Free Capture the World by R. K. Ryals Page B

shrugs. “Maybe.” Hurt laces her tone.
     
    I edge closer. “Are you mad because I let him meet her?”
     
    “No, I’m just worried about you. Matthew has a reputation and not all of it is stellar.” She holds my gaze. “Word is: he uses his deafness to get close to girls. Even used it to get his spot on the team.”
     
    I don’t believe that for a second. I may not be a social butterfly, but I’ve seen him play. The girl thing though?
     
    I gape at her. “That’s harsh. I’ve never heard any of that.”
     
    “Because you don’t let yourself hear anything!” she fumes. “Hell, you didn’t even know he had a hearing problem until recently and that’s common knowledge. You live in your own world, Reagan. So, maybe he’s using you, too, huh? Get in with the emotionally detached girl using the one tool available to him he knows she’ll fall for.”
     
    Standing up, Gracie stuffs the lunch she’s barely touched back into her bag. “Don’t be that girl. The one who wants to take care of the damaged guy. You’re better than that, and there’s a long line of girls waiting for him. You really want to be one of them? It’s not worth it.”
     
    “He’s not damaged!” I call out to her retreating back.
     
    Is he?
     
     
     
    WHEN I WAS five years old, I had life completely figured out. When I grew up, I was going to do three things: 1) Marry my father. This one was very important because my dad was the best man ever. Better than anyone, and according to Mom, he was also the best husband. So it just made sense. 2) I was going to fly. I’m not sure why I thought this was logical, but to my five-year-old mind, it was everything . 3) I was never going to be lonely. I was going to have a whole world full of friends. Everywhere, from the South Pole to the North Pole. Because internet, and because Mom used to take me online to all of the really cool websites to play Disney games and look up fairy worlds.
     
    Twelve years later, I’ve learned that failure is a real thing, death is always imminent, there are always two sides to a story, and that loneliness is what you make it.
     
    In retrospect, that’s why I didn’t believe Gracie. A friendship with Matthew may not be the best idea, but I had been the brunt of too many rumors to start believing in hearsay about someone else.
     
    Matthew gives me a half smile when I walk into history—the only class outside of chemistry we share together—and I offer him the barest of nods.
     
    I’m in the front of the room, and he’s in the back.
     
    Mrs. Powell—seriously the coolest teacher in our school—reclines against her desk, flipping casually through a book she’s barely reading, her dark skin offset by a bright yellow pantsuit. Even though she doesn’t wear glasses, she shoves a pair into her dreadlocked hair, her gaze passing over the room. “I hope you guys—”
     
    “And girls,” Talia Banks inserts next to me.
     
    Mrs. Powell salutes her. “Better to let me finish, Ms. Banks.” She returns to the class. “I hope you guys and girls are ready to make history because I’ve got a project for you.”
     
    Collective groan.
     
    “An individual project. No groups.”
     
    Less groans.
     
    Picking up a stack of papers, Mrs. Powell places them on the first desk: Talia’s.
     
    Taking one, Talia passes them back.
     
    “This is going to be an outside project due after the new year, so I don’t want to see you doing this in here unless you have some free time.”
     
    The stack makes it to me, and I take a sheet, scanning the page. One sentence in big, bold, capital print sits slashed across an empty half page.
     
     
     
    WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?
     
     
     
    “This is a waste of paper,” Jazz Martin calls out.
     
    Mrs. Powell ignores her. “Inspired by the television show of the same name because I’m a veritable couch potato—”
     
    “Couldn’t we do something inspired by The Walking Dead ?” Carl cuts in.
     
    Collective