Then I recognize one of the ladies behind the desk: Ms. Clarkson. She was always nice. She liked to read and thought it was cool when I started a book club. She even helped us raise money so the students who couldn’t afford to buy the book still got one. She was also the one I spoke to about the classes I wanted when I called a couple of weeks ago.
She glances up and our eyes meet. I don’t think she recognizes me. Have I changed that much? Then she smiles and does a tiny wiggle-like happy dance.
“I’m so glad you’re back,” she says loud enough for the whole room to hear.
Everyone looks at me. I force myself to smile but wonder why she couldn’t have waited to tell me that personally.
One of the girls looks at me really hard then gasps. I recognize her too. Lisa Porter. The bully who tried to make my life miserable for so many years. The girl who nearly pushed me out of the locker room while I was changing so everyone would get a sneak peek of my boobs.
I’m glad I’m done with PE. If she tried that trick now and exposed my scars, I … I don’t know what I’d do. But it wouldn’t be nothing.
She moves closer. “I thought you were dead.”
I’m stunned at her rudeness. Old Leah would just look away, ignore her because she’s an idiot. But I sense that my silence gave her some of my power. I don’t have enough power to share.
Then I feel it. My backbone. I lean in and toss out the only thing I can come up with, “Are you sure I’m not?” I manage to make my voice sound spooky.
I didn’t speak nearly as loudly as she did, but people must have heard because they chuckle. Lisa blinks, frowns, and mutters something under her breath and walks out. She probably called me a book dork. That had been her nickname for me since I started the book club. I pull my phone out and pretend to be enthralled. Pretend I don’t feel the others staring at me.
“Leah?” I look up. “Come on back?” Ms. Clarkson pushes open the half door for me to walk through.
I sit down with my new counselor, Ms. Milina, to get my schedule, my locker info. She also wants an update on my health. I pretend I don’t hate talking about it—pretend I don’t see the pity in her eyes. But I stop pretending so hard when she tells me they’ve reserved a scooter for me to get from class to class. I nix that idea really fast. She backs down graciously. Then I go straight to the nurse to drop off my pills. Mom’s already faxed the info.
* * *
In and out. One less thing to do.
As I walk to find locker 169, there’re students everywhere. I ignore the looks. A couple of times I hear my name and the words “heart transplant.” It makes me feel like a freak.
Classes should start in fifteen minutes. I keep a lookout for Brandy or Matt. The only two people I want to see.
I’d spoken to both of them three times over the weekend. Both offered to meet somewhere, but I didn’t have a clue where I needed to be, so I suggested we just find each other. Now I wish I hadn’t.
Then again, I need to do this on my own. I can’t depend on others to just walk down a hall. I may not completely know who I am, but I’ve never been overly needy. Hey, I’ve had my chest cracked open twice. I’m no coward.
I find my locker and stand in front of it, like it’s my friend. I finally take the time to check out my schedule, then stuff what I don’t need for the first two classes into my locker. The hall noise is loud, people talking, lockers being opened and banged close.
The chorus of noises plays around me like a symphony. I look around and again I wonder why I wanted to come back.
I shut my locker when I hear a familiar voice. “Hey, you.”
Finally, I think, and turn around to find a someone I wanted to find.
I visit with Brandy for about three minutes. We share our schedules, and I draw strength from knowing I’m not completely alone.
When she walks away, I take a deep breath and head for science. I’m almost there when I see Matt. My heart does a double cartwheel and I smile. I start toward him. His name’s on my lips; then I see he’s not alone. He’s with a blonde. A beautiful blonde. They’re talking, no, whispering, leaning against a wall.
Considering how close they are, it’s a private conversation.
Emotion shrinks my chest.
I recognize the girl. Don’t know her name, but I know she’s a cheerleader. Then I recognize more than her face. Much more. I also recognize the emotion taking up residence in my heart. Jealousy.
In a blink, it occurs to me that the blonde is probably Marissa. The conversation they are having might be all about Cassie and not about hooking up.
I give myself a good swift mental kick in the ass and hotfoot it to class. But, damn it, even rationalizing that it’s Marissa, the jealousy yanks at my heartstrings. For good reason, of course. The girl is gorgeous. She is totally in Matt Kenner’s league. And she is wearing the same sweater that I am, except in red, but she doesn’t have a camisole.
She doesn’t have scars.
* * *
Matt walks the halls looking for Leah. He doesn’t find her. But he finds Marissa. He called her three times over the weekend. He wants answers, so he pulls her to the side of the hall for a chat.
“Okay, one more time. I don’t know anything,” Marissa says. “Hell, I didn’t even know Cassie was back. She’s dropped me. It’s like we were never friends.”
“Why? Why would she do that?” Matt asks.
“Because she loved Eric and he died.” She frowns. “Well, it can’t just be that. She started pulling away a couple of months before. But I blamed it on her and Eric breaking up.”
Matt takes in her every word. “But the breakup wasn’t Eric’s idea. Why did she break up with him?”
“Don’t know,” she says. “She told me she needed space. But she never told me why. That’s when she started acting … different. I thought it was that guy?”
“What guy?” Matt asks.
“James or Jake, starts with J. He drove a motorcycle, had tattoos, older, like twenty-one. Dark hair and a bad-boy look. He had a thing for Cassie. His family moved next door to her.”
“When was this happening?”
“Before she and Eric broke up. I’m not saying she cheated on him. I don’t know if they went out. All I know is before Eric and her broke up, that guy was showing up.”
“Why didn’t you tell Eric?” Matt’s frustration feels like thunder in his chest.
“Because I’m Cassie’s friend. Or was. And it seemed harmless. Yes, it made Cassie happy that an older guy was hitting on her, but she said she loved Eric. Later, when she told him about needing space, I thought it was that guy.”
Matt grits his teeth so tight he feels they might crack. “When Detective Henderson talked to you, did you tell him this?”
“No, that was like five months before Eric killed…” She stumbles then rephrases. “Before he died.”
Matt’s frustration thunders louder. They knew Eric. How could they believe he’d kill himself?
“Can’t you see that this guy was probably pissed when Cassie went back to Eric? He had a motive to kill Eric!”
Marissa blinks. “How would he have gotten your dad’s gun?”
“Maybe Eric got the gun because he was afraid of this guy. Then maybe the guy got the gun and used it on Eric.”
Pity fills her eyes. “That’s a lot of maybes.”
He swallows. “Is Cassie here today?”
“I haven’t seen her.”
The tardy bell rings. Damn it, he needs to get to class, and he hasn’t even found Leah yet. “Will you call me if you remember anything else? And stop avoiding my calls?”
She sighs. “Take me out Friday. We can talk then.”
Hell no! “I can’t … It’s not like that between us.”
“It could be. We had a good time when we went out, didn’t we?”
No. “Yeah. But I just need your help figuring things out. Please.”
“Fine,” she says in a tone that sounds like she thinks it’
s really less than fine, and takes off.
Fighting oncoming hall traffic—fighting the frustration simmering in his gut—he hurries to his first period. Suddenly really needing to see Leah, he claims a corner in the hall to text her. Didn’t find you. Where are you?
She doesn’t answer. Walking into his class, his gaze searches for a dark-haired girl that makes him feel whole, that pushes the darkness he feels farther back inside him.
She’s not there. Voices bounce around the room. Mr. Muller, a teacher he had last year, is straightening his desk.
Matt suddenly doesn’t just want to see Leah, he needs to. He needs the calm Leah offers him.
He almost shoots out of class but spots Brandy, Leah’s friend.
There’s an empty seat next to her. He claims it and leans in. “Have you seen Leah?”
Her eyes widen as if surprised he spoke to her. “Briefly.”
“Do you know her schedule?”
“I glanced at it. She has science first period, and we have English together fourth period. Mr. Applegate’s class.”
He pulls his schedule from his pocket and unfolds it. Since he hadn’t kept up with his AP classes, they’d rearranged his schedule. “Who’s her first-period teacher?”
“Whitney.” Brandy glances at his schedule. “You have the same schedule as me, except English.”
“Are you in any of her other classes?”
“Just English.”
“Shit.” He wads the schedule in his hand.
“Can I say something?” Her tone is cautious.
“Yeah.”
“Don’t hurt Leah. She’s been through enough.”
His shoulders harden defensively. “I don’t plan on it.”
She leans closer. “Don’t forget that if you break her heart, you’re breaking Eric’s.”
Air hiccups in his chest. Leah told Brandy? He knows girls talk. He’s not upset, just surprised.
“Okay.” Mr. Muller’s voice echoes above the chatter.
Matt pops up and heads for the door.
“Matt?” Mr. Muller calls out.
Matt turns but keeps walking backward. “I remembered I’m supposed to check in with the office about something.”
“Can’t it wait?”
“No, sir.” Shooting around, he darts out.
21
I’m halfway through science, taking notes, when a girl walks in. She moves over to Ms. Whitney and whispers some important message worthy of class disruption.
Ms. Whitney looks up. I swear she zeroes in on me.
It can’t be about me. I’m just feeling paranoid. About school. About Matt. About my scar. But I got a text from Matt. Unfortunately, I was already in class and didn’t want to risk having my phone taken away. But as soon as class is over …
The girl walks out. Ms. Whitney starts down the aisle.
My aisle.
Could it be about my pills? I check the clock on the wall. It’s not even eight. I take them at nine.
Ms. Whitney stops beside me. “You’re needed in the office.”
“Why?” I ask, then wish I hadn’t, because everyone’s listening.
“I’m not sure. Probably nothing.”
You don’t get called into the office for nothing. I walk out with my books, my pen, and a backpack full of fear. I’m shaking. I’ve never been called to the office before. Book dorks and blatant book geeks are good kids.
I walk the green mile to the office. Ms. Clarkson smiles at me.
I ease up to the counter. “Is something wrong?”
“No. Ms. Milina, your counselor, wants to speak to you again.”
Crap. I hope this isn’t about the scooter.
Her door’s open. I still stop outside of it.
“Come in.” Her voice flows out.
I ease in. Should I close the door? Then not wanting anyone to eavesdrop, I shut it. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” She motions to the chair. “Do you know Matt Kenner?”
Air catches in my throat. I plop into the chair.
She leans in. “I hear you two have a … special connection.”
My knot of nerves starts to unravel in my stomach. She knows? Shit shit shit!
But—I breathe in, I breathe out—how could she know?
She’s staring at me. I manage to nod.
“Matt stopped by earlier. He mentioned that…” She’s speaking slowly. I wish I could yank the words out. But then maybe I’m not ready to hear them. I’m not ready for the world to know. They’ll blame me …
Because deep down, where I don’t like to go emotionally, I blame myself. Not for his death, but for benefiting from it. Part of me wonders how Matt doesn’t blame me.
“Matt made a request. I wanted to confirm it was okay with you.”
I shift in my seat. The chair scrapes across the wood floor. “A request?”
“He said he’s been helping you study.”
“Yes. He is.” The tension holding my spine hostage releases.
“He requested to be moved into your classes.”
He did? Oh shit! Good shit. I probably shouldn’t smile, at least not this big, but I can’t stop myself. Matt Kenner wants to be in my class.
“I wanted to check with you first.”
“It would be so helpful if that’s possible.”
“I can only get him into your math and science classes.”
“Those are the subjects I’ll need the most help with,” I tell her.
She leans back. Her chair squeaks. “The schedule will start tomorrow.” She pauses. “I normally don’t grant this kind of a request, but Matt made it clear that you two have had a rough year and because of it you’ve bonded.”
My smile goes bigger. Matt thinks we bonded. Bonded.
The moment I’m out of the office, I grab my phone to text Matt. I don’t know what to say. I hesitate, then write. “Science and math with you. Awesome.”
I get a text right back. I agree. When do you have lunch?
I text back 11:40.
Me too. Meet me by C entrance. I’ve learned something about Eric.
I text back OK and float back to my class, happier than I probably have a right to be.
* * *
I don’t find Matt during the next bell, but there’s no time to look since we only have six minutes between classes. The bubble of happiness follows me as I move into history and go straight to Mr. Perez’s desk. I stand close enough to not be heard by the students piling into the classroom. He’s staring at his phone.
Feeling awkward, I clear my throat so he’ll notice me. He looks up. His frown’s chiseled so firmly in his face, I step back.
“I want to let you know I’ll be going to the nurse’s office to take medicine at nine.”
“No. You can take them after class. Now be seated so we can start.” His words blast out, and I feel everyone’s stares stick to me like gum on the bottom of a desk. My happy bubble pops.
I’m stunned. I don’t move. I assumed the teachers would’ve been notified. “I’m sorry, but I have to take them at nine.”
“What’s your name?” His voice booms out, gathering more stares. I’m in the limelight, and I want to fade to nothing.
“Leah McKenzie.” My name scrapes out of my tight throat. I’ve never felt more uncomfortable in my own skin.
“Well, Miss McKenzie,” says with disdain. “I’m positive taking a pill twenty minutes late isn’t going to kill you. Now be seated.”
But it can. Just ask the transplant team. “Sir, I—”
His thick, hairy brows knit together. “Sit down!” He yanks papers from a briefcase and addresses the class: “The first day back, and I already know who’s going to be trouble.”
My face goes hot. I’m shifting from embarrassment to anger. This, being here with Eric’s heart, is all so damn hard. I don’t need this. I don’t need a rude, obnoxious asswipe throwing verbal darts at me. My sinuses sting, but I’ll die before I cry.
When he realizes
I haven’t moved, he scowls up again. Anger fattens his face. I don’t think it’s even aimed at me. He’s just one of those angry souls, and I happen to be his target. I’m tired of being someone’s target.
“Are you hard of hearing? Sit down!” he orders.
Several rude responses tickle my tongue, but I can’t push them out. I don’t move either.
“Seriously?” He slaps a hand on his desk. “You really want me to send you to the office on the first day back to school.”
Old Leah wouldn’t stand here. Old Leah would’ve already been in her seat. I’m not Old Leah. I tilt my chin up.
“Yes, sir. Please send me to the office.” My words are polite. The sharp edge of my tone isn’t.
“Go.” He orders me like a dog.
I’m not out of the room before I hear someone say, “Perez, you know she has a dead heart, don’t you?”
Another student counters, “It’s not dead. It came from a dead person.”
“She’s practically a zombie,” another says.
I bolt out. My chest hurts. The damn knot in my throat doubles.
I don’t go to the office. I go to the front exit. I don’t want to be here. I shove the door open. Cold winter wind washes over me. It feels good. I’m hot. I’m angry. I’m so pissed that this is my life.
That some effing virus took everything away from me.
What did I do to deserve this?
I stand right outside the door. The wind scatters my dark hair on my face.
Staring at the parking lot, I see my car. It’s calling me. Tempting me.
I could go home. My keys are in my pocket. But if I leave, I won’t come back.
I have to come back. I have to. I have two classes with Matt.
I grip my fists. I’m not leaving, but I’m not ready to face anyone. I move away from the door, slink behind some bushes, and lean against the rough redbrick building. It’s where I used to wait on Mom after school. A hidden place I could read and go unnoticed. It hits me then. That’s what Old Leah always did. Old Leah really didn’t like school any more than New Leah. I’ve spent all of my school life staying out of everyone’s way.