“Leave him alone.” I’ve spun and headed toward them before I can stop myself. My voice comes up from some black reserve of courage inside me, a place usually saved for speech class, or going to the dentist on my own. My face crumples in on itself; my legs shake. My heart beats like I just sprinted a mile.
Travis and Deshawn both turn to me and smile—well, Deshawn doesn’t really smile, and all of Travis’s smiles look like leers. God, I remember when those smiles used to be nice. Wallace stares at me, expression unreadable. Does he realize how futile this is? Maybe I can at least give him a few seconds to run. The only thing I can’t do is stand idly by while a fan—if not a fan of Monstrous Sea, then definitely a fan of something—gets ridiculed for what he likes. LadyConstellation wouldn’t stand for that, and for this exact moment now, neither do I.
Travis fakes surprise. “Oh my god, Murky can actually speak.”
We’ve been in school together since the second grade. He knows I can speak fine, unlike some of our other classmates, who believe I am an actual mute.
“Leave him alone, Travis.” My voice is already too weak for this. Emergency courage reserves depleted.
“Why’re you standing up for him, Murky? Does someone have a crush?”
My face flames instantly. I press the edge of my sketchbook into my thighs. I know this is his go-to to make a girl either stop talking or get so flustered she can’t make a rational argument. He started using it in middle school, when I became too weird for anyone to hang out with. If I can push through it, maybe I’ll knock him off his game.
“No. Shut up,” I warble. “I just—you . . . let him write what he wants. Whatever it is, it’s none of your business.”
“None of my business? I’m not trying to hate on him for it, Murky, I just want to read it! What’s your problem?”
“He obviously doesn’t want you to read it!”
Wallace stares at me the whole time I’m saying this, and heat seeps into my ears too. So I’m distracted when Deshawn slips my sketchbook out of my hands.
“Hey!”
I reach for it, but he backpedals away, opening it up to look at the pictures. Some of the loose pages flutter in the cold breeze but don’t come free of the pages.
“Whoa, these are really good,” Deshawn says. “Trav, I think she’s into the sea thing too.”
He snaps the book closed and Frisbees it over my head, out of the reach of my fingers when I jump for it, to Travis, who has stood up off the bench. Travis grabs it out of the air, sending a few of the loose pages sailing off into the wind, and opens it up.
“Oh, this is why you stood up for him. You guys like the same thing!”
“Give it back!” No one is supposed to look in that sketchbook. It’s the one I bring to school, so it’s safer than some of the others I have, but there are still Monstrous Sea things in there—like unfinished comic pages—and it might give away who I am. Plus I just don’t like the idea of Travis Stone’s goopy eyes on the things I’ve drawn. I didn’t let him see my drawings even when we were friends, and I’m not going to start now. I rush at Travis to get it back, but he tosses it to Deshawn.
I won’t be caught in a game of monkey in the middle. Not as a senior in high school. I won’t. But Deshawn stands there holding it, rifling through the pages, and he won’t move until I do. Tears blur my vision. Great. Now I’m crying too. Let’s make the situation worse. I ball my hands into fists and move toward Deshawn. As soon as I get close enough, he laughs and throws the sketchbook back.
I turn again, ready to scream in frustration, only to find Wallace standing between me and Travis, the sketchbook in one hand. He must have caught it out of the air. I didn’t think he could move that fast. Travis looks both stunned and vaguely impressed. Wallace turns and stares him down. Travis is about my height,