He hung up.
My heart skittered.
Dad turned to me with a confused expression. “You told your health teacher you were going to the nurse’s office, but you never went?”
I nodded. “How . . . did she know?”
“Because your health teacher was worried about you. So after class she went to the nurse’s office to see how you were doing. And you weren’t there.”
“Because I wasn’t tired! I’m only supposed to go there when I’m tired, right?”
“Uh-huh. So where did you go, then?”
I swallowed. “To the girls’ bathroom.”
“Why?”
“To look at my hair. There’s a really great mirror there, and—”
“Norah. You were in the bathroom checking your hair the whole period?”
“To see if it was growing! I hate looking like a boy!”
“First of all, you don’t. That’s just ridiculous. And second of all—why would checking your hair take an entire class period?”
“Because in health they were discussing Sensible Decisions! I hate that class! It’s torture! I wish I didn’t have to do it!”
“But you do. As long as you’re in seventh grade.”
“That’s the problem, Dad! I don’t feel as if I’m in seventh grade.”
“Why not? You mean because you’re in eighth grade math and science?”
“No, it’s not about that. And I should be in those classes, anyway.” I chewed my lip. “It’s more that there’s all this stuff happening and I’m not part of it.”
Dad gave me a stern look. “Norah, we’re not having the Afterschool fight again, right?”
“Why can’t we? Mom said you’d discuss it.”
“And we will. Just not this very minute. We’re talking about you missing a class. On purpose.”
“Well, it’s not even just Afterschool, anyway. There are parties—”
Dad blew out some air. “All right, Norah.”
“This weekend, for example. And I can’t go! Because you and Mom won’t let me!”
Dad sank into a chair. “Norah,” he said tiredly. “We’re not discussing the Weekend rule or the Afterschool rule. We’re discussing the fact that if you’re back at Aaron Burr, you can’t pick and choose which classes you go to. You have to go to all of them, unless you need to rest. That’s the only reason you’re excused, and the only place you’re allowed to be is the nurse’s office. Capeesh?”
I nodded.
“Good.” He exhaled. “So what’s this Ms. Castro like? Mom and I have to meet her tomorrow.”
“She wants to see you?”
“Yep. Is she scary?”
I rolled my eyes. “No. She has Silly Putty.”
“Slinkys?”
I shook my head. “But a Rubik’s Cube.”
“Yeah? Well, this should be buckets of fun, then.”
SILLY PUTTY
All day on Friday I tried hard not to panic. But the more I thought about it, the more I couldn’t understand why Ms. Castro needed to see my parents. If you skipped a class, you were supposed to get detention. Calling parents into school was really serious, an overreaction. Unless someone had spotted me in the lunchroom with Griffin and I was in trouble for Impersonating an Eighth Grader. Or for Vandalizing a Student’s Hand. Or maybe Astrid had reported me to Ms. Castro for Theft of Special Red Marker. Which I should definitely return to Harper right away, I told myself.
I was so obsessed with these thoughts that I barely registered when Silas came over to me at the start of social studies.
“Um,” he said. “Hi.”
“Hi, Silas,” I answered flatly. “What’s up.”
“Nothing. I was just wondering if you were coming to Kylie’s party. She said she asked you but your mom said no.”
“Kind of,” I said. I really had zero desire to be having this conversation, especially when, for all I knew, my parents could be sitting in Ms. Castro’s office right at this moment. Plus, I was still mad at Silas. “Can I ask you something? Why do you even care?”
Silas looked shocked. “Me? What do you mean?”
“Because you’ve barely even spoken to me since I’ve been back. I tried to have lunch with you and you basically ignored me.”
“Oh. No. That wasn’t what I—”
Then I kept going. “And you know else I’ve been wondering, while we’re on the subject? How come you never came to see me in the hospital? I mean, the texts were funny, but it would have been nice if you’d have shown up in person. I wasn’t there for a broken leg, you know?”
“Yes, I know,” Silas said in a choky voice. “I feel really bad, Norah. I felt really bad. But I just couldn’t. I’m very sorry.”
“Yeah, well. You may be sorry. But you’re also not my friend, obviously.”
His face turned pink, and his eyes scrunched up. I realized he was in danger of violating the number one rule for seventh grade boys—WHATEVER HAPPENS, DON’T CRY ON SCHOOL PROPERTY—but I told myself that if he did, it was his problem. Because why should I worry about Silas? I was the one who’d been sick, not him—just like Raina said.
Class started. From across the room, I could see how his shoulders drooped.
SO WHAT? I yelled at myself. Do NOT feel sorry for him. It was good you finally told him how you felt. Raina would be proud!
A few minutes later, Harper passed me a note: That’s why I had a fight with him—because he refused to visit you when you were sick. I didn’t tell you about it because I thought it would make you upset. What a jerk.
* * *
At the start of seventh period Spanish, Señorita Coleman said that Ms. Castro wanted to see me. I thought maybe my parents would still be in her office, playing with the Silly Putty, but when I got there, it was just her.
She smiled, a red lipstick smear on her teeth. “Please have a seat, Norah. I met your parents today, and we had a nice chat. You’re so lucky to have them in your corner.”
I nodded. Were you supposed to tell people about lipstick smears? I’d read something on this subject in one of those waiting room
