The day begins terrible and then gets worse.
I wait for Aurora as she gets off the bus, but she won’t speak to me.
I want to tell her that it’s not quite as awful as it sounds—yes, I wanted to do some damage in the world. Yes, I was angry at life, frustrated, and yes, I knew too much about making explosives, or perhaps not enough, seeing that I blew my own hands off. But no, I had no specific target in mind, just general mayhem and carnage. Maybe I wouldn’t have gone through with it. I like to think I wouldn’t. Certainly, I would not do the same thing now. I’m a different person now; in part, I think, because of her.
But she won’t listen to me.
Nor will she listen to me when I trail her to her locker, try to talk to her there.
“Let it go, Lucius,” she says to me, sounding both incredibly tired and sad all at once.
But I can’t let it go.
Still, I have no choice as Jessup strolls by and Aurora calls out, “Hey, Jessup! Wait up!”
Her words are like four daggers piercing my armor.
I go out to the nonsmokers’ lounge hoping to see Nick Greek.
He is nowhere to be seen.
Early last week he called off our morning football practice sessions, which is why I’m back to taking the bus, and now it occurs to me that I haven’t seen him since Thursday. I suppose I was so obsessed with going to that party, I hadn’t even thought much about him.
Now I wonder where he is.
I could ask one of the other security guards, but that’s really not my way. Plus, whenever Nick is here and talking to me, they always glare at me like I’m a bad influence on him.
I’m just about to give up and go inside when a man enters the area dressed in a dark blue suit. Since most teachers and administrators dress fairly casually, he stands out.
It’s Nick; Nick, looking surprisingly handsome, pockmarked cheeks and all.
“I came to say goodbye,” he says, without ever having said hello.
“What?” I don’t understand.
“I’m on my way to the airport,” Nick says, only adding to the mystery, my confusion. “I’ve got a tryout with an NFL team down in Florida.”
Ah. The light in my brain finally clicks on.
“I heard kickers are in high demand this season,” he goes on when I fail to speak. “Come to think of it,” he adds with a grin, “I think I heard somewhere that kickers are always in demand.”
“I think I heard that same thing too,” I speak at last.
Nick Greek holds out his hand. It’s obvious it’s not the unconscious, unthinking gesture others have done. On the contrary, it’s very deliberate. He knows exactly what he’s doing.
I don’t want him to go.
This could not come at a worse time for me. With Aurora gone, no doubt forever, he is the only friend I have left in the world.
But if he is my friend, and he is, then I should want what’s best for him.
I reach out my right hook, shake his hand like a man.
“Maybe this year I’ll be great,” Nick says. “Maybe next year I’ll be a goat. But I gotta try.”
“You’ll be great every year,” I say.
“Well, then . . .”
There’s nothing left to say.
Nick starts to walk away, then stops, calls over his shoulder:
“Thanks, Lucius. If it wasn’t for you . . .”
Before he can say anything further, I salute him with my hook. I let him go.