Chapter Three

 

Monday morning I cruised by Bradley Johansen's locker before class, but he wasn't there. We had English together—with Haylee as well—but that wasn't until the end of the day.

I paced the hallway back and forth until the first bell, but Bradley didn't appear. I waited so long that I had to run to geometry, and slid into my seat just as the second bell rung. Usually Mr. Craig would have given me the evil eye for that, but today he smiled like he was glad to see me.

We had a big test scheduled for Wednesday, the last day before Christmas break. But I could tell from all the whispering and fidgeting that I wasn't the only one who couldn't bring myself to care. My eyes kept drifting toward the empty desk next to me. When Mr. Craig was scanning the room for the roll, I saw his eyes pause on the desk, too, but he didn't mark Haylee absent.

"Counselors are still available for anyone who needs to talk," Mr. Craig said. "They'll be here until the end of the week." He'd said the same thing last week, and neither time did he mention what we might need to talk about.

Once Mr. Craig finished his public service announcement, he moved straight to math. "We're going to pair up for the review problems," he said. "Talk through the problems together, and then check with the answers in the back of the book. If you got a different answer, try to figure it out together first before you ask for help."

My classmates all started turning around in their seats, finding partners. Mr. Craig divided us up a lot, so everyone pretty much had a steady partner. I forced myself not to look at the space where Haylee should be. Every other empty desk in the room was taken, or turned around, or shoved out of the way.

But no one moved Haylee's. It just sat there, facing forward. I wondered if her ghost sat in its seat. If I touched it, would it be cold?

"Kira," Mr. Craig said. "Why don't you work with Spencer?" He said it like it was a casual thing, but he hadn't assigned a partner to anyone else.

I stared down at my hands. Spencer, of all people. If I didn't make eye contact, would he find someone else? Maybe there was an odd number of people in the class. Maybe Mr. Craig would let me work by myself.

But no. Spencer trundled across the room and threw his backpack down on Haylee's desk. It wasn't that Spencer was stupid—he could actually be really smart if he stopped practicing his stand-up routine long enough to pay attention. Unfortunately for him, he wasn't that funny.

It could have been worse. I could have been paired up with Stephanie. She was sure to spend the entire period flirting with anything male in a three-desk radius.

Spencer kicked back in Haylee's seat, with his feet propped up on the edge of my chair. "All right," he said, flipping open his own book. "Let the learning begin."

I looked at Spencer's book. He'd opened to a chapter we'd covered in October. "Do you even know where we are?"

"Sure," he said, rifling through some pages. "Um, proofs?"

"There are proofs in every chapter."

"So I'm not wrong."

"Chapter nine," I said, opening to the chapter review. My grip tightened on my pencil. I was used to helping Haylee, but Spencer was different. I'd rather fail the test than do his homework for him. "Let's just do the problems and compare answers, okay?"

"Sure thing, boss." Spencer bent over, rummaging through his backpack.

I was halfway through the first problem when he tapped me on the arm. "Uh, Kira? Do you have a piece of paper I could borrow?"

I tore an extra sheet out of my notebook and thrust it at him. Fringes from the spiral binding fluttered to the floor.

"Thanks," he said, taking it from me. "Do you have a pencil?"

I pulled one out of my backpack, holding it out to him without looking at him. "Anything else?"

"Nah, thanks."

I nodded, and went back to my problem. It took Spencer about three seconds to start talking again.

"So, do you know how she did it?"

The problems swam before my eyes. I was not having that conversation in the middle of math. "No."

"Aw, come on. You were her best friend. You must know something."

I couldn't tell if he was curious, or just trying to annoy me. Gripping my pencil, I tried to keep my tone even. "Nope. Nobody tells me anything."

Spencer paused, and I thought for a futile second that he might just drop it.

"Don't you think it's strange that nobody knows?"

I ground my pencil in a tight circle around the binder hole on my paper. "No," I said. "They're afraid if they tell us how she did it, we'll all try it." My mom said suicide was contagious, as if whatever was wrong with Haylee could pass from person to person like the chicken pox.

Spencer leaned toward me and whispered. "Some of us think maybe she didn't really do it. Maybe someone else killed her and the suicide thing is a cover up."

"You watch too much CSI," I said.

"No, really. I mean, didn't she go out with Bradley right before she died? Maybe he did it. I heard the principal called him into his office to talk about—"

I'd ground the lead of my pencil nearly down to a stump. I should have realized everyone at school would be wondering about Haylee and Bradley. They'd been seen in public together at the dance. No wonder Bradley was hiding. "Do the proof," I said.

Spencer just could not get the hint. "Or maybe her parents did it. I mean, why would Haylee—"

"Shut up," I said. "Her parents had nothing to do with it. This was Haylee's choice, okay?" I gripped my pencil even harder, so hard I was afraid it might splinter in my hand. Then at least I could go to the nurse.

Did I really feel that way? Did I really blame Haylee for what she'd done? I wasn't sure. But I was certain I didn't want to hash those feelings out with Spencer.

My hands went cold. The only person I wanted to talk about it with was Haylee.

Spencer went on like I hadn't even spoken. "Maybe—"

Lynette Handley reached from behind Spencer and whacked him on the back of the head.

Spencer rubbed the back of his hair. "Hey! What's that for?"

Lynette glared at him. "Spencer, why are you such a dickwad?"

At least I wasn't the only one he was pissing off.

He looked at her all wide-eyed. "What'd I do?"

"You're freaking clueless. Leave her alone."

I hunched my shoulders over my paper, trying to focus on the diagram in front of me. The numbers slipped in and out of my mind like they were coated in Vaseline. I dug my nails into the paint on my pencil.

Christmas break couldn't come fast enough.

As I finished the proof, I could feel Spencer looking at my paper over my shoulder. He scrawled something down on his own paper. I was pretty sure my answer was wrong, so copying wasn't going to help him. I heard the lead on his pencil—my pencil—snap, and he leaned over to me again. "Got a sharpener?"

"No."

Spencer got up, jammed my pencil into the wall-sharpener, and wound the handle around, grinding away. I'd be lucky if I got it back with more than a stub left.

I lifted my head to find Mr. Craig sitting at his desk, studying me. When I met his eyes, he smiled. I thought about smiling back, so he'd think I was okay and leave me alone, but the corners of my mouth felt like they were tacked down.

Spencer plunked himself back down in Haylee's seat, and started to open his mouth. If he said one more thing to me, I was going to put my pencil right through his eye. Spencer was always annoying, but he'd never provoked me to violence before, which meant I was being more pissy than normal. I wondered if "bitch" was one of the stages of grief.

I stood up out of my seat before Spencer could get more than a syllable out of his mouth, and marched over to Mr. Craig's desk. "Can I go to the bathroom?" I asked.

Mr. Craig looked up at me. "How are you doing?"

"Fine." Fine was my new best friend. The magical F word that really meant I don't want to talk about it, but didn't sound as rude.

"Have you thought about seeing the counselor?"

"I just want to go to the bathroom."

Mr. Craig nodded. "Take the pass."

I walked out the door without saying anything to Spencer, grabbing the hall pass on my way—a toilet seat, complete with lid. I think Mr. Craig did that so nobody would steal it. It's pretty hard to lose something that tacky.

I kept my eyes glued to the floor, following the ugly rows of green and orange tiles, lining my feet up so that I stepped directly in the center of each square. I was so intent on it that I didn't register that someone was calling my name until I'd already passed him.

"Kira? Hello?"

I whirled around.

Nick stood in the middle of the hall, waving. "Hey," he said. "How's it going?" His eyes flicked to the toilet seat.

"Hall pass," I said. But I twisted it around behind my back, so he wouldn't stare.

"Mr. Craig?"

So it was infamous. "Yeah," I said. "Geometry. What are you doing?"

Nick waved a paper at me. "Taking the roll to the office." Nick was wearing a T-shirt with a picture of a digital clock on it. As I watched, the design shifted, ticking off the seconds. I blinked. What looked like a logo was actually a glowing digital clock embedded in the cotton.

Then I realized I was totally staring at Nick's pecs. That's why I couldn't wear shirts like that. I'd be giving guys license to look at my chest.

Nick looked down at his shirt and smiled. "Awesome, huh?"

Yes, I thought, that's totally the reason I'm staring. "How does it work?"

Nick stepped close to me. He pulled a battery pack out of his pocket. A plastic cord ran up into the hem.

I tugged on the pack, and the outline of the cord tensed under his shirt.

He smiled as my hand brushed his, and I got so lost in his eyes that I nearly fell over.

I looked up at the ceiling, keeping my feet planted on the floor. "How do you wash it?" I asked.

Great, Kira. Let's talk about laundry. That didn't make me the most boring girl in history.

"It's detachable," Nick said. "Hey, after you left the reception, my mom and I went through some more of Haylee's room looking for the journal."

Oh, no. Oh no, no, no. I tried to smile casually, but I was pretty sure it came out as a menacing grimace. "Did you find it?"

He shook his head. "Not yet. We were just trying to do Aunt Hazel a favor, so she wouldn't have to do it. But I felt pretty creepy going through Haylee's stuff."

If Haylee hadn't already died literally, she would have died figuratively from having a guy dig around in her room, cousin or no. "Maybe I could help you look sometime," I said.

Nick shook his head. "Hazel said she wanted to do it, though I don't really see why. It's depressing in there."

Ugh. There went my chance. If I couldn't get in there to help, I at least needed to distract them. "Maybe Haylee threw the journal out," I said. My cheeks burned, which was what I was pretty sure my soul was going to do as a punishment for this lie. "You know, since she planned this, I guess."

"Maybe," Nick said. And as he stared at his Vans, I knew he was thinking about those last hours of Haylee's life, about what she must have been thinking. He had to be asking the same question I was.

If she thought about this ahead of time, why didn't she talk to me?

"I'm sorry," I said.

"Don't be," Nick said. His hand hesitated in the air, then dropped to his side.

The number of ways this boy could not touch me was truly astounding.

We looked at each other for a moment, and finally Nick said, "Are you okay?"

The hall was so silent, you could have heard his clock tick, if it hadn't been digital. Did he mean right now, or in general? Either way, that question had both a million answers, and none. I went with the F word. "Fine, I guess."

He nodded, even though I was pretty sure he knew that I wasn't. "We could talk sometime, if you want."

If only I could stop spouting lies long enough to carry on a normal conversation. "Maybe," I said.

Nick cringed a little. "I mean, you don't have to if you don't want to."

"No, I do," I said, cutting him off. "I didn't mean to say that I didn't. I just—"

"I'll call you later, then, okay?"

He'd call me later. Nick Harbourne would call me later. "Okay," I said.

Nick gave me a half-wave, then turned and walked down the hall.

Smooth, Kira. A truly brilliant performance. No doubt Nick would be dreaming about me, now.

In his weirdest nightmares.

I stomped the rest of the way to the bathroom. Before, running in to Nick was easy enough. I'd never needed an excuse to see him—I could just tag along whenever his family got together with Haylee's. I was practically another cousin. Maybe we weren't friends exactly, but he didn't seem to be repulsed by spending time with me. Things were normal. I knew how to handle normal.

I shoved open the bathroom doors. Now talking to Nick felt like stepping into one of Haylee's plays, only I didn't know my blocking or my lines.

I splashed cold water on my face, and gripped the edge of the sink. I needed to process this, to parse every detail of what he said. Later, when I told the story to—

Oh.

Oh, no. No, no, no.

How could I forget even for a moment? I would never, never tell this story.

There was no one to tell.