The next day, Shane’s waiting for me at the bike rack when I arrive.
Bravado has carried me this far, but I’m shaking. I remember all the unfriendly eyes, the people who can’t understand, the ones who judge, and those who might even be scared of me. Deliberately he laces our fingers together, a show of solidarity.
“You sure this is a good idea?”
He nods. “I have some experience with this. It’s best to get it over with.”
I’m distracted by the reference to his secrets. While I’m considering what they could be, he opens the front door and we step inside. It’s like yesterday, only worse, because it feels like everyone is staring. I put on a smile, but it must not look normal because people quickly look away. They’re giving Shane and me a wide berth in the halls. He goes with me to our locker; Lila’s waiting nearby.
“You look better,” she says, linking arms with me.
I appreciate it so much that I feel like hugging her, so I do. She looks a little surprised, but she doesn’t pull away. She falls in on my left, Shane on my right, and the two of them escort me to my first class, and though I always thought of him as gentle, he’s got a hard edge today, a set to his jaw that dares anyone to say a word. They drop me off and run to make their classes before the last bell.
Nobody talks to me, but I can deal with isolation. I pay attention to my teachers, though I’m not delighted when Mr. Mackiewicz asks me to stay after. I don’t need this today. I’m doing better. But I present myself before his desk as the other students file out. Shane glances at me, but I wave him on.
“Miss Czinski, I just wanted to let you know that I’ve registered your extra effort this semester. Did you find a tutor?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s certainly reflected in your work. You’ve shown the most improvement of anyone in class, and I wanted to say good job.”
Wow, really?
“Thanks,” I manage to say, surprised.
“That’s all. Enjoy your lunch.”
That’s the least painful conversation I’ve ever had with Mackiewicz. I’m actually feeling … not horrible when I step out into the hall. Most people have already headed to the cafeteria—or wherever they eat—so it’s just Shane waiting for me. He raises a brow in question.
“Everything all right?”
“Yeah, he just wanted to praise me, if you can believe it. Thanks to you, I’m most improved in geometry.”
“Secret one: I’ve taken geometry before. I should be a senior this year.” He lifts a shoulder in a shrug. “I missed more school than I should, taking care of my mom.”
“So you’re seventeen?”
“Eighteen in July.”
Whoa, so he’ll be within a few months of nineteen by the time he finishes school. I’m impressed that he hasn’t just said screw it and gotten his GED. He’s had more reason than most to quit. I take heart in his determination. If he didn’t give up, I won’t either.
But just as I think that, I glance down the hall because there’s a bunch of people milling around my locker. They give way as I approach, and what I see freezes my heart in my chest. So that’s how he knew. My case files were confidential, so he went looking through old newspapers. And sure enough, he struck gold. For a few seconds I can’t get my breath. There’s a pink Post-it note, just like the ones I use, and the two words are written in purple glitter pen, just like mine. But I’d never write PSYCHO KILLER and stick it on someone’s locker. Taped beneath, there’s a copy of the news article, covering the fire. The headline reads, CHILD STARTS HOUSE FIRE, 1 FATALITY.
I feel sick again.
Shane grabs the papers, tears them down, and crumples them in his fist. “Who posted this?”
Silence.
So he grabs the nearest guy by the shirt, shakes him hard, then slams him against the locker. “Tell me, or I assume you did it and beat the shit out of you.”
“It-it was Dylan and his crew,” the freshman gasps.