’d callartistic.

“You’ve gotta be kidding?” I shake my head.

“Do I look like I’m kidding?”

“It’s hard to tell.” I examine his face. “You always look annoyed.”

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