Read Online Cheated by Patrick Jones - Free Book Online

topic.
    â€œI got a week’s detention, plus I’ve got to rewrite the paper,” Brody said.
    â€œSorry, man, you know it’s my fault. If I would have told you I wouldn’t write it for you, then none of this—” I started, but Brody was having none of it.
    â€œDamn Kirby’s fault, not yours or mine. She needs to get a life. So I cheated. If she wants to catch cheaters, she should spend time there.” Brody pointed at the football field.
    â€œI guess,” I said. I knew I wasn’t to blame, but I was drowning in guilt anyway.
    â€œSee you tonight,” Brody said, then started to walk away.
    â€œSix forty-five, right?” I reminded Brody, knowing I’d end up waiting for him regardless.
    â€œNo, Mick, 151!” Brody’s laugh was almost as loud as the crowd boarding the bus.
    I waited until the Whitney World got on before I entered the bus. I kept my eyes on the floor, looking past gum wrappers and lost pencils, toward the seat behind Whitney. I slipped in easily, like I belonged. Whitney never blinked; she was busy talking with Shelby. I put my headphones on, so it looked like I was listening to music rather than listening in on them.
    When I heard Whitney mention math, I treated it like Brody used to treat a fumble.
    â€œWhen’s the next test in math?” I asked her.
    â€œNext week, I think.” She sounded unsure of herself, or maybe she was unsure of me.
    â€œDo you study a lot for that class?” I said, then leaned forward. I was making a big show of removing the headphones.
    â€œI guess.” Whitney’s tone sounded more annoyed than embarrassed. I wanted to say,
Look, I just don’t know how to talk to girls, but I’m really a nice guy
. But then I imagined her response:
From what I heard, you know very little about girls, and have little to do it with
.
    â€œIt helps if you look at the board in class sometimes,” Shelby said, then giggled. And I knew I was busted. I didn’t say anything but my blushing face acted as my confession.
    â€œMaybe,” I mumbled, then stood up and rambled toward the back of the bus feeling like everyone was staring at me: my humiliation seemed total as Shelby whispered something to Whitney, who laughed and then turned to the girl next to her. It was a tidal wave of embarrassment washing over me. The bus lurched forward as I walked against inertia to seek out Dave Wilson. Wilson was back in the same place I’d left him this morning, face against the glass. I kicked his seat gently.
    â€œWhat?” Dave said, eyes still closed, obviously aware of my presence, no doubt because of the smell. I wondered if it was the stink from not showering after gym or from the shit that Shelby dumped on me. My odor was mysterious; Dave Wilson’s was obvious stoner.
    â€œYou got a smoke?” I asked, trying to retain some sense of cool self.
    â€œSure, dude,” Dave said as he opened his eyes.
    â€œI owe you.”
    â€œI’ll put it in my book,” Dave said, then laughed. A stoner laugh. Wilson reached into his long trench coat and pulled out a pack of unfiltered Camels. He handed me a single stick.
    â€œThanks.” I put the smoke behind my ear, then moved back up near the front of the bus. I didn’t even stop to look at Whitney—shouldn’t I be looking at the board?—and waited for the next stop, which happened to be at WindGate. Ibreathed a smoke-free sigh of relief that Roxanne wasn’t on the bus as I exited with a few others. I watched the trailer parkers head toward their tiny homes, then watched the bus with the Whitney World pull away toward my neighborhood’s nice houses. Standing alone by the side of the road, I waited until the bus was out of sight before I pulled out my white lighter, a gift from Brody for my birthday. I knew Brody loved the lighter, so it really was about the thought, not the thing itself. Ex-Dad gave me a bunch of