Sweet Blood of Mine

Page 27

Mr. Barnes smiled. "Very good." He glared at me. "Go to class before I get even more creative with your punishment."
I shrugged and walked down the hall. As I passed the corner of the senior lockers hallway, a hand reached out and jerked me around the corner. Elyssa slammed me against the lockers with a bang.
"Ow!" I said, rubbing my head.
She glared at me with steel in her eyes. "You have to get out of this punishment."
"I'm really tired of people glaring at me today."
"Shut up and listen to me. You can't go through with this."
"What do you care? I'm a monster, remember?"
"You may not be human, but those football players are. You don't understand what will happen if you harm them and the wrong agents find out."
"If I'm not human, what the hell am I?" I wanted to grab her by the shoulders but would probably pull back bloody stumps if I did.
She rolled her eyes and sighed. "I honestly can't believe nobody's told you."
"Then freaking tell me and stop being so damned mean and mysterious!"
She blushed as if embarrassed. "I—I don't know exactly what you are. I only know your type."
"Are you serious? You hate my guts because I'm a monster but you don't even know what I am?"
Her eyes narrowed with dangerous intent. "You're a leech. A parasite that feeds on others to survive. That much I know. If I had to guess, I'd say you were a fader or a vamprey. They look human but they're creatures of the Overworld."
"The Overworld?" I'd heard that world once before, from Stacey.
"My God, how have you survived so far?"
"Why do you care? I thought you wanted me dead." I rubbed my now-healed throat. It didn't hurt, but my heart pounded painfully at the thought of what she'd done and what she'd promised to do. She looked away. "You don't understand. I don't expect you to. Maybe you didn't try to trick me into loving you but—"
"Wait, so you do love me?" I asked, hope welling in my heart.
She growled and pounded her fist into a locker, leaving a fist-shaped dent. "Stop it, Justin. Stop it!"
I grabbed her shoulders. "Look at me and tell me you don't love me," I said. "Do it and I'll never bother you again."
"I don't love you," she mumbled.
"Look at me when you say it!"
She turned to me, her eyes hard but dull and faded. "I don't love you."
I let her go. My heart turned to lead, the heavy lump sagging in my chest. "Well, if there are agents out there looking to kill me, I guess it would be a mercy."
I turned to leave. Her hand gripped my shoulder.
"Please listen to me, Justin."
I pushed her hand away but didn't turn to face her. I couldn't let her see the tears welling in my eyes. "Why? What does it matter?"
"It just does. I—I don't want to see you hurt."
I took a deep shuddering breath. "You're not doing a very good job of it." I walked away and left her standing there.
Chapter 19
It took longer than I'd expected to put on a football uniform but not as long as it had taken the outfitter to find one that would fit me. He'd measured me at five feet, eight inches and a hundred-eighty pounds which came as a surprise to me since I'd been five feet, six inches and a hundred-seventy pounds of pure lard just a few weeks ago. Most of the football players were over six feet tall and their gear made them appear even bigger. I looked like a munchkin in a forest of lumbering giants.
"Good luck," said the outfitter with a dubious expression on his face. He was a skinny guy and friendlier than I'd expected. He probably planned to forward my measurements on to the undertaker.
I wondered if I died if I would turn to dust and freak everyone out. I'd searched for "vamprey" and "fader" last night after Elyssa's revelation about what she thought I was. Both of the supernatural creatures had abilities similar to mine. Both were also supposed to be dark, evil creatures. I didn't want to be either. I wanted to be a nice supernatural guy, not a jackass.
Coach Burgundy yelled at me the moment I stepped onto the field for practice, shaking me from my thoughts. "Get your ass over here, Case!" He was a short stout man with a porn 'stache, beer-keg belly, and a large purple-veined nose. How a man of his physique could coach football made no sense. Then again, maybe our one-and-three record made total sense.
The offensive coordinator, Coach Wise, lived up to his title and coordinated offensive obscenities which he hurled at me while urging me to increase the pace of my hell-bound posterior. He was short, fat, and ruddy with a shaved head. I gave him an offended look then trotted over to Coach Burgundy.
"Show us what you got, kid," Burgundy said and pointed to a long row of tires.
"Do I pick them up?" I asked. A vague memory of having seen these before rattled in the nearly empty football database stored in my brain, but I wasn't sure what the deal was. Maybe I need to roll them somewhere.
Laughter rose from the assembled football players.
"Retard," someone said.
"You little idiot, you run through them," Coach Wise screamed.
I ran at them. My foot caught on the first one and I smacked face-first onto a tire. Guffaws and loud laughter echoed across the field. My face burned with humiliation. I could beat the tar out of those idiots but I couldn't run across some stupid tires? I stood up, brushed myself off, and started over. This time I took it slower. I focused on my feet. My eyes roved ahead and picked out the pattern. My feet got the message and painstakingly made it the rest of the way through without tripping me up. Still, I'd done it at sub-turtle speed. Coach Wise yelled at me to turn around and come back faster.
I think he just wanted me to bust my butt again. I came back a little faster, almost losing it on a row of larger tires in the middle, but eventually made it. Nathan, huge and intimidating in his uniform stood watching, his helmet tucked under his arm. He scowled when I made it across unscathed. His swollen, plum-colored nose was covered in fewer bandages. I couldn't believe he was practicing. I guess his nose hadn't been broken, just sprained.
"Can't wait for blocking practice, Case. I'm gonna show you pain."
I glanced at his nose. "I think you already are showing me pain."
A chorus of disdain and hoots rose from the players. Some of them razzed Nathan while others clearly expected to see me carted to the morgue by the end of practice.
The next exercise consisted of Coach Wise standing atop a contraption with skids on the bottom and large pads on the side. It seemed to belong on a ski slope, not a grassy field. Thankfully, I didn't have to go first this time. I watched players ram their shoulder pads against it, pushing the thing while Coach Wise stood on a platform on the other side and hurled insults questioning their sexual preferences, parental lineage, and physical strength. If this was what passed for motivational talk in football, it was no wonder jackasses like Nathan seemed to abound in the sport.
"Case, Meyers, Riggs, Heyward, get your butts out here," Coach Wise said in his lovely mellifluous voice.
Three other guys trotted out with me. Coach Wise barked out some commands. We lined up. He blew the whistle. We charged the sled. I rammed into it with my shoulder and pushed for all I was worth. Coach Wise blew his whistle like a maniacal traffic cop. I stopped and looked around, confused. We'd pushed the sled about twenty yards. Correction: I'd pushed it. The other three guys were picking themselves up out of the dirt. Apparently, I'd pushed it so fast that they'd fallen flat on their faces.
"What the hell is wrong with you, Case?" Coach Wise said, his entire head glowing scarlet. "You have to time it with the team, you moron."
"Sorry."
We turned the sled around and lined up again. This time I paced myself and gave only a little effort so the others could keep up. After several more inane exercises, Wise divided us into offense and defense. Nathan lined up on the defensive line. His two buddies, Adam and Steve, took positions just behind the line. Apparently they really were linebackers.
Coach Wise lined me up in what I learned was the tight end position. Nathan walked over and said something to him. They both sniggered like little kids, whispering back and forth. I knew I wasn't in for a good time. Nobody was lined up directly across from me, but Steve, who hovered just behind the defensive line, graced me with a sneer. Super strength or not, these guys knew what they were doing and they had mass on me. They could cause me some pain if they hit me just right.
We huddled around the quarterback.
"Tight dump on three," he said. He grabbed my practice jersey. "That means you."
"I have to drop a deuce on the count of three?"
"No, you dork. Run out about ten feet and cut straight left. Look for the ball right when you cross the middle."
I remembered seeing a football game where some guy got absolutely clobbered trying to catch a ball across the middle. My future as a target practice dummy was clear. I sighed and took my position.
The quarterback started his call. "Green forty-five! Green forty-five! Hut. Hut. Hut!"
Both lines exploded into action. I hesitated. Jetted forward a few steps. Cut left. Made a mad dash across the middle. My senses spiked. Every color brightened. Every breath and creak of equipment in my ears coordinated sounds with a location. Other players appeared to slow a fraction—or perhaps my brain was speeding up. Adam's cleats kicked up dirt as he rushed me from my left. Nathan was turning, his eyes locking onto the target, namely, me. Steve approached from behind. The quarterback cocked his arm back. His arm catapulted forward. The ball rocketed toward a point feet away where I would meet the football and my body would meet Nathan and friends. According to my calculations, I would catch the ball about a split second before Nathan and Adam pounded me from the front and Steve rammed me from behind.
I caught the ball. Lowered my shoulders and clenched my teeth. Plowed into Nathan and Adam. They were heavy guys and dense with muscle, not to mention their bone-filled heads. I was lower to the ground, though, and a hell of a lot stronger. Plus, I was ready for them. It felt like I'd punched through a brick wall, but I came out the other side and ran twenty yards before I tripped over my own feet and plowed a furrow through the grass with my facemask.