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He smiles. “I’m not good for anybody’s attendance record.”
“What’s your name today?” I ask.
“A. For you, it’s always A.”
“Okay,” I say.
And it works. By not knowing this boy’s name, I can think of him as A.
—
There isn’t any question of us running away. I have that history test, and things with Justin are tense enough without me disappearing and having to lie about it. I can miss math, but that’s all I can miss.
It’s so strange to walk the halls with him. I’m worried we’ll bump into someone. I guess I’ll have to pretend he’s a new student. That I’m showing him around.
“Is Justin in class?” he asks as we hit the English wing.
“Yeah. If he decided to go.”
I don’t want to stay in the halls. I lead him into one of the English rooms, and we sit down in the back so no one will be able to see us from the door.
It’s weird being in desks. It’s hard to face each other. But we turn and find a way.
“How did you know it was me?” he asks.
“The way you looked at me. It couldn’t have been anyone else.”
Taken. I don’t know my hand is waiting to be taken until he takes it, holds it. Hands so different from Ashley’s, from Nathan’s. Different even from Justin’s, even though this guy is about Justin’s size. Our hands fit differently.
“I’m sorry about the other night,” he says.
I don’t want to do this again. But I tell him, “I deserve part of the blame. I never should have called him.”
“What did he say? Afterward?”
Honest. I feel I have to be honest.
“He kept calling you ‘that black bitch.’?”
I watch A grimace. “Charming.”
Again I feel the need to defend Justin. “I think he sensed it was a trap. I don’t know. He just knew something was off.”
“Which is probably why he passed the test.”
He won’t give up. The way he wants Justin to be a bad guy—it reminds me of Justin.
I pull my hand away. “That’s not fair.”
“I’m sorry.”
Sorry. He’s sorry. I’m sorry. We’re all so sorry.
He asks me, “What do you want to do?”
That look again. Those eyes. Not sorry. Yearning.
I do not turn away. I try to be a fact, not a feeling.
