DEZ

“See you at the taping,” I tell Riley when I drop her at the door for second period, lingering a little longer than I should. I know she’s still upset over Emma, but there’s no way she’ll let me in.

It’s for the best. That’s what I have to remember.

Rye gives me an unconvincing smile. She is so strong and feisty, and yet soft and delicate at the same time. There’s always a battle going on inside her; I like watching to see which side will win. Her energy is magnetic and pulses out of her. It’s like a gravitational pull that holds me there in the doorway until Tori shows up.

“Excuse me, guys.” Tori moves between us and cuts the connection. “I need to put these up.” She gestures to the stack of flyers in her arms before handing one to each of us. Mayor Devlin has donated a memorial plaque for Ms. Dunn, and they’re holding the dedication in the school garden next week.

That’s guilt for ya. Sure, the Devlins may have played nice with Ms. Dunn after the investigation, but it was no secret they hated her guts.

“Yeah, nice PR stunt,” Riley says as she reads the flyer.

I couldn’t have said it better myself.

“It’s called being a good Christian, Riley.”

“Whatever.” Riley snorts. She says goodbye to me with her eyes and turns into the room.

“Hope to see you there,” Tori yells to Riley’s back. Then she winks at me and clicks off.

I stay in the doorway just long enough to catch Riley as she turns around, her silky hair swinging across her shoulders as she walks to her desk. Then her shirt rises up and for a second I see a sliver of her back—the part that curves right above her ass—before she pulls the shirt down.

I can’t get the image out of my head as I make my way to Trig.

“Dez!” a girl’s voice echoes in the hallway, forcing the picture of Riley to dissolve.

Emma moves toward me, and though my first thought is to keep walking, I wait for her to catch up. She’s in my next class so there’s no escaping her. When she gets up close, I can’t make eye contact. She looks terrible. Her eyes are bloodshot and her skin is covered in red blotches. It makes me itchy.

“How’s Riley holding up?” she whispers.

Here we go.

“Why are you asking me? I haven’t been in gym with you guys while Tori’s been chewing her a new one every day.”

Emma winces. “You know I never wanted this to happen.”

“Right,” I spit, wanting to blame someone, anyone, other than myself.

“Don’t you dare blame me for this.” Emma’s lips quiver.

Can’t you see that I have no choice?

“It doesn’t really matter,” I tell her, not wanting to engage any more than I have to. “What do you want, Emma?” I ask. My voice softens; I’m worried that she might break.

She reaches into her bag and pulls out a note from the inside of a book. “Could you give her this?”

“What is it?” I meet her eyes.

“A note,” she stutters. “To explain a little. Don’t worry, it’s not the whole story. But I want … I need … Riley to understand that I really do care about her.”

I say nothing.

“You can read it if you don’t trust me.”

More silence.

“Dez, please.”

I hold out my hand and nod.

It couldn’t hurt to give it to Rye. It might even make things easier for her, stop her from second-guessing herself all the time. Make her realize this wasn’t her fault.

My hand clenches the paper and I shove it in my pocket. I’ll give it to her after rehearsal. Emma gives me a sad smile, and I return it.

It was the right thing to do.

Done.

But in class, I feel the note burning a hole inside my pocket. I stare out the window at the empty football field behind the school, with its chipped goalposts and faded hash marks on the turf.

My mind drifts.

In my daydreams, I see myself giving the note to Riley. She reads it, sighs, and falls in my arms. Closure.

The next second, I’m dropped into another scene. In this one, Rye falls back into Emma’s arms. Reconciliation.

Fast-forward. Rewind. Fast-forward. Rewind.

The scenes play in my head all through class.

After the bell rings and I’m out of Emma’s watchful gaze, a different scene plays out in front of me. This time, I find a quiet space, shred the piece of paper, and throw it in the trash.

This scene is real. I blink into the present and feel the paper in my hands as I destroy the evidence in Ms. Dunn’s empty classroom. Like Tyler Durden says in Fight Club, “You wanna make an omelette, you gotta break some eggs.” I feel sick just thinking about all eggs I’m going to have to break before all of this is done.

I slide into a desk and rest my head. I can’t undo it now.

In the room, a poster of Shakespeare hangs on the wall, and statues and art rest on a shelf filled with books and CDs. Ms. Dunn has been gone a month but her room sits untouched. She didn’t have family so nobody came for her stuff. It all sits here now, forgotten.

I can’t help wonder if she’s still here. Watching. What would she think about what happened? What would she think about me?

You’re better than this, she’d always tell us when we messed up. Then she’d forgive and forget. Just as easy as that. She always saw the best in people. Rich, poor, jock, burner, Bible beater, goth. None of that mattered to her. Even with Devlin. After the investigation, he was relentless; but no matter how many times he came after her, petitioned her curriculum, or argued about policy, she never said a bad word about him.

This time, with everything that’s happened, I’m not so sure she’d hold her tongue.