Dull Boy by Sarah Cross Page A

don’t explain fast enough. “I’m no danger to you. I swear. I’m just like you and—”
    “You think I haven’t heard that before?” She scrapes her knuckle across her eyes in two fierce motions. And I stop.
    “Who have you heard it from?”
    My heart beats into my throat and crowds the word out. Who else is there? I want to offer Cherchette’s name but my voice won’t cooperate.
    “No one,” Catherine whispers. “Just leave me alone.”
    We’re quiet for a moment. I’m not sure what to say to break down this wall between us. Catherine’s probably unsure how to get me to leave.
    I wish there was a foolproof way to do this. Like when you’re little and you want to win someone’s friendship, so you give them your best-loved toy. One sacrifice and the person looks at you differently.
    Maybe I can still do that . . .
    “I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m freaking you out and that’s not what I want—I just want to be your friend. And maybe that’s totally ridiculous to you, and you want me out of your life and I’m going to have to deal with that. But give me one more chance to prove it to you. And then . . . I’ll leave you alone. We’ll talk about this on your terms or not at all. Deal?”
    She rubs her eye with the palm of her hand. “Like I have a choice?”
    “Catherine . . .” I sigh. “This isn’t easy for me either. Just give me a chance.”
    I close my eyes, because I can’t look at her when I do this. This is like the most private thing I have. The biggest secret I’ve ever held. My best-loved toy—the one that has the most potential to destroy me.
    Fists clenched, I push upward—everything in my body focused in that one direction. Up. Up. A bullet cutting through the air. Visualize it. Forget that you have an audience. Forget how much is riding on this.
    Up.
    It’s colder, smoother. I’m slipping through the sky now, arms outstretched to take it all in. Stars in my eyes.
    You have to lose something to gain something.
    You can’t expect someone to trust you if you don’t trust them.
    When I look down Catherine is so small she blends into the night. I can’t see her expression, don’t know if she’s calmed down or if she hates me more than ever.
    I hope I’m making the right choice.

10
     
    THE NEXT MORNING in the car I’m nervous as hell. The ball’s in Catherine’s court now—I promised I wouldn’t bother her. But what if she never speaks to me again? And all of this is just . . . over?
    “Avery?” My mom turns her head at a stoplight to check on me. “Are you all right? Are you afraid of someone at school?”
    “Um.” I’m afraid of everyone right now. How am I supposed to tell her that ? “Not really.” I squirm in my seat. “I’m okay.”
    “Because . . . You know we only want what’s best for you.” She sips her iced coffee, keeps her lips pressed together awhile afterward, like she’s thinking. Jiggles the plastic cup, so the ice sloshes around. “Last night I was so happy you were doing well at your new school . . . but maybe you don’t belong there. I mean, bullies, fights every day? Some of the kids might be jealous of you if you start doing well and getting attention from the other students. Your dad and I don’t want you to get hurt.”
    Bingo! This is my golden opportunity: parental self-doubt. Say the word and I’ll be out of there, safe and comfortable in my old school. Where, even if my friends hate me, at least I know people.
    So why don’t I?
    “They’re all talk,” I say, and shrug. “I have, um, this dissection lab in science today. We’re cutting up a worm and I feel sick about it. That’s why I’m being weird. Sorry.”
    “Yuck.” My mom shudders. “I think I missed that day when I was in school.”
    After that she’s all smiles and conspiratorial “ew” moments, confident that she’s doing the right thing. I wish it was that easy for me—my mind keeps drifting back to Catherine, to the look on her face that I