Denny Lucas
Denny’s scholarship letter blew my mind.
I don’t know why, but until I read his words, it had never occurred to me that any of the other survivors were struggling with how our stories were being told. I was so wrapped up in my guilt over what had happened with Sarah and Kellie that I’d never even considered the other narratives being spun. Knowing Denny had his own frustrations about how the world saw him made me feel less alone, but I wasn’t sure if it made me feelbetter.
What I did know was that I had to tell him the truth about Kellie and Sarah. Since reading the news about the McHales’ book, I’d felt constantly on edge, a buzzing hive of anxiety, and if I didn’t confide in someone, I thought I might burst. Now I was sure that if anyone would understand, it was Denny.
“I read your scholarship letter,” I told him over lunch the next day. We were sitting at one of the small round tables on the edge of the cafeteria, one that made it easy for me to see all of the exits. Miles was sitting next to me, his head resting on a thick book he’d been lugging everywhere for the past week, with his eyes closed. I wasn’t sure if he was awake or not. During our lunch hours, Denny and I usually did most of the talking.
Well,Dennydid most of the talking.
“On a scale of one to ten, how brilliant am I?” Denny asked. “One is brilliant. Ten is brighter than the damn sun.”
“Negative four,” Miles said, not opening his eyes.
Denny laughed. “Accurate. But really. How bad is it, Lee?”
“It’s good,” I said. “It gave me a lot to think about.” I hesitated as I speared a small piece of the greasy school pizza with my fork. (Yes, I eat pizza with a fork. You are free to judge me. Miles and Denny have already informed me of just how unacceptable this is.) Just before I put the fork to my lips, I added, “I was actually hoping to talk to you more about it after school.”
“You mean like give me notes or help me edit it?” he asked.
My mouth was full, so I nodded, then remembered he couldn’t see me. I’d known Denny for most of my life and been friends with him for the past three years. It was embarrassing how often I still made little mistakes like this. I chewed and swallowed quickly, then answered, “Yeah. Something like that. I can give you and Glitter a ride home after school if that’s okay.”
“Okay?That’d begreat,” Denny said. “Any day I don’t have to worry about maneuvering Glitter around a school bus is a good day.” He reached down to where the yellow Lab was lying next to his seat. She lifted her head, pushing her nose against his palm. I watched as he ran his hand backward across her muzzle and to the top of her head, where he began scratching her ears.
Then I felt a pair of eyes on me.
Miles had lifted his head, and he was raising a questioning eyebrow at me.
“You … don’t mind taking the bus home, right?” I asked.
He shrugged. “It’s fine.” But he didn’t take his eyes off me. He knew something was going on. Or else I would have just asked him to tag along for the extra stop on our way home. He didn’t ask, though. I’d known he wouldn’t.
But Denny did.
That afternoon, when I parked my truck in his driveway and proceeded to sit there quietly for a minute, not sure how to begin what I wanted to tell him, he did the work for me.
“I’m going to guess this isn’t about my letter.”
“What?”
He lifted a shoulder. “You told Miles to take the bus home. It’s not hard to figure out something is up, because my scholarship letter doesn’t warrant this kind of secrecy. So what’s going on?”
I let out a breath. “It is sort of about your letter, actually,” I said.
“Really? Crap. Now I’m worried.”
“Don’t be,” I told him. “At least … not about your letter. It’s good. Really good. And it made me think about some stuff … about the shooting.”
“Oh,” Denny said. “Well, this sounds like it’s going to be a pretty heavy conversation, so I vote that we get out of this truck, raid my fridge, and head to the backyard so Glitter can take a break while we talk.”
“I can get behind that.”
Ten minutes later, with sodas and a bag of freshly popped popcorn in hand, Denny and I were making our way through his house and toward the back door. Glitter was out of her harness now, closely following behind Denny, with her eyes fixed on the bag of popcorn.
“Glitter, please stay out from under my feet,” he said as she bumped up against him. “She’s trained not to expect food from people, and usually she’s good about it, but I swear, she loses her mind over popcorn.”
“Can you blame her?”
