Shine - Lauren Myracle [22]
“Holy Mother of Jesus,” Tommy said when he found his voice. His teammates laughed, and he laughed along with them. It was then that he must have felt my stare, or maybe he saw Patrick light up at the sight of me, because he turned, and his eyes met mine, and for a second his cockiness wavered. For a second, my ribs loosened and a small seed of hope took root.
“Cat! Hi!” Patrick said, loping over. The pants were brighter than the flames of a popping, crackling fire. They could have been on fire, they were so bright. Had they been this bright at the Sharing House?
“Patrick,” I said weakly. I sensed Tommy approaching, and in my head I said, Go away, Tommy. There’s nothing here to see. Nothing for you to mess with. I thought of Mama Sweetie, who claimed there was goodness in everything and everyone, and I prayed that was true, because Tommy seemed to be teetering on a taut, slender line, capable of falling in either direction.
Patrick struck a pose, throwing his chin high and flaring his hands out from his body. He was being silly.
“Do I look fabulous?” he asked.
My throat closed. Tommy was right behind him.
“You look like a bonbon,” Tommy drawled, making Patrick jump. “Isn’t that what those candies are called? The ones that come in all different colors and you suck on ‘em?”
Patrick blushed, no doubt from being startled, but also from being caught in a moment of play. Then he recovered, grinning as if Tommy meant no harm. Years of practice had made him a pro at laughing along with the kids who laughed at him.
“Not exactly what I was going for,” Patrick said. “But all right. I can work with that.” He turned to me. “What do you think, Cat? Bonbon?”
I stayed mute, because Patrick and I both knew that a bonbon was a chocolate, and not a sour ball or whatever candy Tommy was thinking of. Patrick had turned the joke around, so that the two of us could make fun of Tommy without Tommy realizing it.
My gaze skittered to Tommy. His pupils widened, then contracted, and my stomach dropped.
He knew. Oh God, he knew. Not about the bonbon, but that I was Patrick’s and not his, regardless of how he’d marked me that day in my living room.
If he had been teetering between good and evil, well, he wasn’t anymore.
“Yeah, Cat, what do you think?” Tommy said. His voice chilled me with its river stone smoothness. He leaned closer. “And don’t worry. I won’t tell.”
“Won’t tell what?” Patrick said.
I swayed, and in a flash, Patrick closed ranks, placing his hands firmly on my shoulders. He dropped his everything’s cool posture.
“Cat, what’s Tommy talking about?” he said.
I gave the tiniest shake of my head.
Tommy chuckled. He sauntered back to his buddies, and when he reached them, he said something that made them laugh. Then he glanced back at Patrick and called, “That’s all right, Candypants. You’ll get your turn one day.”
There was mud in my gut, thick and suffocating, and I pulled away from Patrick before he could ask any more questions.
All morning long, Tommy and his butt-faced football friends had fun with Patrick’s new nickname. “Outta the way, Candypants,” they said. And “Stay back, Candypants. My lollipop ain’t yours to suck.” And “Lose the fag pants, Candypants.”
Whenever I was within spitting distance of the hilarity, I caught Tommy watching for my reaction. Maybe he expected me to laugh and worship his cleverness, or at least pretend to. But I couldn’t. Fear did that to a person.
So Tommy raised the stakes. He was going to force a response from me no matter what, that was what I now thought. Tommy waited until I was at my locker, which was near the water fountain and the bathrooms, and then he and his friends escorted a protesting Patrick into the boys’ room. Too many minutes later, Tommy and his goons emerged, hooting and triumphant. Patrick was no longer with them, but those pants were.
I never learned exactly what happened in the bathroom, but I knew it was awful. How could it not