Crew

  "What happened?" Cross stepped between us, grabbing my hand. "Roy said you might need help."

  "We had a situation. It looks bad on the security tapes."

  Cross let go. "Got it. Go." He nodded after Jordan, who was already down the hall.

  "What are you going to do?"

  "You tell him," Jordan said to me. "I'm going to start."

  "We gotta get that tape before they see it," I explained. Cross settled next to me and moved to catch Jordan.

  "What are you saying?" I could hear the secretary, Mrs. Cooke, asking as we opened the door to the office.

  The security cameras were kept in a locked cupboard near her desk. No one was paid to watch them while they were rolling, so chances were good that no one would see the incident until they were notified of it. If it came down to us versus the teacher, the school would ask the other students in the classroom what had happened. They'd likely side with us. Most did. Narcs were pieces of shit. It was a universal rule.

  Race sat in one seat in the office. Two other students sat across from him, a few seats down.

  "I'm telling you, Marjorie," Jordan said, nodding seriously. "Call the security staff. There was a fight in one of the PE classes. I heard it myself."

  "What?" She reached for her keys, fumbling through them and wheeling her chair over to the security cameras.

  "You don't have time! Get the security staff." Jordan pointed down the hallway. "You know they're back there, taking their morning break. Go get them, Miss Marjorie. Get them! They need help."

  Cross and I shared a look, holding back grins.

  Marjorie Cooke was Mrs. Marjorie Cooke, but since his first day freshman year, Jordan had always called her Miss Marjorie. She melted every time.

  Well," she said under her breath, patting her hair. She cleared her throat. "I don't know." She bit her lip, palming the keys.

  "Fine." Jordan leaned back, stepping away from the desk, and shrugged. "But it's on you. Who knows who the Ryerson crew is beating up."

  "Ryerson crew?!" She shot to her feet. "This is crew-related?"

  "Of course it is. I wouldn't be here otherwise."

  She went past me, and I stepped into her. My fingers grazed hers.

  She started to snap at me, but when she saw who I was, she gave me a distracted smile. "Oh, Bren, honey. You don't look so good." Then she straightened her shirt, smoothing her collar.

  "Go, Miss Marjorie!"

  She gave Jordan a look before hurrying down the hallway. "You should've said this was crew-related from the beginning."

  And as she hurried to the break room, I scurried behind her desk, holding her keys.

  Jordan smirked down at me, folding his arms.

  I found the right key and unlocked the cabinet as Jordan and Cross moved so they were blocking the view of Mrs. Cooke's desk, yet still standing casually, as if they were waiting for her to come back.

  "Hurry," Jordan said.

  I rewound the tape, effectively deleting our altercation. It would start recording again where I let it go, but we wouldn't be in it. After I was done, I stood up, satisfied.

  "It's not totally erased."

  Jordan and I looked over at Race. He had leaned forward, a set look on his face.

  "You're helping again?" I asked.

  Race looked between us before letting out some air and standing up. "Move back."

  I did, and he came around the desk.

  Race hit a bunch of buttons, ones I hadn't known were there, and a couple seconds later, all of the screens went blue. He backed up, closing the cupboard and relocking it. "You have to erase everything, otherwise there's a memory storage thing. It's gone now."

  Jordan gave him a nod. "Thank you." He motioned to Cross and me. "Let's go."

  "Coming." I started out behind him, but turned back.

  Cross was right behind me, and we both looked back at Race.

  He'd dropped the keys back on the desk and returned to his chair. His gaze flicked up to us, and this time, I felt like I saw the real guy in there. There was sadness.

  He sat alone in that chair, and it seemed a metaphor for his life. He was alone.

  Cross must've thought the same because he dipped his head in a nod. "Thanks, man."

  Race dipped his head down, giving us a wave. "See you guys later."

  Cross nodded back in acknowledgement, and we stepped out of the office just as a woman came in--Race's mom. I recognized her right away. She had his same round face, the same pinched nose, and eyes a little too close. But I saw her sadness too.

  She went in behind us, and we heard her say, "Race, honey."

  "Hey, Mom."

  Cross touched my back, a silent urge to keep going.

  The security guys would go to the fields. They'd find no one, figure it was nothing, and return to their break. No one would think anything. No one would say a word.

  We'd be fine. Knowing that, some pressure lifted from my shoulders.

  Then Cross said, "I know what Race said the other night, but he still likes you."

  His words stopped me.

  Maybe. Jordan had gone ahead, gone back to our class, so it was just Cross and me in that hall. For a moment, we had a pocket of privacy at school, and I felt emotions flare up in me that I needed to acknowledge.

  There could've been a Race and me. In another year, another school, another time. But not today. Not this year. Not at this school. Not in this hallway.

  Cross was worried about Race. I could see it in his eyes.

  I should've stopped. I should've stopped him, stopped me, stopped everything.

  But I didn't want to.

  I looked him right in the face, and I didn't flinch when I said, "It doesn't matter now."

  I stared at the guy I had feelings for.

  Dinner. 8 tonight. Pizzeria.

  I stared at the text Channing sent me, but I couldn't believe it. I re-read it. Still there. I read it a third time. Nope. It wasn't changing. I even went letter by letter to make sure.

  According to this text--if it was sent by my brother, if someone hadn't stolen his phone or one of his crew guys wasn't playing a prank--he wanted to meet me at one of the only normal hangouts in Roussou.

  We had the springs not far away. And there was Manny's in Fallen Crest. After that, to each their own. We had Jordan's warehouse. The Ryerson crew hung out at Alex's house.

  But the Pizzeria was the only local public option, and it was mostly filled up with team events or family dinners. The basement had a pool table, foosball, and an air hockey machine. There were a few other machines too. I think they had a dance-hop. Those weren't my scene.

  I texted back. Really?

  Really. Meet me there. Moose is coming.

  I thumbed back, What's my middle name?

  Rayna. Loser. This is your brother. I'm not fucking around.

  Okay. So it was him.

  I had to make sure.

  Another buzz. See you there. Invite whoever.

  That perked me up. I was almost smiling when I put my phone away.

  Cross was waiting for me at our lockers, and seeing my face, he stepped backward. "Who are you? What have you done with my best friend?"

  "Lame. Get a new line."

  He laughed. "I will." He nodded to where I'd put my phone. "Your brother?"

  "Yeah," I told him. "You want to come?"

  Suspicion clouded his face. He tilted his head to the side. "You sure? Jordan and Z will be pissed if they aren't invited."

  I shrugged. "So invite them."

  "Yeah?"

  I nodded. I'd been down with the whole "the more the merrier" attitude when it came to my brother's dinners. If he was asking for me to invite them, then hell to the yes. I wasn't going to pass that up. Besides, I was heading into foreign territory. I didn't hang out at the Pizzeria.

  It could be the new cheerleading headquarters for all I knew.

  That evening I discovered I was partially right.

  We walked in after hanging
out at Jordan's for most of the afternoon, and I saw Sunday Barnes, Monica, and a whole other table full of them. I recognized Tabatha Sweets. She was considered the top of the top on the popularity charts for the girls in our grade.

  They took up the entire back section of the Pizzeria, with the other tables full of some of the popular athletes too. All were Normals.

  I scanned for Taz, but she wasn't here.

  Wait. Nope.

  Her head popped up from the back table, and seeing us, her eyes widened.

  "Bren? Cross?"

  Jordan and Zellman were behind us so I moved aside. At her question, that entire section had quieted and turned to take us in.

  "Oh, hell yeah." Zellman pushed past us, beelining for their table.

  Sunday sat with her elbows on the table. Her hands shielded her eyes as she stared down at the tablecloth. Monica's head was pushed close to hers. They were whispering.

  Z didn't care.

  A small partition blocked off that section from the rest of the place, but he hopped right over it and came around their table, ignoring everyone else as he dropped into Taz's empty seat. He draped his arm around Sunday's shoulders and pushed his head in too, as if conspiring with the other two.

  Sunday stiffened, but she didn't push him away. He only moved closer.

  Monica backed away, watching them a moment before shrugging and turning to watch us with everyone else. A few of the athlete guys were frowning at Z.

  I had to wonder how they always handled the guys. Until this year, Monica was usually around Cross. Sunday and Zellman had their thing. And I knew Jordan had slept with half those girls.

  Cross had slept with the other half in between when he was seeing Monica, or whatever they had been doing.

  Those guys would usually have ruled the school. But not in Roussou. The jocks/athletes/populars were almost second-class here, though they liked to walk around with the same swagger I'd seen from popular guys at other schools. They still had the cocky attitude, just nothing to back it up, at least against the crew guys.

  I wondered if the Normals had their own social classes, with a hierarchy and rules? They must've.

  Cross nudged me. "Where do you want to sit?"

  The hostess had been asking me, her eyes darting between us as she bit her lip. She held three menus in her hands, tucked in front of her body, and they were shaking, just a little.

  The girl was scared of us.

  I felt bad for her, because she didn't look like one of the girls who was friends with the Sunday Barnes' of the world.

  Wait...

  I looked more closely at her. "You look familiar."

  She blushed, tucking a strand of her almost-white hair behind her ear. She was thin almost the point of seeming frail. "I work at Manny's too. I'm A--"

  "Ava." I wasn't around Manny's that much, but I was there enough to have seen her. Quite a bit. "You work here too?"

  She nodded, rotating the menus so the one on top was in the back. She repeated the motion. She kept doing it as she answered, "Yes. I have bills, you know?" A shy smile. Her eyes skirted to Cross, and her face warmed before she looked down again. "Did you want to sit near the back section? With your friends?"

  "No." God, no. "There are two more coming, so put us at a table where you can sit six or seven comfortably," I told her. "Actually, Moose counts as two. Make it eight people comfortably."

  Cross gestured to an emptier section across the room. "How about over there?"

  "Sure." Ava grabbed a few more menus and came out from behind the hostess stand. "Follow me."

  She led us toward the table.

  Jordan held up a hand. "Yo, Z. You coming?"

  "Yeah, yeah." Z went right back to whispering to Sunday, who seemed to be melting with each word he said. She dissolved into a sighing mess before our eyes.

  We were passing by their section when suddenly Tabatha Sweets stood up. Her chair scraped against the floor, and her hands found her hips. She lifted her head, an alluring smile on her face. Brushing her hair back, she called, "Hey. Can some of us come too?"

  Jordan stopped in his tracks, staring right at her.

  Unblinking, her gaze roamed from him to Cross, to me, narrowing slightly, and then past me to where Ava had stopped to see what was going on.

  "What do you say?" she called again.

  I didn't know Tabatha Sweets that well. I knew she was their leader, but that was about it. She led the first tier. I'd never heard rumors that she was mean, that she was a bully, that she was easy, that she was stuck-up. Nothing. She was just the top. That's how Taz always put it.

  She smiled at Cross. "Hi, Cross."

  He wasn't even looking at her. He was staring right at me, and he smirked, as if reading my mind.

  I refused to let anything show, but I asked, "Jordan? Did you want to sit with them?"

  My tone was casual, not friendly, but not stiff.

  He flashed me a grin, shaking his head. "Nah. I'm good. But maybe another night, Sweets?" He gave her a smirk.

  "Yeah." Her smile remained, but it tightened. "Maybe." Her eyes darted to Cross again. She didn't say anything else, but it looked like she wanted to.

  Cross nodded to Ava. "Sorry about that. We'll follow you."

  We sat in the corner.

  A different server brought over water, then soda. We had just gotten our second round of drinks when a hush fell over the Pizzeria.

  I didn't need to look up to know why.

  My brother had arrived.

  I kept my eyes glued to the menu, not needing to see the sick worship Channing always received. I'd read the same sentence ten times before Channing and Moose got to our table.

  "Hey, guys." Channing moved around, taking the empty seat on my left. He faced the rest of the restaurant, his back to the window. Moose sat next to him.

  I'd been right. He pushed back one of the extra chairs and moved his over to take all the space. His massive shoulders hunched forward, but not in a sheepish way. He was trying to get comfortable, if that was possible. Moose could've told me he ate ostrich eggs as a snack, and I would've believed him. (Though, I don't support that.) "Bren." He gave me a friendly smile.

  "Hi."

  Channing had been watching me. I ignored him, and he sighed. "Really?" he asked under his breath.

  Zellman chose now to make his entrance. He literally jumped into the seat beside Moose, leapfrogging over the back of the chair as he clamped a hand around Moose's bicep. "I think this is as big as my head. What's your secret?" Z's grin was lopsided. "Vegan organic egg whites for every single meal of your life and for a midnight snack?"

  Moose barked out a laugh, grabbed Zellman, and pulled him in for a headlock. "Let's see if it is." He flexed, his bicep pushing against Z's face.

  Jordan's eyes got big. "Dude. It is. Oh my God. Look. Side by side, it's the same size." He pulled his phone out and snapped a picture.

  "No way." Z grabbed for it, showing Moose.

  And that was just the start. Z wanted to see what else matched the size of Moose's bicep.

  As they kept taking photos, I began to believe they were going to do a whole collage. Jordan insisted he didn't know what Pinterest was, but I didn't believe him.

  "You guys come in here a lot?"

  Channing surprised everyone with that question.

  The bicep-comparison photo session was paused.

  Jordan lowered his phone and shrugged. "I guess. I don't know. It's okay."

  Z propped his elbows on the table, a rapt expression raising his eyebrows. "Why? Are you getting into the pizza business?"

  But Channing just leaned back in his seat. "I don't know."

  "Really?" Z leaned over the table.

  "Dude. That'd be amazing." Jordan held up a fist to Z, who met it with his own.

  "You serious?" Moose asked.

  Channing put his hand on the back of my chair. I wasn't looking at him, but he sounded bemused. "Maybe. It'd be an interesting business idea, don't you think
?"

  Moose shook his head. "Scratch is going to go ape-shit."

  "Why?" Channing let go of my chair and pulled up close to the table again. "It wouldn't compete with the bar."

  "Because you're already hardly ever there. Scratch says he's been running the whole thing by himself."

  I looked up at that. "Really?" I turned to my brother. "Don't take our cousin for granted. It's not fair if he's the only one handling the bar."

  The guys got all quiet.

  I knew why. Everyone probably did.

  It was rare for Channing to be questioned.

  And my brother wasn't disturbed. He shrugged, picking up a water. He grinned at me, winking. "You worried about me, Bren? Don't want me to isolate myself?"

  I flushed. Asshole. He was taking a shot at me.

  I twisted forward so fast, my chair scraped against the floor. "Never mind. Do what you want."

  I grabbed my water too, sipping through the straw until half of it was gone.

  Conversation died, and I knew it was my fault. I should've let the guys pepper Channing with questions. I should've just kept my mouth shut, but I hadn't. And now it was awkward.

  "I'm sorry." Channing's words were soft.

  I tensed, but didn't turn toward him.

  "I didn't mean that how it came out," he added. "Scratch has been busting my balls for being too involved with things going on. That was the reason for the bad joke."

  Moose snorted. "You should never joke, Chan. Ever. You're the worst funniest person I know."

  "Worst funniest?" I could hear my brother smiling. "We doing this same joke? Let me say my part. 'You need to go to college, Moose. Get a real education.'"

  "Ha! Says the guy who barely finished high school." Moose slapped a hand on the table.

  "Agh!" The server had approached, her order pad in hand. She jerked at the sound, and the pad went flying. It landed in front of Zellman, who started cracking up.

  "Oh. Oh my gosh!" She scrambled for it, but Z was already reading from it.

  "Look, guys." He pointed at Jordan. "You're 'tl gy'." He pointed to himself. "I must be 'wrd gy." He twisted around in his chair. "Is that for weird or word? Because I'll own up to both. Or, no. Wait." He plucked the pencil from her hand and crossed out something on the pad, scribbling another word. "There. I'll be 'fny gy.' Funny guy. That's my role generally."

  Jordan snorted, even Cross was grinning.

  A softness zinged me and I said, "We know you have layers, Z. You just hide them better than everyone."

  Everyone stilled around the table.

  Jordan and Cross watched Z for his reaction. My brother and Moose fell silent.