Chapter 62

DIGGING OUT

The back stairwell is claustrophobic and a really sickly shade of green. Also, the faint smell of barf seems to linger in the corner closest to the door, and it’s always about fifteen degrees hotter than the rest of the school. The windows here are the industrial kind threaded through with slim wire, and someone has used one as a canvas on which to scratch a lovely image of an angry penis.

I usually avoid the back stairwell because it makes me feel like I’m stuck in the Grinch’s pocket. Then again, everyone else avoids it, too. So it’s a good place to come if you want to be alone.

Which I do.

I can’t believe our Rally for Reason has been banned. The school doesn’t want reason. Literally. It’s not even a metaphor.

The door pops open, and I turn away, not wanting to make eye contact with whoever has chosen to walk through this wasteland.

“You’re gonna die,” Digger Whitlock announces.

“I know that, Digger.” I look up at him. He’s blinking at the angry penis, like he can’t make sense of it. “Why do you keep reminding me?”

Digger sits down beside me. His fat, square fingers reach out to touch the vomit-green paint, and when he moves, his clothes release the faint smell of wood smoke. He traces a circle, keeping his eyes on the wall. “People need reminding.” His voice is slow, almost mechanical. “If everyone remembers that they’re going to die, then maybe they’ll remember to live.” His eyes slide across the floor. “My brother didn’t get a chance to live, Maggie. Andy never even thought about it.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Digger’s eyes lift to meet mine. All this time, I’ve heard Digger telling us that we were going to die, but I’ve never bothered to wonder what he meant by it. I just thought he was borderline nuts, and trying to scare us. And as I meet his soft brown gaze, I see something I didn’t expect: reason.

It’s like he and I are having our own mini rally right here, in the Grinch’s pocket.

“You’re right,” I tell Digger. “I am going to die. We all are. But not today.”

“Not today,” he agrees.

I look up at the glass, past the iron threads and the angry penis, and realize that outside, the sky is perfectly blue. I’ve been looking at the window instead of the sky.

We can’t give up on the rally. I can’t.

I won’t.

It’s time to call an emergency meeting of the Freakshow.