I bump into his arm and grin. “Thanks.”
He looks at me with the most brilliant smile. The sun could fizzle out and Evan’s smile would provide enough warmth to power a thousand solar systems. His hand reaches for mine. The realization that I find his grip familiar makes my heart race. Becoming attached to him is dangerous. I can’t help thinking I’m being set up for heartbreak.
When we reach the choir room, we sit on the floor in my corner. Evan pulls a brown bag out of his backpack. He hands me a sandwich.
I take a bite and grin. Peanut butter. “I can’t believe I’ve been drawing your name.” It feels weird to admit this, even though I already have anyway, but I really want his help. He saw the love knot before. Maybe he can find something else.
“And you really didn’t know you were drawing it?”
“No.”
He grins but uncertainty lurks in his eyes.
“Yeah, I know. Weird.” I open my backpack and pull out the notebook. “See?” I point to his name sprawled diagonally across the page. If the love knot is on every page, I wonder if his name is too.
Evan has the same idea. Without saying a word, he flips to a previous drawing. “There.” He points across the bottom. “Evan.” He’s beaming.
I lean over to check it out and he’s right. The word pops right off the page. Along with a Celtic love knot. He flips back page after page, finding his name on every one. The sandwich turns to a heavy lump in my stomach.
He lays his hand on top of mine. “Are you okay?”
“Don’t you find it the slightest bit creepy that I’ve been drawing your name for months when we hardly even spoke before? It’s not like I had some secret crush on you.”
“Yeah, thanks. Way to boost a guy’s ego.” His eyes have a mischievous glint.
“You have to admit. It’s stalkerish.” I lean my back against the wall in disgust. I feel slimy.
“No, maybe it was your subconscious saying you’re supposed to be with me.”
I roll my eyes. “Good thing you decided to tutor me or I might’ve gotten my heart broken when I realized my subconscious is obsessed with you.” Of course, we’re assuming Evan Whittaker is the Evan on my pages. Maybe it’s not. Maybe I’ve just randomly drawn the name Evan. But I have to admit I don’t know any other Evans.
The hair on the back of my neck prickles as sweat breaks out on my forehead. My stomach flip-flops at the possibility of a panic attack. I push up the sleeves of my sweater and my bracelet slips down my wrist, onto my hand. The silver glitters in the sunlight streaming though the cracked blinds.
Evan reaches down and fingers the charm. “What’s this?”
Doodling his name is bad enough. I’m not sure I can admit my other freaky idiosyncrasies. “It’s nothing. Just a bracelet.”
But Evan’s curiosity is piqued and he lifts my hand to get a closer look. His eyes are large spheres as he reads the inscription on the charm. With a gasp, his face turns ashen. “Where did you get this?” His words escape in a wheeze.
I try to suck in a breath as my chest tightens. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“Try me.” He sounds impatient and his fingers shake.
“They said I was wearing it when they found me at the scene of the accident, but I’d never seen it before. The doctors said my head trauma made me forget, but I remember everything else. I have no idea how I got it.”
His eyes flood with tears. He still holds the charm between his thumb and finger. The chain pinches my flesh. “Do you know what this means?”
The pendulum of his emotions scares me. “You mean Love endures forever?” I shake my head and bite my lip. ”Other than the obvious.”
He looks like he’s staring at a ghost. “Julia, who gave you this bracelet?”
“Evan, I already told you.”
“And you never saw it before the accident?” He stands up. “Never?”
I stand up, too, my legs rubbery. “I already told you that,” I say, more insistent.
He rubs his shaky hands over his face. “I have to think. This is all such a mess.”
My heart thumps wildly. “Why are you so upset? Have you seen this before? Do you know where it came from?”
He drops his hands. Beads of perspiration dot his upper lip. He looks like he’s about to barf as he stumbles backward.
“Evan,” I plead, the word almost lost in my breathlessness. My head grows fuzzy at the possibility that he has answers.
“You have no right to have this!” he shouts, grabbing my wrist. “That doesn’t belong to you!”
“Evan, stop!” I jerk out of his grip. “Who does it belong to?”
“I have to go.” He’s wild-eyed as he steps backward. His heel catches on a chair leg and he stumbles then rights himself. With a grunt, he flings the door open and runs out of the room.
My feet meld to the linoleum floor, not that I think to move. My brain has frozen.
Breathe.
I gasp out a breath as tears sting my eyes.
In. Out.
Like an idiot, I tell my shaking body to do what it’s obviously forgotten. How to survive. I have no idea how to survive Evan’s anger, but I know how to breathe.
At least I have that.
My legs give out and I crumple to the floor, still giving my chest commands. In. Out. Just one more breath. The panic attack following in the wake of Evan’s reaction shouldn’t surprise me, yet it does. It hits like a freight train and leaves me gasping for breath. I can’t die this way.
You’re not dying. The logical part of me knows this, but the betrayed part wishes it were true.
Evan’s anger won’t kill me.
But the panic attack might.
The choir teacher finds me laying on the floor, choking on nothing but lack of air. Before I know it, my private humiliation becomes a public spectacle. Students gather at the door to watch, their anxious faces the last thing I see before everything goes black.
When I wake up, I’m laying on a flimsy medical table covered in paper in the school nurse’s office. I sit up and wait for my equilibrium to settle. The crinkly paper grates my raw and oozing nerves.
A grey haired nurse sits at a desk on the other side of the room, watching with a bored expression. “How do you feel?”
“I’m fine. Can I go to class now?”
Her lips press together. “I’ve called your mother to come get you.”
“No!” I shout, then lower my voice. “No, she’ll get in trouble if she has to leave work. Do I have to go home?”
Her scowl deepens as her eyebrows lower. “No, you don’t have to, but I really think you should.”
“No, I want to stay. I need to stop my mom.”
She shakes her head as she picks up the phone. She whispers into the mouthpiece before handing me the phone.
“Mom?”
“Julia, are you okay?” Mom sounds relieved, but her words are tight. “Nurse Benton says you had an attack.”
“I’m okay, Mom. I promise. I just want to go back to class.”
She hesitates. “Are you sure? I can try to get off work and take you home.”
I’ve already put her through enough. Besides, since Dad left, she needs her job more than ever. “No, I’m fine. I promise.”
“Well…okay.” She’s obviously trying to disguise her relief and I pretend I don’t hear it.
“Thanks, Mom. I love you.”
“I love you too, Julia.” She doesn’t disguise her tears very well, either.
I give the phone to the nurse and look around, hoping someone brought my backpack to the office. It’s lying in a chair, on top of Evan’s, my notebook sandwiched in between. I grab the notebook and my bag. I wish I could burn Evan’s.
“Your mother says you can stay,” The nurse says after she hangs up. “But Mrs. Hernandez wants to see you before you go to class.”
I nod. I’m lucky it’s not the principal’s office since they found me in a restricted space. So much for my
private lunch spot.
Damn you, Evan Whittaker.
I leave the nurse’s office and take my time going to Mrs. Hernandez’s office. The halls are deserted and a quick glance at a clock tells me it’s sixth period. Everyone’s in class. The longer this takes, the less time I’m on display like a mutant in a freak show. I have no idea why I want to go back to class. Maybe it’s one of my futile attempts at normalcy. Look how that’s turning out so far.
Outside Mrs. Hernandez’s office, I take a deep breath before knocking.
“Come in,” she calls.
I push the door open. Mrs. Hernandez sits in front of her computer and lowers her reading glasses, a grim smile cracking her expressionless pose. “Julia, please come in.”
I shut the door and sit in my usual chair.
She releases an exaggerated sigh as she clasps her hands on the desk. “Julia, I heard there was an incident in the choir room.”
An incident? I want to laugh. Evan accusing me of stealing my bracelet ranks higher than an incident on my list. Of course, she means my panic attack.
“Can you tell me what you were doing in the choir room?”
“Eating lunch.”
“Why weren’t you in the cafeteria?”
I shrug. “I felt like being alone today.”
Her eyes narrow. “If you wanted to be alone, then why was Evan Whittaker’s backpack found with yours in the choir room?”
“How should I know? Maybe you should ask him.”
“We would, but it appears Evan has left the campus.”
Coward.
“Julia, you’re already having difficulties with your grades. Now you’re hiding in restricted areas and Sarah Chapman told me that you purposely pushed her into the wall after fourth period today.”
“That’s not what happened! She ran into me.”
Her lips pinch and her eyes burn into me as though she’s trying to scan my thoughts. It’s obvious she doesn’t believe me. I suppose I haven’t given her much reason to. “Julia, you were always such a model student but since the accident—”
I cringe at the word.
“—you’ve been different. More belligerent. Talking back to your teachers and other students. This last incident just confirms we’re not qualified to meet your needs. We’ve decided it would be best for you to go to alternative school.”
“What?”
“We planned to do it at semester if tutoring didn’t work out, but after this incident, it seems wise to accelerate the timetable. It doesn’t have to be permanent placement, perhaps long enough for you to get things worked out and then you can come back. That’s what another student did recently. In fact, he just came back yesterday.”
My head’s fuzzy and black spots dance in my peripheral vision. I will not let myself pass out. “What do I have to do to keep from going there?” It’s not as though I want to be at James Monroe High School, it’s that alternative school seems a hundred times worse. Alternative school is for the rejects of society.
Maybe I belong there after all.
“Just until you get things straightened out. It’s not a death sentence, Julia. There are worse things. Like I said, if you work hard enough, you can come back here.”
“Can’t I do something to stay? Is it definite?”
She smiles apologetically. “I’m afraid it is.”
“So, what? The other student came back and cleared out a spot for me?” The bitterness in my words matches my growing anger.
“Good heavens, no. It doesn’t work that way.” She sighs and her face softens. “Julia, this might actually be a blessing. You’ll get more specialized attention there. You’ll probably catch up faster.”
I bite my tongue. Any disagreement on my part will be a waste of time. “When do I go?”
“Tomorrow.”
Tomorrow? I give myself a moment to recover.
Mrs. Hernandez sees my stricken face. “Julia, please try to look at this in a positive light.”
I want to laugh but with my luck, I’ll look crazy and they’ll probably send me to a mental institution. “So do I go home now? Am I expelled?”
“No, you can finish out the day, but you’ll need to clear out your locker. You’ll need to take your textbooks with you. We’ve made arrangements for a bus to pick you up at your house tomorrow morning. Do you have any other questions?”
I have no more questions. No more protests. All the fight in me has fled.
“We’re done here. You can go now.”
I stand up, looking down at the floor.
“Julia?”
I pause, my back to her.
“Good luck.”
I nearly snort. Apparently, she doesn’t know I only have bad luck.
Chapter Twelve
Evan’s not in history. When I look down into the parking lot, his car is noticeably absent.
Did I really think he’d come back to sit by me? Not that I want him to, anyway. His reaction to my bracelet still burns. Who does he think the bracelet belongs to? The girl he loved? Does he think I snatched if off her arm when she wasn’t looking? Like I even know who she is since he refuses to tell me.
I heave a sigh of disgust, the rush of air blowing a chunk of stray hair from my cheek. My eyes lock with a girl two rows in front of me. Her mouth parts as she realizes she’s been caught gawking and she quickly turns her attention to the front of the room. Maybe at the alternative school, I’ll at least blend in with all the other freaks.
I draw in my notebook, not even pretending to take notes. Seeing Evan’s name jump off the sheet is like a shard of glass piercing my heart. Thankfully, my hand has picked a new spot to draw and begins making an intricate R with scrolls and swirls, all looping around to become part of the other pieces.
I’m dying to know who Evan thinks the bracelet belongs to, in spite of his reaction. I still can’t help but wonder if this all has something to do with his disappearance a week and a half ago. His necklace and my drawings—I need to put it all together.
No more thinking about Evan. But it’s easier said than actually done. Drawing on the page takes little concentration, so my mind has nowhere else to wander. I relive the day, from the joy of his attention in the morning to his anger at lunch. Every time I see his horrified face, my chest squeezes and the air rushes from my lungs anew.
The bell rings and I ignore everyone, including Mr. Archer, who calls after me as I head for the door. I open my locker and unzip my backpack to shove the contents inside. Instead, they fall from my grasp, books and papers spilling everywhere, getting trampled under feet. Laughter fills the hallway as people pass by. I swallow a sob and bend down to retrieve the mess, haphazardly shoving everything inside my bag, but I have more books than space. As the hall clears out, I sit on the floor, my back to the lockers, and take a deep breath. This is not the end of the world.
Just the end of the world as I know it.
By the time I get outside, the buses have pulled away. I sit on a bench next to the main entrance and drop the heavy backpack on the ground next to me. As I set the books in my arms on the seat, I weigh my options. I can call Mom, but she won’t be off work for another hour. Evan is God knows where. I only have one option. Walk. Carrying a twenty-pound bag, an armload of books, and walking in my heeled boots.
God, my luck sucks.
Tears spring to my eyes and I hiccup, trying to stifle the sobs that follow close behind. I lift my hand to wipe the tears when a tissue appears in front of my face.
With reluctance, I grab it, afraid to find who’s on the other side.
Reece stands in front of me with a cocky smile and a leery look. His brown hair is shaggy but not unstyled. He wears an unbuttoned plaid long sleeve shirt over a heavy metal band t-shirt. It should make him look sloppy. Instead he kind of resembles a Hollister model. His thumb hooks through the belt loop of his jeans as he shifts his weight to the side. “Are you always this helpless or is it just a particularly bad day for you?” His words are laced with
arrogance.
“Shut up. What do you care?”
“I don’t, just curious.” He sits on the bench next to me.
I shoot a sideways sneer before I blow my nose in the tissue. His attitude makes it clear I repel him, so there’s no sense pretending to be delicate. “Don’t you have better things to do?”
“What? And miss the horn solo? Are you and your nose practicing for band tryouts?”
“Yeah, I’d consider it, but I don’t think they have band at alternative school.”
Reece leans back on the bench, stretching his arm along the back. I scoot a few inches away and he releases a throaty laugh. “You definitely don’t seem like a candidate for alternative school.”
“How would you know?” But I figure it out before I finish asking the question. Reece is the guy who just came back from alternative school.
He scoots closer and grabs a strand of my hair, fingering it between his thumb and forefinger. After studying it for several seconds, he looks up into my eyes. “I’m not sure how long someone like you is going to last there.”
I shrug my shoulder, pulling my hair out of his grasp. “You don’t know anything about me.”
He cocks his head sideways, raising an eyebrow. “Really? Maybe I know more than you think.” He pauses, waiting for my reaction. “Julia Phillips, junior. You were in a car accident last spring that killed your best friend.”
My mouth drops open.
He picks up another strand of hair, but his green eyes lock on mine, the teasing glint now gone. “A very pretty girl who thinks her life is over and has all but thrown it away. But then, that’s what you’re trying to do, isn’t it? Throw your life away?”
My eyes narrow as anger escalates. “How would you know?”
His hand drops and he stands. “Maybe I’m more like you than you think.” He picks up the stack of books sitting between us. “Come on,” he says and starts to walk away.
“Come where?” I shout, rising from the bench. “Bring back my books!”
He pauses and looks over his shoulder. “You need a ride home, don’t you? Or were you waiting for school to start tomorrow?” A mocking grin spreads across his face as he snaps his fingers. “Oops, that can’t be it. You won’t be going here tomorrow.” He turns and walks into the parking lot.
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