Free After Obsession by Carrie Jones, Steven E. Wedel Page B

you.”
    “It’s because of him, isn’t it? Because of that Indian?”
    “You said it again!”
    “Whatever. You like him. He’s faster than me, so you want to go out with him now, right? He’s just this giant stud.” His jaw clenches and all the happy-fun-singing Blake is gone. It’s just gone. It’s like something else is looking out of his eyes. He glares at me and spits out the words. “You are freaking insane.”
    “I’m not crazy!” I push myself farther away from him and lean against the car door, trying to stay calm. He’s hurting inside. That’s all. That’s why he’s saying these sorts of things that he’s never said before. That’s why his face is a twisted mask of rage. “What is wrong with you? You aren’t acting like you.”
    “Right. I’m the one who’s acting like a freak.” He snorts. For a second he’s silent. For a second nothing happens. For a second cars just pass on the street. Then he roars—literally roars—“It’s that kid! It’s that stupid Indian kid!” He slams himself out the driver’s side door. Two seconds pass and he’s on my side. My door flies open before I can figure out what’s happening. He’s yanking me out. “Out of my car. Out of my goddamn car.”
    My bag falls on the ground. “My seat belt.”
    It’s still attached. I’m tangled up. I’m a mess. I’m stuck in the car. He’s grabbing both my arms, yanking. I manage to reach over and unclick the belt. The moment I do, I’m tumbling out of the car sideways. I land on my hip and my elbow and my bag. Blake is standing above me and I’m sobbing out, “Don’t you kick me. Don’t you dare kick me.”
    His face suddenly changes. It loses its anger, just snaps into his normal face. His lips quiver for a second. His eyes widen and he says, “Oh my God. Oh … Aimee … I’m … I’m sorry. I don’t know why I did that. Aimee, I’m so—”
    He reaches his hand down to help me up. I’ve held that hand a million times, but I know I won’t ever again.
    “Don’t touch me,” I snap, holding on to my anger so I can stop crying. “Don’t.”
    The bus goes by. I swear eight hundred million people look out the windows at us. The one face I recognize for sure is Courtney’s. She smiles. They are all smiling.
    I cringe and haul myself up. My knee barely holds my weight, wiggling, trying to find its place. Dirt marks my jeans, smeared across the side of my leg.
    “Aimee. I’m sorry. I was just so mad—” Blake starts. “I don’t know what I was doing. I—I can’t believe I just did that. Aim—I’m—I’m so—I don’t know what’s wrong with me lately—”
    I raise my hand to stop him talking. My shoulder aches. “Don’t.”
    I haul my bag up and start walking. Each step sends a knife of sorrow-pain through my leg and right into the core of me. I go around him, putting one foot in front of the other, ignoring the trash that’s on the shoulder of the road, the old McDonald’s bag, the Ziploc sandwich bag, the newspaper, wet and moldy and discarded. I keep walking to school, limping, hurting, but that’s all. It’s over. I’m okay. I am perfectly okay.
    Blake has never been like this before. He’s always been a tiny bit competitive, but he’s never been jealous, never been racist or sexist. He’s the kind of guy who wants to succeed, win some running awards, go to college, sing, be happy. He was nice. He was good. Everyone knows that. In a town like this everyone knows everything, really, and … I swear, I’m just walking down the hall before first period and people are already whispering about what happened with Blake and me on the side of the road. Their voices come at me from all sides, girls, guys, high, low, worried, know-it-all.
    “He just hauled off on her … totally not like Blake. Everyone’s so freaking pissy lately—”
    “She and Blake broke up.”
    “Her mom was totally psycho. I heard she—”
    “What crap. You know it’s a rumor. They’d never break