I turn back around, and guilt nags me. Drew’s a good egg. Would I be ruining his life forever by doing this?
No. He likes Vicky. This would be a dream come true for him. This would send his popularity soaring.
But what if he doesn’t want that?
Before I change my mind, I pull off my beret, and shake out my hair. I count two seconds before Drew sneezes right into the back of my dress.
“Sorry,” he mumbles.
“It’s okay. It’s allergy season.”
After algebra, I use my hand clippers to snip a piece of contaminated fabric off my dress. I tuck the piece into one of the many canvas sacks I brought for the trip to Meyer. Next, I file an excuse with the school secretary. Upperclassmen don’t need notes to come and go for appointments and the like. If I hurry, I can make the 12:20 train. As I push through the heavy door of the office, I pick up a scent that makes my heart jump.
Court is perched against a cement planter surrounding a loquat tree, a few paces away. I consider retreating into the office, but Court already sees me.
He hurries toward me, backpack slung over one shoulder. “Saw you go in. I’ve been looking for you all morning.” He squints and blinks, like his contacts bother him, and there are circles under his eyes. “Mom didn’t play her uke in B minor last night. She played a happy song, ‘Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah.’” He pushes the sleeve of his gray cashmere pullover up to his elbow, showing his golden arms. There’s a pen stain on his finger. There’s also a tear in the knee of his jeans that looks earned, not like the preripped jeans that cost a fortune.
I hug my bag to me. “She’s in love.”
He cusses and sweeps aside a fallen loquat with his foot. “Melanie’s freaking out.”
“Does she know?” I try not to panic.
“I had to tell her, or she’d call Mom’s shrink.”
Wonderful. Another leak in the boat.
“She thinks you did it on purpose, setting up Mom with a”—he frowns and looks away—“a teacher. Anyway, sometimes Mel doesn’t know what she’s saying.”
From across the courtyard, Coach Juarez calls out, “Hey, Sawyer! Extra practice at four. Don’t be late.”
Court acknowledges his coach by holding up his thumbs.
“Will she tell your mom?”
“We decided not to. Mom’s been through enough.”
“What about Melanie’s friends?” Like Vicky.
He shakes his head. “Don’t worry, Mel won’t talk. You said Mom would forget about her feelings for Mr. Frederics after you—” He makes loops with his finger, trying to conjure the right word.
“PUF her, yes.”
“So it erases memories?”
“No. She’ll remember what happened, but she won’t have any romantic feelings attached to those memories. I have to go, but thanks for the update.” I start toward the bike racks with a renewed sense of urgency. Despite his reassurance, I can’t help worrying that Melanie will tell Vicky, who will then use the information to blackmail something out of me, and, by association, Mother.
He walks alongside me. “That’s crazy. I mean, this whole thing is”—he rubs his chin—“unreal.” He looks at me out of the corner of his eye. “I called my aunt. She’s flying in for a visit. She’ll take Mom out, which should give us some time.”
I choke back my surprise. “Us?”
“I don’t want to see my mom hurt again.” He frowns.
I dump my stuff in my bike basket. “Thank you. I really appreciate it.” It’ll give me a needed safety cushion of time in case I don’t find all the plants at Meyer today. Every bit helps.
Students drift in and out of the library, some of them staring at us. Court doesn’t seem to notice. Through the library windows, I make out the time on the library clock: 12:07. If I don’t leave, I’ll never make my train.
I take up the handlebars. “Um, thanks again.”
“You going somewhere?”
“Meyer.”
“Right now?”
“Yes.”
“You’re biking?”
“Just to the train station. I’m not crazy.”
He pushes up his other sleeve so now both sides are even. “I’ll take you.”
“That’s okay. It’s just a ten-minute ride.”
“I meant, I’ll drive you to Meyer.”
“You’ll have to miss practice—”
“It’s my mom.” He works an arm into his backpack strap, glancing across the courtyard where his coach was standing. The man has disappeared. “I’ll need to sign out first and do a few things. Do you know which car is mine?”
“Yes.” The word tumbles out too quickly as I remember the black Jeep with the surfboard sticking out the back. At least I could’ve pretended to think about it.
He fishes his keys from his pocket and hands them to me. They’re still warm with his body heat. “I’ll meet you there in ten.”
He doesn’t wait for answer, but strides back to the office. I’m so stunned, my nose stops working for a split second, and all I can think about is that the sun feels unbearably hot on my neck, even though it’s a foggy day.
*