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Her face breaks out into a big smile. She launches herself off the wall and rushes down the hallway, waving wildly at me. “Becca!”
My shoulders scrunch up, waiting for impact.
She may be short and petite, but when she collides into me, I stagger back. She wraps her arms around my torso, squeezing me tight. “I’m so happy you’re back.”
Every single person around us is staring. My hair stands on end. I hate being the center of attention. I would rather go shopping all day with Mom than be watched like this, and that’s saying a lot considering I absolutely hate shopping.
Sadie steps back, putting her hands on my shoulder even though it looks funny with our height difference. “Did you get a new number? I don’t think my texts are going through.”
I stare at my feet. I can’t bear to see her overly joyful face right now. Why is she this happy? Her boyfriend died three months ago. She should be sulking, like me.
“No,” I say. “I’ve just been busy.”
She drops her hands. “Oh, okay.” Her smile dips. “Well, there’s a lot to catch you up on. Do you want to head to the cafeteria with me? I want to grab breakfast before the bell rings. I was going to make an omelet this morning, but then my hamster got loose. It was in its little ball, running around the house like crazy and before I knew it, he escaped right out the side.”
I stagger closer to Mrs. Smith’s open door. It’s only a few feet away. “That’s okay. We can talk later.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to come? I have so much to tell you,” she says, her eyes wide and hopeful.
I inch further away from her and her joy. “I’m sure.”
Her head lowers as she nods. “Okay.”
Guilt tugs at me for making her feel bad. I know she’s trying to pretend things are the same as they’ve always been, but they aren’t. They never will be.
“I’m just really behind and want to get a head start for the day with my homework,” I say.
“Yeah, no problem,” she says, quietly. It only lasts a moment before she goes back to her chipper self. “I’ll see you at lunch then.”
I nod and duck into the classroom where Ms. Smith sits behind her desk. Her glasses are perched on the top of her nose while she marks up a paper with a red pen. Her chin lifts when I walk in. “Hello, Becca,” she says with a grin. “We’ve missed you.”
I shrug, facing the rows of desks that fill the entire room. “Where should I sit?”
“The one right here in the front is open.” She points at the second desk from the right.
Great. Of course, it’s open. The only kids that ever want to sit in the front are the overachievers or the unruly students that need a timeout.
I sit down anyway because, after the morning I’ve had, I don’t have the capacity to argue.
The rest of the class trickles in the closer we get to eight o’clock, and by the time the bell rings, almost every seat is filled. The faces that surround me are all familiar, and even though I’ve never spoken to the majority of them, they all know who I am and what happened.
I arrange my books on the desk, opening one to make sure it looks like I’m in the middle of something. I wouldn’t want someone to get the wrong idea and try to start a conversation with me. I'm closed for business.
Ms. Smith stands at the front of the class. Her style is straight out of 2010: layered shirts, a belt strapped across her waist, a string of bead necklaces tied into a knot. Even her hair is straightened with highlights that aren’t blended enough.
Before she has a chance to speak, the phone rings.
The chatter around me continues, and I go back to my pretend reading.
Ms. Smith walks over to her desk and sets down the dry erase marker, lifting the ancient phone to her ear. With a nod, she looks in my direction. “Yes, she is.”
There are lots of other kids sitting around me. She’s talking about one of the other girls. She has to be.
“Of course, I’ll send her up right away,” Ms. Smith says, ending the call.
I don’t want to stand up in front of everyone.
Please don’t say my name.
