I shake my head.
“I’d… I’d sent them a note. I had to. I couldn’t just ignore what happened. I fully expected they’d tear it up. Instead, Dr. Mandal called. She wanted to know how you were doing, and to express their condolences for Luka. I remember clutching the phone, waiting for the other shoe to drop, for her to say something… else. I don’t think I could have been that generous, if things were the other way around.”
She takes a sip of wine. “Jesse’s a good kid, from a good family, and I bet if he didn’t speak to you, it’s because he didn’t know what to say. Tonight, think of what you can say, for an opener, and then catch him on his own, out of class. See what happens. You might be surprised.”
Just talk to him. You might be surprised.
“He refused to sit near me.”
“What?”
I shake my head. “It’s not important.”
“Yes, actually it is, Skye.” She sets down her fork. “I suspect you’ve misinterpreted something.”
I want to stick to my decision and drop it, but there’s no way I can after that. So I tell her what happened, ending with, “I ran out before I burst into tears and humiliated myself in front of the entire class.” Then I meet her gaze and say, “Does that sound like a misunderstanding?”
She stares. Then she takes out her phone.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Calling his mother.”
“What?”
“I am telephoning Jesse’s mother. This is unacceptable. Completely unacceptable.”
I lunge, tablecloth sliding under my hand, plates clattering as I snatch the phone.
Mae jerks back in surprise. “Skye! What —?”
“Calling Jesse’s mother? Seriously? We aren’t in middle school anymore.”
She reaches for her phone, but I keep my hand on it and she says, calmly, “I’m not calling to accuse her son of schoolyard bullying. I’m trying to enlist her aid in handling a delicate situation.”
“No.”
“I only want —”
“I’m sixteen. I handle my own delicate situations. What happened with Jesse today caught me off guard. I know where we stand now. I’ll deal with it.”
“You shouldn’t have to. At least let me get you into a different math class.”
“No.”
“You shouldn’t need to deal with —”
I cut her short by meeting her gaze. “You’re the one who insisted I go to RivCol. So I have to deal with it.”
I take my plate into the kitchen, drop it off and stalk to my room.
Skye
I survive the next morning at school. I put up my shields, and every whisper and sneer and scowl only powers that force field. I absorb the snark and the contempt and the fear, as I keep repeating my mantra.
I can do this. I will do this. I won’t let them make me feel like crap.
I won’t let Jesse make me feel like crap.
I carry that shield into battle… otherwise known as math class. Then I plunk my ass into the seat he should have taken. The seat he rejected.
Yep, this is the old Skye. The one you used to know, Jesse. I’m not hiding in the back of this classroom. I’m not pretending yesterday didn’t happen. I’m sitting right here, where you wouldn’t. Deal with it.
He’s early. I almost smile when I see him come through the door. It wouldn’t be a nice and friendly smile, either. It would be a smile that says I know why he’s early, that he’s making sure he has a choice of seats, as far from me as possible without making a scene.
That’s it, Jesse. Just slide in and circle around, like you don’t even see —
He walks right down my aisle. He’s not looking at me. He has his hood up, headphones plugged in, and I can hear the thump of the music as he comes closer, closer…
He’s staring straight ahead and doesn’t see me.
He stops. Right beside my seat, as if ready to slide into it. He sees me there. Looks at the empty chair in front of me – my spot from yesterday. Frowns slightly, as if he can’t quite figure out why I’m in the wrong seat. Then he turns around and…
And sits in the empty seat. Right in front of me.
I’m sitting behind Jesse Mandal. In math. Just like I used to. Just like I did that last day, when he passed me that note and I teased him and…
I try to forget that.
I cannot forget that.
Class ends. The bell rings. Jesse is out of his seat before it finishes, and he’s gone, having never acknowledged I was there.
I’m at my locker when a guy says, “Hey,” and there’s this split second where I think it’s Jesse. I turn, and it’s just a guy. A cute one, though, seriously cute, with blond hair and a wide grin and freckles over his nose.
“Skye,” he says.
“Uh-huh.”
I brace. I’ve had this lesson often enough to learn it – some guy or girl comes over, acting cool, like they just want to say hello, and then they hit me with a zinger that makes everyone nearby laugh. This guy seems the type. A little too cute. A little too confident.
“You don’t remember me, do you?”
“Uh…” I search his face, still knowing this could be a trick.
You don’t know me, but I knew your brother. And I’m glad he’s dead. I hope he’s rotting in hell.
“Chris Landry,” he says.
“Chris…” I blink. Then I see it, mostly in the freckles. Chris Landry – a boy I asked to dance a couple of times in middle school, mainly because no one else did, and he deserved better. Quiet and gangly, with freckles and crooked teeth and glasses and…
“I’ve changed that much?” he says, grin widening, orthodontically straightened teeth flashing. “Well, that’s not a bad thing, huh?”
“I didn’t recognize you. How are you doing? I…” I trail off as I remember exactly who he is.
Chris Landry. Cousin of Nella Landry. One of the victims. One of the dead.
“Oh,” I say, and I want to flee before that grin changes to something ugly, something accusatory.
I lock my knees and say sincerely, “I’m sorry about your cousin.”
“Yeah.” He shrugs. “That makes this kinda awkward. But what happened doesn’t have anything to do with you, which is why I wanted to say hi. Can I walk you out?” He smiles. “I know a shortcut.”
“Uh, sure.” I pack my books, and we set off, and yes, I’m still braced for trouble. After Jesse, I’m not letting my guard down.
When someone calls, “Hey, Christopher!” I tense. But I swear he does, too, and I flash back to middle school, the older boys taunting him.
When he turns, though, he relaxes and calls, “Hey. I’ll be there in five.” Then he says to me, “Yearbook committee.”
“Is that the secret exit up there?” I say, pointing.
“It is.”
“Then I can take it from here. Thanks. This is a faster way.”
“Okay, then. I’ll see you in English tomorrow.”
“You’re in my class?”
“Yep, hiding at the rear, where I won’t be asked to answer any questions. Oh, and…” He lowers his voice. “Don’t let the assholes get you down. What happened at North Hampton had nothing to do with you, and most of us know that. So ignore them.”
“Thanks.”
“Hey, you helped me, back when I needed it. And I mighta kinda had a crush on you. You were cool.” He makes a face. “That sounded lame. I’m sure you still are. Anyway, English. Tomorrow. Take care.”
I say goodbye, and he’s gone, weaving through kids, hightailing it to his meeting. I’m motoring down the hall, zipping around clusters of students, when Lana Brighton steps into my path.
“Was it you?” she says.
“Was what me?” I say.
“Tattling to Vaughn. Telling him I started a petition.”
A hand grabs my arm. “Skye. I’ve been looking for you all day. We need to talk about the newspaper club.”
It’s Tiffany. She looks at Lana. “Oh, Lana. I’m sorry. Were you talking —?”
“Figures,” Lana says. “You two better be careful. Someone might think you’re plotting to carry on Luka and Isaac’s work.”
Tiffany holds up a middle finger. Just holds it, silently, and waits. Lana mutters something and stalks off.
“Newspaper club?” I say when Lana’s gone.