“Bronwyn, hey.” Evan’s wearing one of his usual monogrammed polo shirts with ewn embroidered in script above his heart. I’ve always wondered what the W stands for. Walter? Wendell? William? I hope for his sake it’s William. “Did you get my text last night?”
I did. Need anything? Want some company? Since that’s the only time Evan Neiman has ever texted me, my cynical side decided he was angling for a front-row seat to the most shocking thing that’s ever happened at Bayview. “I did, thanks. I was really tired, though.”
“Well, if you ever feel like talking, let me know.” Evan glances around the emptying hallway. He’s a stickler for punctuality. “We should probably get inside, huh?”
Yumiko grins at me as we take our seats and whispers, “Evan kept asking where you were at Mathlete practice yesterday.”
I wish I could match her enthusiasm, but at some point between detention and calculus I lost all interest in Evan Neiman. Maybe it’s posttraumatic stress from the Simon situation, but right now I can’t remember what attracted me in the first place. Not that I was ever head over heels. Mostly I thought Evan and I had potential to be a solid couple until graduation, at which point we’d break up amicably and head to our different colleges. Which I realize is pretty uninspiring, but so is high school dating. For me, anyway.
I sit through calculus, my mind far, far away from math, and then suddenly it’s over and I’m walking to AP English with Kate and Yumiko. My head’s still so full of what happened yesterday that when we pass Nate in the hallway it seems perfectly natural to call out, “Hi, Nate.” I stop, surprising us both, and he does too.
“Hey,” he replies. His dark hair is more disheveled than ever, and I’m pretty sure he’s wearing the same T-shirt as yesterday. Somehow, though, it works on him. A little too well. Everything from his tall, rangy build to his angular cheekbones and wide-set, dark-fringed eyes is making me lose my train of thought.
Kate and Yumiko are staring at him too, but in a different way. More like he’s an unpredictable zoo animal in a flimsy cage. Hallway conversations with Nate Macauley aren’t exactly part of our routine. “Have you had your counseling session yet?” I ask.
His face is a total blank. “My what?”
“Grief counseling. Because of Simon. Didn’t your homeroom teacher tell you?”
“I just got here,” he says, and my eyes widen. I never expected Nate to win any attendance awards, but it’s almost ten o’clock.
“Oh. Well, all of us who were there are supposed to have one-on-one sessions. Mine’s at eleven.”
“Jesus Christ,” Nate mutters, raking a hand through his hair.
The gesture pulls my eyes to his arm, where they remain until Kate clears her throat. My face heats as I snap back to attention, too late to register whatever she said. “Anyway. See you around,” I mumble.
Yumiko bends her head toward mine as soon as we’re out of earshot. “He looks like he just rolled out of bed,” she whispers. “And not alone.”
“I hope you doused yourself in Lysol after getting off his motorcycle,” Kate adds. “He’s a total man-whore.”
I glare at her. “You realize it’s sexist to say man-whore, right? If you have to use the term you should at least be gender-neutral about it.”
“Whatever,” Kate says dismissively. “Point is, he’s a walking STD.”
I don’t answer. That’s Nate’s reputation, sure, but we don’t really know anything about him. I almost tell her how carefully he drove me home yesterday, except I’m not sure what point I’d be trying to make.
After English I head for Mr. O’Farrell’s office, and he waves me inside when I knock on his open door. “Have a seat, Bronwyn. Dr. Resnick is running a little late, but she’ll be here shortly.” I sit down across from him and spy my name scrawled across the manila folder placed neatly in the middle of his desk. I move to pick it up, then hesitate, not sure if it’s confidential, but he pushes it toward me. “Your recommendation from the Model UN organizer. In plenty of time for Yale’s early-action deadline.”
I exhale, letting out a small sigh of relief. “Oh, thanks!” I say, and pick up the folder. It’s the last one I’ve been waiting for. Yale’s a family tradition—my grandfather was a visiting scholar there and moved his whole family from Colombia to New Haven when he got tenure. All his kids, including my dad, went to undergrad there, and it’s where my parents met. They always say our family wouldn’t exist if it weren’t for Yale.
“You’re very welcome.” Mr. O’Farrell leans back and adjusts his glasses. “Were your ears burning earlier? Mr. Camino stopped by to ask if you’d be interested in tutoring for chemistry this semester. A bunch of bright juniors are struggling the way you did last year. They’d love to learn strategies from someone who ended up acing the course.”
I have to swallow a couple of times before I can answer. “I would,” I say, as brightly as I can manage, “but I might be overcommitted already.” My smile stretches too tightly over my teeth.
“No worries. You have a lot on your plate.”
Chemistry was the only class I’d ever struggled with, so much so that I had a D average at midterm. With every quiz I bombed, I could feel the Ivy League slipping out of reach. Even Mr. O’Farrell started gently suggesting that any top-tier school would do.
So I brought my grades up, and got an A by the end of the year. But I’m pretty sure nobody wants me sharing my strategies with the other students.
Cooper
Thursday, September 27, 12:45 p.m.
“Will I see you tonight?”
Keely takes my hand as we walk to our lockers after lunch, looking up at me with huge dark eyes. Her mom is Swedish and her dad’s Filipino, and the combination makes Keely the most beautiful girl in school by a lot. I haven’t seen her much this week between baseball and family stuff, and I can tell she’s getting antsy. Keely’s not a clinger, exactly, but she needs regular couple time.
“Not sure,” I say. “I’m pretty behind on homework.”
Her perfect lips curve down and I can tell she’s about to protest when a voice floats over the loudspeaker. “Attention, please. Would Cooper Clay, Nate Macauley, Adelaide Prentiss, and Bronwyn Rojas please report to the main office. Cooper Clay, Nate Macauley, Adelaide Prentiss, and Bronwyn Rojas to the main office.”
Keely looks around like she’s expecting an explanation. “What’s that about? Something to do with Simon?”
“I guess.” I shrug. I already answered questions from Principal Gupta a couple of days ago about what happened during detention, but maybe she’s gearing up for another round. My father says Simon’s parents are pretty connected around town, and the school should be worried about a lawsuit if it turns out they were negligent in any way. “Better go. I’ll talk to you later, okay?” I give Keely a quick kiss on the cheek, shoulder my backpack, and head down the hall.
When I get to the principal’s office, the receptionist points me toward a small conference room that’s already crowded with people: Principal Gupta, Addy, Bronwyn, Nate, and a police officer. My throat gets a little dry as I take the last empty chair.
“Cooper, good. Now we can get started.” Principal Gupta folds her hands in front of her and looks around the table. “I’d like to introduce Officer Hank Budapest with the Bayview Police Department. He has some questions about what you witnessed on Monday.”
Officer Budapest shakes each of our hands in turn. He’s young but already balding, with sandy hair and freckles. Not very intimidating, authority-wise. “Nice to meet you all. This shouldn’t take long, but after speaking with the Kelleher family we want to take a closer look at Simon’s death. Autopsy results came back this morning, and—”