Back in school, it’s a relief not to be thinking about Mel’s surgery. Only now I’m in Mrs. M.’s class and there’s one empty seat in the last row.
Her absence is as dramatic as her presence.
By now I should have realized that Amber Augusta Bennington is nothing if not unpredictable. Just when I thought she was starting to act normal, she morphed into the Amber of the locker door, staring into the abyss, famous for throwing curveballs.
I’ve been helping her for a month, but never mind that she was supposed to come over after school. She didn’t even let me know she wouldn’t be in school. I overheard Mrs. M. telling Amber’s history teacher that Amber would be “out indefinitely.” It has to have something to do with her mom, but there’s no way for me to find out for sure. Even though Amber lets little bits of her life trickle out, her private life stays private.
The only person who might know what’s going on is Josh. But I’ve never said more than two words to him. Why would he tell me anything?
At lunch, I’m at my regular table with Jen. She’s talking to a girl in her class about a history test, which segues into a discussion of grades and—no surprise—Amber. It’s as though there’s a magnetic field around her, and eventually everything is drawn to it. Or not a magnetic field, a black hole.
“Josh said she got a ninety on the last English quiz,” Jen says. “I don’t believe it, do you?”
“She’s smarter than I gave her credit for.”
“If she’s so smart, why was she failing for half the semester?” Jen says. “She needs help.”
I shrug. “Maybe failing was her way of asking for it.”