“It’s about an hour away,” she tells me. “I could drive you.”
Silently I shake my head. If my first trip in a car is to see Shane while he’s locked up, it’ll just be another awful association. The boycott stands.
I tilt my head, considering. That’s sixty miles or so. It’ll take at least five hours to ride that far. And then there’s the return trip. But I’ll totally do it. I can start at daylight, get there in time for a visit, then make the return trip before it’s too late.
“I’ll make some more calls tomorrow, see what I can find out,” my aunt promises.
“Thanks.”
I don’t sleep much that night. Ryan and Lila both text me, but Shane’s number is silent. They’ve probably confiscated his phone. I can’t help being glad that his guitar is at the trailer, where nobody can take it. I don’t reply to my friends, mostly because I don’t know what to say. Maybe I’ll have some idea in the morning.
School is quiet the next day, like everyone’s trying to pretend things are okay. I’m back to being invisible. Nobody calls me princess, but they aren’t shying away, either. I’m tempted to give up on the Post-its, but then I remember Shane said he liked that about me—that I care if somebody’s having a bad day. I notice the jocks knocking the books out of this freshman’s hands, casually, not intentionally, so even though my heart’s not in it, I write a note and stick it on a her locker. You have a nice smile. True, as her braces came off recently, and it seems to cheer her up.
Ryan and Lila stay close, as if I might flip out without their supervision. That almost makes me laugh. Almost. I listen to them talk at lunch, the words washing over me. I’m a rock in the river; it will take years but the current might wear me smooth someday.
“Okay, I’m just gonna come out with it,” Lila finally says. “Shane’s gone and it sucks, but he wouldn’t approve of the android version of you.”
Ryan frowns. “Leave her alone, Tremaine. It’s only been a day. She’s probably still in shock.”
I get up and leave when they start arguing. I finish the lunch hour in the girls’ bathroom, and I only come out after the warning bell. I don’t care if I’m late to class, but I manage to slip in as the last one rings. I sit down and look out the window. The snow is melting, leaving a gray and slushy mess in the parking lot. Beyond, the fields are bleak.
When I get to my locker after school, I stop, staring at it in astonishment. The entire surface is covered in Post-it notes. They’re lined up neatly in a rainbow of hues and ink colors, different handwritings that tell me this show of support comes from a vast array of people. I read them with dawning wonder, and the ice cracks a fraction in my heart.
You made me not want to kill myself.
I took a college art class because of you.
Your kindness gave me hope.
I thought I was invisible until you saw me.
You reminded me that I matter.
I’m not scared anymore.
You proved one person can make a difference.
I’m happier since you moved here.
As I read them all, I’m on the verge of tears. Some of the messages are so personal that I can’t believe someone had the nerve to write it and post it on my locker. I wonder who started it and how it became an outpouring. My locker looks like every person I’ve ever tried to cheer up has now done the same for me. The final message is the one that truly brightens my mood.
Have faith, Shane will come back.
“I hope so,” I whisper.