Jay places a hand on my shoulder. “It’s okay. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”
“But it isn’t okay,” I say to the table. “Because I skipped all of it, everything you guys did for Sam. And now even Mika hates me for it.” I didn’t even mean to miss the vigil this time. After I got off the phone with Sam, I fell asleep at my desk, and had that strange dream, and the next thing I knew I was out looking for him. It’s easy to forget that everyone is mourning for Sam when I’ve been speaking to him every day. The worst part is I can’t even explain myself. I promised Sam I wouldn’t tell, because it might affect our connection, and I can’t risk that. My eyes start watering, and I don’t know what else to do. The others at the table are kind enough not to say anything else.
At the end of lunch, the three of them walk me to my next class. Before I head in, Yuki says something. “You know, maybe we can do something else for Sam. Something special to honor him by.”
“That’s a great idea,” Rachel says, nodding. “And we can bring Mika, too. The five of us, together.”
I think about this.Something special for Sam. To honor him by.“Like what?” I ask.
They all glance at each other, looking uncertain.
“We’ll think of something,” Jay promises.
I smile at them. “Thank you. I don’t know what I would do without you guys.”
It’s the end of school. I need to hurry home without running into anyone. But it’s difficult to avoid people when you can’t even get to your locker without bumping into a dozen shoulders. As I’m packing up my books, someone taps me on my arm.
It’s Oliver.Again.
“Hey. Whatcha up to?” he asks me.
“I’m about to leave.”
“Cool—where?”
“Home.”
“Oh.”
I shut my locker and walk toward the front doors without another word.
“Hold up—” Oliver says as he follows me down the hall. “I was gonna ask you if you wanted to do something.”
“Sorry, I’m busy.”
“It doesn’t have to be too long,” he says. “Maybe we can grab some ice cream.”
“I told you,I’m busy,” I say without looking at him. “Why don’t you hang out with your other friends?”
“Did I do something wrong?” Oliver asks, scratching his forehead.
I don’t feel like explaining it to him. I shouldn’t have to. “I’m just not in the mood, okay?”
“For ice cream?”
I turn to him. “For anything.”
“Just two scoops,” he insists.
“Oliver. I saidno.”
“One scoop.”
It’s like he can’t hear me. I walk off again, leaving him standing there.
“C’mon!” he shouts down the hall.“Pretty please!”His voice is loud and desperate.“It’s on me!”
Maybe it’s the empathy from being a writer that makes me stop walking. Or maybe it’s Sam’s voice inside my head. Reluctantly, I take a deep breath and turn around.
