Jeni takes another note. Books are stacked between us. I look out on our class scattered through the library.
“Wish I’d known he’d bring us here,” I say. “We wouldn’t have had to come before school.”
“We need the time,” Jeni says. “All of it. We’re getting an A on this.”
“You are,” I say, eyeing my closed notebook. “I can’t concentrate.”
Jacey and Charity sit a few tables away, shoulder to shoulder, whispering.
“They’re talking about me,” I say.
“Maybe not,” Jeni says.
Charity turns. Makes a face. Says something to Jacey. They laugh.
I look at Jeni. “No, huh?”
“Well …” She bites her lip. “Here.” Pushing some copied pages my way.
I flick at them. “What are these?”
“It’s an article about Australia and immigration.”
“Sounds hot.”
“This one’s about early immigration,” Jeni says.
I laugh. “Oh, early immigration.”
“Angelyn, if you read it, you’ll like it. Seriously. Some of the first ones to come over were prisoners. England sent them. People they didn’t want.”
“Okay,” I say. Not convinced.
“It’s about second chances.” Jeni is intense.
I start to page through. “I will look.”
Sound rises and falls through the room. Mr. Rossi stands at the counter with the librarian and the career counselor.
“Why would somebody like him be a teacher, you think?”
Jeni looks up. “Mr. Rossi? Why not? He’s like any of them.”
“I don’t think so,” I say.
She points to the article. “Take notes.”
I flip and scan like I know what I’m doing.
Somebody’s cell goes off—loud. BAA PAA PAA PAA. Game-show ringtone.
People laugh and look around.
Mr. Rossi’s grabbing at a pants pocket. It’s his phone.
He takes it out. Drops it. “Shit!” he says, and everyone gets quiet.
Stooping, Mr. Rossi punches at the phone. “Wait,” he says into it.
He walks it outside.
“Weird,” Jeni says. Kids are buzzing.
Through the glassed panels, I see Mr. Rossi pacing, talking, listening.
“That’s his business.” She’s back to her book.
I take up the article. Details catch me. I start over from page one.
“That is cool,” I say when I’m done. “About the prisoners.”
Jeni checks me. “Yeah?”
“There’s a line here.” I find it. “How in Australia they could write their own endings.”
She nods. “Beginnings too. It didn’t matter what they came from.”
“What they’d done,” I say.
“What anyone did to them,” Jeni says.
I’m writing. “I guess I could do this part of the report.”
She smiles. “That’s great, Angelyn.”
“Twue wuv!” Charity’s voice carries. We look at her.
“You’re the one close enough to chew Jacey’s gum,” I say.
They burn carpet scraping chairs from each other.
Guys at the table between us laugh.
Jacey pouts. “God, Angelyn.”
I point to Charity. “Tell her.”
Jacey runs her eyes over Jeni. “So, this is your new best friend?”
“My partner for this project. Good luck with yours.”
“What are you trying to prove, Angelyn? Sticking with her.”
“What are you doing, Jacey, standing by whatever she does?”
Jacey checks Charity. I’m pissed at myself for saying that much.
I jerk my head to Jeni. “You guys chose her for me. Charity did.”
“But you’re not even trying to get back,” Jacey says. “Not with us. Not with Steve.”
“Why don’t you draw me a map?” I say.
“Come on,” Charity says, standing. “Let’s leave them be happy together.”
“You’re pathetic,” I say. “Both of you are.”
Jacey and Charity gather their things.
“Do you want to be with them?” Jeni asks.
I look at her. “Not today. Does it sound like I do?”
“A little.” She’s sunk in the chair, the book to her face.
“Don’t you be pissed at me, Jeni. Not you too.”
“I’m not pissed,” she says. “I don’t care. I only want to work.”
“Forget what I said about Charity choosing you.”
“Why? It’s only true. But it doesn’t matter.”
“It doesn’t,” I say. “I never think about it.”
“Sure you do, or you wouldn’t have said it.”
“Hey—”
“Angelyn, it’s okay. We’re not friends. Partners, right?”
Jacey and Charity are at the magazine wall, talking.
“We really were friends,” I say. “Jacey and me. She just dropped it.”
Jeni says, “Forget her.”
“You’re right.” I stare at the article I’ve read, trying to feel it again.
“You know, we’re kind of on a roll. Want to work in here at lunch?”
“The library at lunch? You’re killing me with this stuff. But, yeah. Okay.”
“Good,” Jeni says.
The doors to the library fly in. Nathan runs through.
“What’s he doing?” I ask.
He stops in front, checking the room.
Jeni stands. “Nathan!”
His face clears. She scoops her backpack.
“What’s going on?” I say.
“Trouble,” Jeni says, her lips in a line.
“Nice friends, Angelyn,” Charity calls as Jeni crosses.
Mr. Rossi pushes into the library as Nathan and Jeni dash out.
“Hey!” he says, sidestepping. “Stop.”
They’re gone.
“What just happened?” Mr. Rossi asks the room.
No one answers.
Jeni doesn’t show at lunch. I sit at the fountain outside the library, cursing Nathan and his drama. All around me, kids are yelling, laughing, eating. I’ve got nothing.
The door to the teachers’ lounge swings open in the breezeway between the library and Administration. Mr. Rossi steps through, a paper sack in hand.
His expression lightens as I walk up to him. “Angelyn.”
“Mr. Rossi.” I’m smiling. “Can I ask you something? Kind of crazy.”
“After today— Sure, what is it?”
“Can I bum some food off you? I forgot to bring lunch.”
“You want to have lunch with me?” he says.
“There’s no one else,” I say. Then: “Wait! I didn’t mean—”
Mr. Rossi has this sarcastic grin. “I am one popular guy.”
I lift my shoulders. “I didn’t ask right. But, can we?”
“You know,” he says, “you bet.”
Mr. Rossi lines his lunch along his desk. “Such as it is.”
A ham sandwich. Grapes. Something in a plastic container.
He points to it. “Pasta salad. Take your pick.”
I sit opposite him. “The grapes, I guess.”
Mr. Rossi raises a finger. “And half the sandwich.”
“Okay.” I lean for the food.
He pops the lid off the salad. And reels backward.
“Can something go bad between this morning and now?”
I’m covering my nose. “Definitely, yes.” Laughing.
He seals the salad and dumps it. “Welcome to my day.”
“Aw. Well, mine’s not any better.”
Mr. Rossi leans back, arms behind his head. “Tell me something good, Angelyn.”
I eat a grape. “I’d have to make it up.”
“The dog is working out. You ought to like that.”
“She is? That’s great. Your son is lucky to have Dolly.”
“Yes,” he says. “So, why are you on your own today?”
I poke at the ham sandwich. “Short on friends, I guess.”
“They let you down?”
“Everyone does that.”
He looks sad. “You’re young to know that for a fact.”
“Some people are okay. You are.”
Mr. Rossi’s chair creaks. “Nice of you to say so.”
“Thanks for letting me eat here.”
He picks up his sandwich half. “This ham doesn’t look too good.”
I don’t think it does either, but I keep quiet.
“Hey, Angelyn. Want to see a picture of my son?”
“Sure! I’d like that.”
Nodding me over, Mr. Rossi pulls out his wallet.
At his shoulder I lean to the picture—a blond, green-eyed toddler smiling on a bale of hay.
“Halloween last year,” Mr. Rossi says. “We went to a pumpkin patch.”
“He’s cute,” I say. “He looks happy.”
Mr. Rossi stares at the picture. “Camden is my world.”
I try to imagine Mom—anyone—saying that about me.
“I’m not such a bad guy if this kid loves me.”
“Mr. Rossi.” I’m surprised. “You’re not a bad guy at all.”
His head dips.
“Mr. Rossi?”
He breathes in hard.
I’m scared. “Camden is all right, isn’t he?”
A hand up, he nods.
He makes a sound. Mr. Rossi is crying.
“Oh!” My hand hovers at his shoulder. “Oh, don’t.”
“She took him, Angelyn. My wife. Took Camden and left me.”
“She did?” I hurt all through for him. “That sucks so bad.”
“It does. I don’t know what to do.”
“You’ll get him back. I know you will, because you care.”
He wipes his eyes. “I can’t do this. Not here. Can’t let anyone see.”
Both of us look to the door.
“If anybody gets on you, Mr. Rossi, I’ll kick their butt.”
Silence. Then he laughs.
“You are really something, Angelyn.”
“Something good?” I ask, looking down at him. Don’t laugh at me.
“Yes,” he says. “One tough little angel.”