That was what I was thinking about when Brooke Newell arrived in the doorway with a note in her hand. She was one of the seniors who was community college-bound already and was taking an office-assistant class for credit. She handed Mrs. Bost the note, snuck a look around the classroom, waved to Krista Sivrich, and then hurried away.
Mrs. Bost unfolded the note and read it. When she looked up, she stared right at me.
“Miss Mann,” she said, “your presence is requested in Mr. Miller’s office.”
A murmur went through the class, and I swallowed hard. Mr. Miller was the main principal. You didn’t get sent to him unless something was really wrong. I certainly hadn’t done anything to get myself in trouble, so my first thought was Mom. Had something happened to her? Or to Tanner? Could something have happened to Logan since I got out of the car thirty minutes ago?
I stood up and stuffed my notebook and pen into my bag.
“Does it say why he wants to see me?” I asked, hating that my voice sounded nearly as panicked as I felt. Someone in the back of the room snickered, and I heard someone else say, “Ooh, she’s in trouble!”
“No,” Mrs. Bost said. I glanced at Jennica, who looked worried. Then, just because I couldn’t help it, I locked eyes with Sam.
“Want me to come with you?” he asked, like it was the most normal question in the world. I opened my mouth to say no, but Mrs. Bost preempted me.
“I think Lacey is capable of finding the principal’s office by herself,” she said, giving Sam a look.
Sam glanced at me again and shrugged. I could feel my cheeks getting hot. I strode quickly into the hall before my throat could close up entirely.
chapter 4
Mr. Miller’s secretary ushered me into his office right away, which only added to my already heightened sense of panic.
“Is my mom okay?” I asked immediately, without bothering to say hello. “And my brothers?”
“Yes, yes,” Mr. Miller said hastily. He looked a little confused. “Of course. As far as I know.”
I felt the air I’d been holding in leave my body in a whoosh. “Thank God,” I said.
Mr. Miller was silent for a minute, as if waiting for me to say something else. He gestured to a chair facing his desk, and I sat down. He continued to stand, staring down at me. He was tall, well over six feet, and he had a comically thick shock of dark hair—too uniformly brown for a man over the age of fifty—that looked out of place on his egg-shaped head. “He’s had hair transplant surgery, for sure,” Dad used to murmur to me whenever we’d see Mr. Miller at football games and school concerts.
That’s what I was thinking about when Mr. Miller cleared his throat. “Lacey, do you know Kelsi Hamilton?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said. “Her mom has cancer.” The moment the words were out of my mouth, I hated myself a little bit for saying them. It was the way everyone identified me: by the sad thing that had happened in my life.
I’d known Kelsi since elementary school, and I’d had a class with her last year, but she was quiet, and we hadn’t sat near each other, so we barely ever talked. I knew as well as anyone else in the school that her mom had been diagnosed with lung cancer back in May. Bad news tended to travel fast, whispered near lockers between classes, until everyone was walking around with a piece of your life stuck in their back pocket like a trading card.
“Lacey, Kelsi’s mother passed away last Saturday,” Mr. Miller said.
“Oh no,” I said, my heart sinking for Kelsi. “That’s awful.”
“Yes,” he said, sitting down. He pressed his hands together. “Lacey, I need to ask you a favor. And please, feel free to say no.”
“Okay.”
“Kelsi is back in school today,” he said. “For the first time since her mother, um….”
“Died,” I filled in. It was sometimes hard for people to actually say the word. I had gotten used to filling it in, in awkward silences, like I was playing a constant game of Mad Libs with only one word to put in the blanks.
“Yes,” Mr. Miller said. “I was wondering whether you might … spend some time with her.”
“What do you mean?”
Mr. Miller cleared his throat. “Kelsi’s father called this morning, and of course she’s still very upset. He was hesitant to send her back to school, but apparently she insisted. Now, last year, when your father passed …” He paused awkwardly. “Well, I know you had Logan to help you through. At school, anyhow.”
I resisted the urge to snort. What exactly had Logan done to help me?
“So I’d like to ask you, as a favor to me—well, to Kelsi, really—if you’d talk to her,” Mr. Miller concluded.
“Talk to her?” I echoed.