Page 13 of Sapphire Spring

“Twenty,” Mason lied.

“You’re just trying to wear our asses out because youlike us sweaty,” Tim shouted.

“Or you’ve been running like you’ve got bricks on yourfeet and I’m trying to lighten you up.”

Chadwick added a jump to the end of his burpee, whichvaulted him about eight feet into the air. At the top, he flipped Mason thebird. The funny thing about Chadwick was that his facial expression looked thesame no matter what he was doing—his eyes were always wide and staring, fulllips always parted as if he were either struggling to breathe or planning totake off running on his muscular legs at any second. Tim Malbec had the sameconstantly tensed energy, except his chest and shoulder muscles had Chadwickbeat, and his narrow eyes and small, thin-lipped mouth made him look reservedand vaguely suspicious of everything.

It was easier for Mason to think of his best friends’bodies in these clinical terms given the widespread consensus they were three ofthe hottest guys in school. Not just easier. Given how often the three of themjerked off together, it was also safer. For Mason.

Chadwick suddenly popped to his feet without performingthe push-up that was supposed to mark his every contact with the ground. “Shit! We’re gonna miss Prancer!”

It was the nickname they’d given Naser, inspired by theswing in his walk. Both guys ran for the sidelines where their windbreakerswere draped over the chain link fence. Mason’s grand plan, he realized, wasabout to hit the skids.

“We’re not done. You promised!”

“We can finish your wussy workout later, QB,” Chadwicksaid. “They’re doing somekindascale model thing inMs. Guidroz’s class today first period, and Prancer’s one of her littlefavorites. I want to see him try to balance the thing on his head while I yankhis shorts up his ass.” Chadwick stuck his tongue out and leered as he punchedhis arms into his windbreaker’s sleeves, which, Mason thought, was apretty weirdway to talk about the butt of someone you didn’tlike.

Crap. How did Chadwickknow about Naser’s project? Was he secretly following Naser too?

Mason had known for days, after he’d spied on the guyfrom behind a shelf in the whisper section of the library and heard himexcitedly telling some of his friends about the scale model of the ancientPersian city of Persepolis he was building for Ms. Guidroz’s visual arts unit,knowing the whole time that if his buddies saw him carrying something like thaton campus, they’d do whatever they could to make him drop it.

“Come on, guys. We’re rank. We gotta shower.” Masonchased his best friends past the bleachers and toward the main building.

“We’ve got time,” Tim called back. “Firstperiod’sin twenty, and the dork always shows up early.”

“Dude, let it go. Just this one day.”

Chadwick stopped and spun. “Why? What are you, Ms.Bucknerall of a sudden?” Buckner was the hippie-dippyguidance counselor they all made fun of but then secretly cried to whenevershithit the fan. But for the manly men of Laguna Mesa High,a comparison to her was a worse insult than being called a homo.

“Look at it this way, Mason.” Ever the mediator, Timapproached. “The guy’s always looking at ourdicks.Every time we touch him, we probably take the edge off and keep him fromfagging out on Coach Harris and getting expelled or something. It’s basically apublic service, what we do.”

“Zactly.” Leering, Chadwickrapped the center of Mason’s chest with the back of his hand, then took off,leaving Mason no choice but to pursue.

“Traffic jam or toilet bowl?”

His father’s voice jerked him back to the present.

Mason turned from his office window.

People always said he was the spitting image of his dad.They were both tall, big-boned, Nordic-looking blonds. The main differencebetween them now was his father’s trimmed mustache. TheonetimeMason had dared to call it a porn ’stache,his dad hadn’t even cracked a smile. Folks who didn’t know them that well hadbranded them the Vikings, an inappropriate nickname if there ever was one,given it implied a greater degree of cooperation between them than they’d everbeen able to achieve.

“Excuse me?”

“Your excuse for being late.” PeteWortherstepped inside the office door he’d opened without knocking. He didn’t botherto close it behind him, probably so whoever was outside could hear the verbalabuse he was about to hurl at his son. “You going to give me some bullshitabout getting stuck in traffic or were you bent over a toilet bowl again?”

“Alarm didn’t go off.”

“Get a better alarm,dumbass. Youmissed the staff meeting.”

“I made the design meeting.”

“Like Igive a shit. I didn’t spenddecades building this company so I can babysit staff meetings. That’s your job.Now that you’re back.”

Came crawling back,his father had been close tosaying. But every now and then, even he showed some restraint.

“I apologize.”

Pete nodded. “I’m trying to care, promise.”

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