“I’m gonna stop you here,” Tory says, hand on my shoulder with a heavy pat. “All that you just said?” He circles his finger in the air between us. “None of that means anything to me, or makes sense. But I can almost guarantee that you and Zack are not in the same shoes. You’re making his problems yours, and that is only going to fuck with your head, my friend.”
He flicks my forehead with a snap, and it hurts.
“Ow! Dick,” I say, swiping at his hand but missing it. He laughs, then finishes the rest of his drink, tossing the can in the recycle bin by the office.
Our friends catch up to us, and June makes her way next to me. The bell is seconds from rescuing me, but it’s as if she has it under her control and won’t let it ring until she invades my head and space.
“How are you?” I’m immediately thrown by her sincere question and my brow puzzles. I was prepared for a lecture, part two of the things Hollis said to me at the gym last night.
“I’m . . . fine,” I say, turning my head further and looking at her sideways. She doesn’t budge, her eyes slanting more, and her stare unforgiving. She’s a high school senior with mom powers; I swear she’s looking right through me.
“I don’t know,” I finally give.
June loops her arm through mine and squeezes my bicep. She and I aren’t close, not really, but she’s always struck me as soft and kind. I can see why Lucas loves her. She’s . . . intuitive.
“Nobody blames you,” she finally says, the bell sounding behind her words.
My forehead dents as we move through the corridor, but not because I don’t understand what she means. I understand perfectly. What hits me is the way she cut right to the heart of my stress. They don’t blame me, but there is one person who does. And she’s already sitting in her seat by the time I make it to my classroom door.
I’m a little shell shocked by the time I land in my seat, and I dump my bag by my feet and let my forehead fall into my palms. Rubbing my eyes, I ready myself for the hard part—the hardest, really.
My hair curly from my morning shower, I roll my head to the side in my hands and wait, staring on while Hollis busies herself with dozens of little tasks that I recognize as diversions, ways to keep herself from looking at me. Finally, the heat of my attention too much perhaps, she flattens her pen against her notebook and presses her palms on her desk, splaying her fingers out while she draws in a deep breath.
Her head turns and our eyes meet. Mine were waiting. Before she can open her mouth to keep this grudge going, I end it.
“I’m sorry.”
Her lips are parted, the path her words were on suddenly diverted with something so simple. An apology. One she deserves from more than only me for sure, but one I owe her. And the only one I have the power to give.
My lips tighten in a subtle smile as I lock in anything else that might slip out on accident. There aren’t any buts that need to be added. No excuses to make for people who aren’t me. As Tory said, I’m taking care of my own shit.
She blinks a few times, hesitantly staring back.
“That’s it. No excuses. I’m sorry, and you are right,” I expand. The class quiets around us, and Mr. V dims the lights, flicking on the screen up front. He’s giving instructions but I’m not listening. I’m determined not to look away from her until she gives me permission, even if it isn’t full absolution.
Hollis clears her throat as she shifts in her seat, bringing her hands together on top of her notebook and moving her gaze to her own hands. She taps her thumbs together a few times and flits her gaze to me a few times, as if coming to a decision. I feel a bit as if I’m on trial with a super biased jury.
Leaning to her right, she glances first up to the monitor and our teacher, then to the floor, where her backpack rests beside her leg. Tugging on the top zipper, she reaches in, feeling around for something, her eyes remaining up front—always the perfect student. The scene makes me smile, even if I feel a bit shunned. She straightens again, a pack of gum cupped in her palm. She works it open in her lap and pulls out a stick, unwrapping it without looking and popping it in her mouth. She turns to me mid-chew, one eyebrow raised and holds the pack out for me.
“Gum?” she asks.
I breathe out a quiet laugh and shift my focus from the pack back to her, studying her eyes and her features for a second or two.
“Sure,” I respond, reaching over and pulling out the piece on top. Her gaze sticks to mine through it all, as I unwrap the stick while staring back at her, and even while I pop it in my mouth and begin to chew. I smile with closed lips when the gum goes soft, and she does the same, our jaws in sync as they work slowly.
“Thanks,” I whisper.
She responds with a slow blink, her lashes dusting the tops of her cheeks while her mouth curves up into them.
That’s all it took. My chest is open, and I can breathe. Hollis is as comfortable with saying I’m forgiven as I was apologizing, and a stick of gum is her olive branch. Now, if only this feeling can stick all the way through practice. Somehow, I’m doubtful.
My relief is short-lived. By the time Zack and I make it to the track to get our laps in, Uncle Joel already stands in the middle of the field next
