Burn Read Online Free

can’t see her; Patterson’s body blocks hers, but he’s playing with her hair, a long ponytail the color of a caramel apple.
    The girl laughs, her voice bubbling up from her throat, and Cameron thinks she sounds like one of those garden fountains. It’s beautiful and he gets lost in it for a minute, forgetting where he is and who he’s looking at. Who made her laugh like that.
    Patterson is good at just about everything. And that really sucks.
    A group of kids passes between them, breaking Cameron’s paralysis. He pivots on his heel and heads back the way he came. Fast enough. Patterson couldn’t have seen him. He walks the long way through the crowded halls, sliding between warm bodies made musty with rain and absorbing the sounds of life as though through a filter.
    Sometimes words are so close he feels them on his skin; sometimes he reaches for them and they slip between his fingers. It’s like living painfully aware of everything around you, and the next minute knowing you’re drawing your last breath. There is no middle ground, no comfort, no escape.
    He skirts a group of kids talking, laughing, and turns down freshman hall and runs right into two Red Coats — jock jackets. Patterson and his sidekick, Murphy.
    “It’s Cameron Diaz,” Rich says, like he’s happy to see him.
    “You’re all wet,” Murphy says. “You on your way to a wet T-shirt contest?”
    Cameron leads with his shoulder, planning to walk around them. He never ducks his head — he won’t give them that. But he doesn’t look them in the eye, either.
    They shift, blocking him.
    “Now, don’t be stuck-up, Cameron,” Patterson says. “Talk to us. You trying out for next year’s cheerleading squad? That’s after school today.”
    “You don’t want to miss that,” Murphy says.
    “You want to show us what you have?”
    “Yeah. We’ll give you some tips,” Murphy offers. “We’ve seen them up close and personal.”
    “Yeah. We know their moves real good.”
    “Piss off,” Cameron says, which he knows is a mistake. They never like what he has to say and mostly Cameron just keeps his mouth shut and concentrates on pushing the anger back. Biting down on it so it doesn’t become all he is.
    He can feel it taking over. Feel it burning up from his fingertips, from his toes, so his hands and feet are on fire. He wants to let it take over — is afraid of what will happen when he does. Not
if
anymore, but
when.
Soon. He’s going to let go and become a windmill of swinging arms and fists that’ll put them into next Tuesday. He likes that thought so much he smiles a little. Another mistake.
    “What’s so funny about being a boy-girl?” Patterson asks.
    “Nothing. Nothing at all,” Murphy says.
    Cameron feels their hands under his armpits, then his feet leave the floor. They walk with him to an open classroom and drop him inside the door, then shut it behind them. Cameron looks around him. Empty.
    “No rescue,” Patterson says. “But we’re willing to let you outta here. Of course, you have to do something for us first.”
    Murphy snickers. “Give us a cheer, Cameron Diaz.”
    “You know you’re not leaving until you do.”
    “You know if you don’t we’re going to have to make you.”
    Cameron gets that feeling again, where his stomach is pushing up his throat, choking off his air. He knows what they’ll do to him if he doesn’t play cheerleader. They’re not creative; they never change their routine. Murphy will hold him and Patterson will use him as a punching bag. He’ll hit Cameron in the stomach until he pukes. It doesn’t leave bruises. Not that anyone can see. No evidence.
    Cameron prepares himself, because there’s no way he’s going to act the fag and give them what they want. He pulls his stomach in, makes it tense. Sometimes that helps. He starts that whole believing thing;
my stomach is as hard as rock.
If he buys into it he doesn’t feel the pain until later. Much later, when no one is around to