Page 13 of School Spirits
“Ah, a fellow holder of a cutesy name. So you’re new?”
I nodded, but before I could say anything else, the coach blew his whistle. At the sound, several kids darted forward and grabbed the rubber balls. Before the whistle had even faded, a tall boy on the other side of the gym took aim at Romy and threw.
The ball didn’t hit her glasses at least, but it did slam into her forearm with a meaty smack. Romy winced, rubbing the red mark already forming on her skin. As the tall boy laughed and high-fived one of his friends, Romy called out, “Yeah, nice one, Ben. You took out a ninety-pound myopic chick. Congratulations on your masculinity!” With that, she trudged over to the bleachers.
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a ball zooming at me, but I jerked back so that it sailed harmlessly by. Okay. I could do this. It was actually kind of similar to a training exercise Mom used to make me and Finley do. That involved dodging a much heavier ball made of leather, but the principle was the same. It was one of Mom’s favorite training exercises because it combined both strength and agility. Finley had always been better than me at the strength part, but agile? That I could do.
By now, kids were getting hit all over the place, and soon there were only five of us on our side of the gym, and six on the other side. One of those was the tall boy, Ben, who had hit Romy. I guess some girls would’ve thought he was cute, but all I could see was “psychotic jerk who goes out of his way to hit girls.”
His gaze locked with mine, and one corner of his mouth lifted in a smirk. Rearing back on one leg, like he was pitching a baseball, Ben hurled a red rubber ball directly at me. He threw it so hard that I actually staggered back a step when I caught it. But I did catch it. Ben’s smirk turned into a frown, I guess because he’d been looking forward to seeing me sprawled across the gym floor.
“Too bad, buddy,” I muttered under my breath. And with that, I threw the ball back at him.
I meant to hit him in the arm, the same place he’d hit Romy. I didn’t mean for it to hurt—okay, so maybe I meant for it to hurt alittlebit—but the second the ball was out of my hands I knew I’d thrown it too hard. The ball we trained with back home was made of boiled leather. It was heavy and required some real heft to get it through the air. This ball was rubber, but I’d put the same amount of force behind it.
It hit Ben’s shoulder and sent him skidding across the hardwood, his sneakers shrieking as he slid. Arms pinwheeling, he stumbled back against the far wall of the gym before finally collapsing in a heap.
For a second, everything was deadly quiet. Then the coach’s shrill whistle pierced the air. “You!” he barked, letting the whistle fall from his lips. “New girl! What’s your name?”
I was suddenly very aware of everyone in the gym staring at me. Crap.
Straightening my shoulders, I faced the coach. “Izzy Brannick.”
“Okay, Izzy Brannick, do you wanna tell me why you just knocked McCrary here on his butt?”
Confused, I glanced over at Ben. One of his friends was helping him up. His face was pale, and when the other boy touched his shoulder, Ben winced.
“I was just…playing the game,” I replied, and this time there was a little waver in my voice.
“He wasout,” the coach said, and when I just stared at him, he shook his head. “You caught his throw. So he was already out. There was no need to throw the ball at him, and certainly no need to—” He broke off to look at Ben, and his eyes went wide. “Dear God, did youdislocatehis shoulder?”
Ben did look a little…crooked.
“I didn’t mean to,” I said, but the coach wasn’t listening. “Get him to the nurse’s office,” he called to the boy beside Ben. Then his gaze swung back to me. “And you. You…just go run some laps. Until the end of the period.”
“Seriously, it was an accident—” I said, but Coach Lewis just pointed at the double doors. “FOOTBALL FIELD. LAPS.”
I heard a few giggles, and Romy was squinting at me, but basically everyone else in the gym was watching me with a combination of dislike and fear. Suddenly I saw myself through their eyes—all in black, my hair scraped back from my face—and I wondered how “fitting in” had ever seemed possible.
CHAPTER 8
The football field was right behind the gym, just down the hill. In addition to the running track circling it, the field also boasted several sets of rickety-looking bleachers. I jogged down the steps to the track, my breath coming out in small white clouds. My cheeks were still so hot, I was surprised they didn’t steam in the cold air.
The sun was bright overhead, and I realized with a start that it was only around nine in the morning. Not even lunch and I’d already nearly killed someone. What had Torin said about me going to a regular school? That I was a tiger and they were kittens? I didn’t feel much like a tiger, and that Ben kid hadn’t looked like a kitten, but still. He was the one going to the nurse’s office, and I was the one being punished.
Not that this was real punishment, I guess. Running, I could do.
The track around the football field wasn’t even a real track. It was more like a well-worn path, the packed dirt showing through the brown, dry grass. Glad I’d chosen sneakers instead of boots (although I was pretty quick in those, too), I set off.
The February air knifed through my lungs, every breath burning. But with each thump of my sneakers against the track, I started to feel a little more…okay, so “normal” probably isn’t the greatest word, but less crappy at least. Mom always said that exercise was the best cure for everything. Finn and I knew a mission hadn’t gone well when Mom came back to the compound and spent a few hours on the training field.
Man, what I wouldn’t have given for that field now. A couple of laps around a lame high school track was one thing, but kicking the heck out of a dummy or flinging some throwing stars would’ve felt a lot more satisfying.
Picking up my speed, I rounded the corner, and suddenly felt like someone was watching me. I glanced up, and sure enough, there was a guy in the bleachers. I only caught a few details as I jogged past—wavy black hair, sunglasses, something weird about his jacket—and when he lifted one hand to wave at me, I ignored him.
He was still there when I went around the second time, but now he was standing up, hands shoved into his pockets, shoulders up against the cold. “Weirdo,” I muttered. Okay, so maybe the girl who had just laid out a guy with a dodgeball had no room to talk, but still. EvenIknew it wasn’t socially acceptable to stare at people.
I pulled my hoodie up and kept running, faster now, and when I made the lap the third time, the bleachers were empty. Awesome. Maybe Watcher Dude had found some other girl to creep on.
