Some Boys

by Patty Blount

  “Security hauled him inside while you were out.” Brandon Dellerman answered with a jerk of his thumb toward the building.

  I drew myself up to my full height, all six feet three inches of it. “I wasn’t out. I was just, uh, catching my breath.”

  Miss Murphy’s smirk warned me she didn’t buy it.

  “Come on. Nurse’s office is this way.”

  Brandon put out an arm, tried to steady me. I took a step, stopped, waited for him to let go.

  “Uh, you sure you’re okay?”

  I grinned down at him. He was like a foot shorter than me. Even if I wasn’t okay, I doubted he’d survive the 220-pound impact if I fell on him.

  “I should be asking you that.”

  He let go of me, shrugged, turned red. “I’m okay. Thanks. For helping and stuff. I’m, uh, Brandon. Brandon Dellerman.”

  “Yeah, hi. Daniel. Dan.”

  Liar.

  Kenny, it’s not a lie. That’s my name now.

  You keep telling yourself that, Danielle.

  I ignored Kenny. I ignored Miss Murphy, but she was determined to obey the principal’s order. As she led me down the first corridor, she shot me a look so cold I was willing to bet it could freeze a nuclear explosion mid-mushroom cloud and still have enough power left over for the fires of hell.

  In my mind, Kenny gasped. I braced for his usual spiteful comment, but it never came. That was a first—a profound moment in our history. Because Kenny exists purely to torment me, letting an opportunity go could only mean one thing. He had bigger, more painful retribution planned for later.

  Inside the nurse’s office, I was anxious to be rid of my escorts so I could talk to Kenny and manage the situation. “Well, we’re here.” I didn’t bother to thank Miss Murphy and quickly turned to Brandon. “Brandon, watch your back. That Jeff Dean guy is dangerous.”

  The office looked the same as all of the other nurse’s offices at all the other schools I’d attended. Posters hung on every wall, warning me to “Drive Responsibly,” “Say No to Drugs,” and “Pause to Think” before I acted. Another one said this was a “Bully-Free Zone.”

  I paused to appreciate the irony.

  Brandon ducked his head, shaking strands of greasy, colorless hair in front of his eyes, but I could see the fear in them and something else. Something that looked like defeat.

  “If you want, I’ll give you a ride home after school. Just in case.”

  Ah, ah, ah. Kenny waved a finger in my head. Did you forget? You’re not allowed to be alone with kids, remember?

  I gritted my teeth and wished I could forget. Even for just a minute.

  Brandon’s face paled, his acne standing out in sharp relief. “I’ll have my car tomorrow.”

  I blinked. I figured Brandon for a freshman, but he was at least a junior if he had a car. “Offer’s good anytime.”

  Brandon stared at me, his eyes awed. Nodded.

  An older woman, like my mother’s age, maybe older, approached me wearing scrubs and glasses on the tip of her nose, carrying a folder in her hands. A name tag pinned to her shirt said she was Mrs. Rawlins. She tossed the folder to a desk, grabbed a square packet, and squinted at my jaw. “Daniel Ellison? Wanna tell me what happened to your face?” She tore open the packet, dabbed a gauze pad on my chin, and a hot belt of pain lashed at me.

  “Jeff Dean,” Brandon answered for me.

  The nurse frowned and nodded, requiring no further explanation. I guess I underestimated Dean’s reputation. My breath hissed past my lips when she rolled a brown-tipped cotton swab over my chin.

  “This could use some stitches.”

  No way. My eyes snapped to hers. “Steri-Strips are fine.”

  Her eyebrows lifted. “I take it you’ve seen your share of emergency rooms.”

  Something like that.

  “Your shirt’s all bloody. Why don’t you use that room to change into your gym shirt?” Mrs. Rawlins indicated the door behind her, where another poster warned me to wash my hands during flu season.

  The scars. Jesus, the scars. I can’t take off my shirt. Shame congealed the blood in my veins.

  “You two. Out. Get to class.” Mrs. Rawlins had to have noticed the horror on my face.

  I knew without looking that the blond was gone. I didn’t smell the beach anymore, and I felt cold.

  “Have a seat, Mr. Ellison.” Mrs. Rawlins indicated a row of chairs by her desk. “Let’s call your mom and have her pick you up.”

  Oh, not a chance. I moved to a chair, taking my sweet time, and planned my next lie.

  TMI

  Patty Blount

  Best friends don’t lie. Best friends don’t ditch you for a guy. Best friends don’t post your deepest, darkest secrets online.

  Bailey’s falling head over heels for Ryder West, a mysterious gamer she met online. A guy she’s never met in person. Her best friend, Meg, doesn’t trust smooth-talking Ryder. He’s just a picture-less profile.

  When Bailey starts blowing Meg off to spend more virtual quality time with her new crush, Meg decides it’s time to prove Ryder’s a phony. But one stupid little secret posted online turns into a friendship-destroying feud to answer the question: Who is Ryder West?

  UNDONE

  Cat Clarke

  Jem Halliday is in love with her best friend. It doesn’t matter that Kai is gay, or that he’ll never look at her the way she looks at him. Jem is okay with that. But when Kai is outed online by one of their classmates, he does the unthinkable and commits suicide.

  Jem is left to pick up the pieces of her broken life. Before he died, Kai left her twelve letters—one for each month of the year—and those letters are all Jem has left. That, and revenge.

  Although Kai’s letters beg her not to investigate what happened, Jem can’t let it go. She needs to know who did this, and she’ll stop at nothing to find the person responsible for Kai’s death. One way or another, someone is going down. Someone is going to pay.

  BREATHE, ANNIE, BREATHE

  Miranda Kenneally

  Eighteen-year-old Annie Winters can barely run a mile without wheezing. Still, she’s training to run the Country Music Marathon in October. That’s only seven months away. Running is so not her thing, but she has to finish what her boyfriend started…before he died.

  Annie feels guilt that she’s still alive and blames herself for his death; she has to do this to honor him. Plus training gives her something to do, a distraction. So is Jeremiah Brown. He’s an adrenaline junkie who runs marathons backward. He flirts with Annie on the trails, making Annie feel alive and happy and guilty all at the same time. She wants to race into his arms and sprint in the opposite direction—because loving is a risk she’s not ready to take again.