I HEARD HE E-MAILED HER A PICTURE OF HIS—OH. Hi, Noah.” The voice stopped mid-sentence, and I could hear the coy smile in it.
Noah closed his eyes. He stepped away from me and turned to face the intruders. I blinked, trying to bring everything back into focus.
“Ladies,” he said to the openmouthed girls and nodded. Then he walked out.
The girls giggled, stealing sidelong glances at me while they fixed their melting makeup in front of the mirror. I was still slack-jawed and shell-shocked, staring at the door. Only when the bell rang did I finally remember how to walk.
I didn’t see Noah again until Wednesday night.
I spent the day mildly freaked out from lack of sleep, general malaise, and angst over what had happened between us. On Monday, he’d walked out on me like it was nothing. Like Jamie warned me he would. And I’d be lying if I said it didn’t sting.
I had no idea what, if anything, I was going to say to Noah when I saw him. But English came and went, and he didn’t show. I dutifully took notes from Ms. Leib and loitered outside of the class when it ended, scanning the campus for Noah without understanding why.
In Algebra, I tried to focus on the polynomials and parabolas but it was becoming painfully clear that while I could coast in Bio, History, and English, I was struggling in math. Mr. Walsh called on me twice in class and I gave a grievously wrong answer each time. Each homework assignment I’d submitted was returned with angry red pencil marks all over it, punctuated by a disgraceful score at the bottom of the page. Exams were in a few weeks, and I had no hope of catching up.
When class ended, an odd bit of conversation caught my attention, scattering my thoughts.
“I heard she was eaten after he killed her. Some kind of cannibal thing,” a girl said behind me. She punctuated her remark with a crack of her gum. I turned around.
“You’re an idiot, Jennifer,” a guy named Kent, I think, shot back at her. “Eaten by alligators, not the pedophile.”
Before I could hear more, Jamie dropped his binder on my desk. “Hey, Mara.”
“Did you hear that?” I asked him, as Jennifer and Kent left the classroom.
Jamie looked confused at first, but then understanding transformed his face. “Oh. Jordana.”
“What?” The name rang a bell, and I tried to remember why.
“That’s who they were talking about. Jordana Palmer. She was a sophomore at Dade High. I know someone who knows someone who knew her. Kind of. It’s really sad.”
The pieces clicked into place. “I think I heard something about it on the news,” I said quietly. “What happened to her?”
“I don’t know the whole story. Just that she was supposed to show up at a friend’s house and then … didn’t. They found her body a few days later, and she was definitely murdered, but I haven’t heard how, yet. Her dad’s a cop, and I think they’re keeping it quiet or something. Hey, you okay?”
That was when I tasted the blood. Apparently I’d chewed on the skin of my bottom lip until it split. I flicked out my tongue to catch the drop.
“No,” I said truthfully, as I made my way outside.
Jamie followed me. “Care to share?”
I didn’t. But when I met Jamie’s eyes, it was like I didn’t have a choice. The weight of all the weirdness—the asylum, Rachel, Noah—all of it just bubbled up, trying to claw its way out of my throat.
“I was in an accident before we moved here. My best friend died.” I practically vomited the words. I closed my eyes and exhaled, appalled by my overshare. What was wrong with me?
“I’m sorry,” Jamie said, lowering his eyes.
I’d made him feel awkward. Fabulous. “It’s okay. I’m okay. I don’t know why I just said that.”
Jamie shifted uncomfortably. “It’s cool,” he said. Then he smiled. “So when do you want to study Algebra?”
A random segue, and a ridiculous one. There was no way Jamie would benefit from having me as a study partner; not when he nailed each and every question Mr. Walsh lobbed at him.
“You are aware that my math skills are even more lacking than my social skills?”
“Impossible.” Jamie’s mouth spread into a mocking grin.
“Thanks. Seriously, you must have better things to do with your life than waste it on the hopeless?”
“I’ve already learned Parseltongue. What else is there?”
“Elvish.”
“You’re like, a gen-u-wine nerd. Love it. Meet me at the picnic tables during lunch. Bring your brain, and something for it to do,” he said as he walked away. “Oh, your flap’s open, by the way,” he called over his shoulder.
“Excuse me?”