Free Sway by Kat Spears

know yet,” I said. “I’ll let you know when I do.”
    I stood and gathered my things, and Gray took the hint to leave. Joey didn’t say good-bye, just gave me a punch on the shoulder as she left for her next class.
    *   *   *
    Ken was waiting for me when I got to my locker, a throng of goofy freshman girls giggling and batting their eyelashes at him.
    â€œHey, Sway,” Ken said as I approached.
    His adoring throng broke up and started to move away as Ken leaned into the locker next to mine to talk to me. “You got anything for me yet?”
    I emptied my messenger bag into the top shelf of my locker to stall for time as I thought about what I would tell him. “I talked to her once. She’s a total nerd. Seems like she spends most of her time doing volunteer work.”
    â€œYeah?” he asked breathily. “She’s not dating anyone, though, right?”
    â€œI don’t know. We didn’t talk about it. Give me another week and I’ll have what you need. Though I’ll be honest, I’m not really sure why you’re wasting your time on this.”
    â€œYou wouldn’t understand,” he said. “She’s different from other girls. She wouldn’t use a guy for his money or get with another guy just to make you jealous, you know?”
    â€œI guess,” I said halfheartedly. “Pretty girls are a lot of work—poor return on investment most of the time.”
    Ken grinned. “You know it. But this one’s worth it. Believe me.”
    â€œYou’re a mess,” I said with a shake of my head. “You’d better get your emotions in check or this girl’s going to walk all over you.” I felt a lump in my throat as I said this, realizing my jaw was clenched tightly, and I wondered what the hell was wrong with me.

 
    NINE
    I took Heather to Paolo’s on Friday night and it was all work. Heather loved going to Paolo’s because (1) it was expensive and the place to be seen in our town on a weekend night, reservations always hard to get; and (2) the decor involved a lot of strategically placed mirrors so Heather could admire her own youth and beauty from many angles while she carefully avoided eating any of the food she ordered.
    Tonight she wore a black dress littered with rhinestones and multiple layers of flounces that clashed with my summer-weight wool jacket and slacks. Her blond hair was streaked with highlights, too artistically blended to be natural.
    Anthony, the owner of Paolo’s, greeted me with a smile and a handshake as I asked after his son, a shy, queer kid who had been bullied mercilessly his freshman year at Wakefield. I had someone who looked after the kid now, didn’t let anybody mess with him. Socially he was still a little off, but at least wasn’t taking regular beatings for it.
    â€œHe’s very good, Jesse, very good,” Anthony said with a broad smile. “I thank you for all you’ve done for him.”
    â€œI didn’t really do anything, Anthony. Justin’s a good kid. He just needed to make friends with the biggest guy in the school.”
    Anthony laughed and clapped a hand on my shoulder. “This is true, yes.”
    Anthony showed us to a circular booth and snapped our linen napkins with a flourish before laying them gently on our laps. He gave a slight bow and another smile before leaving us to the care of the waiter.
    â€œI was surprised when you called me,” Heather said once the waiter had taken our drink order.
    â€œWhy’s that?” I asked as I carefully kept my eyes from straying to the line below her jaw where her pancake makeup ended and her real skin tone began.
    â€œJust because,” she said, her voice close to a whine. “You haven’t called me in a long time. Even when we were seeing each other, you always acted like you didn’t care if I was coming or going.”
    â€œI’ve just been