Tuesday, 11:00 A.M., before English
WHILE OLIVIA WAS IN THE CAFETERIA EATING A DANISH, HER BROTHER called. He sounded frantic, hysterical. Grant was at a pay phone near Windward.
“There’s a patrol car outside! You promised not to say anything!”
“I didn’t!”
“You just couldn’t keep your fucking mouth shut!”
“Grant, I swear!” At the next table, kids’ heads swiveled. She lowered her voice. “Maybe the police aren’t there ’cause of you. But if they are, please, just tell the truth—”
The words were wasted. Grant had already hung up.
Her first reaction was to run out of the cafeteria, and—and do what? It suddenly struck Olivia: There was absolutely nothing she could do, not really, except maybe go have a cigarette. The realization unexpectedly had the same effect as nicotine—it calmed her down. She headed to English class.