Duckie pulled into the driveway at 6:45, but I heard him coming from at least a mile away. His car, the mishmashed antique pile of rust we affectionately referred to as the Beast, was a 1973 Volkswagen Beetle. Where it wasn’t rusted, it was yellow, and the interior had been covered in green faux fur that reminded me of the Muppet monsters. It had a radio, but it only got two stations on AM and would only play cassettes. The backseat was missing half its covering, so whenever anybody sat on that side, they were sitting on bare foam. The Beast also had two distinct smells: Fritos or whatever air freshener Duckie remembered to bring. It was a horrible car: it guzzled gas like a man stumbling out of the desert might guzzle water, and every time Duckie put it in park, it would backfire loudly.
Naturally, it was Duckie’s prized possession, and we both loved it dearly.
I opened the passenger-side door and slid into the Beast, relieved that Duckie had remembered some air freshener. He smiled at me as I closed the door and put on my seat belt. “You ready for this?”
I wasn’t, and I wouldn’t lie to Duckie about that. I wasn’t ready to walk into a high school I’d thought I’d left forever. I shook my head at him and slid down some in my seat. Duckie didn’t say anything in response. He just looked at me all concerned and put the Beast in drive. We didn’t talk during our ten-minute commute. Mostly because I didn’t know what to say. I was relieved that Duckie didn’t say anything more either. I didn’t want to be caught up on the latest gossip or pretend that this was a normal day. I just wanted to get through it and get home. Like ripping a Band-Aid off.
Duckie parked as close to the school as he could, which was very different from his usual spot. Normally, he’d park in the back of the lot so we could take our time getting to the building and facing all the crap that came with being in high school. When I threw a questioning glance his way, he said, “In case you need a quick getaway.”
His words lifted the corner of my mouth in a hint of a smile. So much for his pledge to bring me straight to school and straight home afterward. Duckie was probably the best friend that anyone could ask for. He got it. He got me. Without me having to say a word, he knew how I was feeling. And he’d always been that way with me. I wondered if he’d suspected my intentions before I went to Black River, or if he suspected them now. I hoped not. Better that he not know. But if anyone could read my mind, it was Duckie. It was probably the most frustrating thing about being friends with him.
We’d arrived well after the buses, which meant fewer people in the parking lot or milling about outside. Once we stepped inside, it was another story entirely. Students, teachers, tons of the usual people were everywhere I looked. And it felt like all eyes were on me with each step I took down the hall.
Familiar faces seemed strange to me, as if I were looking at old photographs instead of living in the moment. Penny Curtis, Steve Hillard, Quentin Daly—all kids I knew. All friends I’d regularly hung out with. These were people who’d helped me decorate the gym for school dances, who’d pulled pranks on substitute teachers with me just for kicks. I’d known them all since I was in pigtails and sundresses. But they looked at me now like I was an apparition of some sort, something not quite tangible. I was a stranger to them. A ghost. How fitting.
Duckie pretended not to notice the stares, but that didn’t make them any less real. He pulled open the door to the main office, and we went inside. Mrs. Kellog was sitting behind the front desk, glasses perched on the end of her nose, her favorite ugly, ruffled flower shirt still as ruffled and ugly and flower-covered as I remembered. I cleared my throat to get her attention, and when she looked at me, I said, “Hi. I’m returning to class today after an extended absence. I believe my mom sent an email . . . ?”
With a heavy I-hate-my-job sigh, she slapped a pink piece of paper on the receptionist’s desk beside the chained-down pen. She looked at me over the rims of her glasses. “What’s the reason for your absence?”
“Medical.” I’d practiced the word in my head all morning. While brushing my teeth. While taking small bites of my ham-and-cheese omelet. While swallowing the pills that Dr. Canton had prescribed to me at Kingsdale.
The look in her eyes said she knew very well what the reason was for my absence. The question of how that could be entered my thoughts, but was replaced with relief when she took the paper back and sighed. “You’ll need to see your guidance counselor before I can let you return to class.”
Of course. Because bureaucracy was way more important than devoting time to one’s education. Fine. Whatever. They could say it was school policy for a student to meet with the school counselor before returning to class, that they wanted to make certain the student was prepared and informed about what had transpired in their absence. But I had my own suspicions as to why Mr. Clemons wanted to see me. Simply put, he was nosy and wanted as much dirt on what had happened as he could dig up. Something interesting to chat about over bad coffee in the teachers’ lounge.
Nodding, I said, “Okay. When can I do that?”
“Have a seat. I’ll let him know you’re here.” She flicked a glare at Duckie. “Ronald, you should get to class.”
“I just wanted to wait for Brooke.”
“Class. Now. Or I’ll write you up.”
Duckie turned toward the door, but not before engaging me in silent conversation with our eyes. He said, What a bitch.
I said, Mega bitch. Wait for me outside?
He said, You know I will. I-L-Y.
I said, I-L-Y too.
While I waited, I pulled some paper out of my backpack and folded several origami cranes. They didn’t make me feel any better or impose upon me this amazing will to live or anything. But they gave me something to do while I thought about my plan. It was just a matter of deciding on a method and an instrument, picking a time when I was certain I’d be alone, and doing it. I placed the paper cranes inside my bag. They looked up at me in approval.
Random teachers and students wandered in and out of the office for several minutes. The first bell rang through the halls, and the shuffle of feet followed. Was anyone ever on time to the first class of the day? I doubted it.
Across from me sat Sarah Emberson, a pretty girl with freckles, big blue eyes, and rainbow-dyed hair. She was doing her best not to meet my eyes. I had a feeling she was still embarrassed about asking me out during the first week of school. I was totally flattered and thanked her before informing her that I just wasn’t into girls. I thought I’d handled it okay, but she’d run into the girls’ room crying and wouldn’t talk to me after that.
When she finally dared a glance at me, I said, “Hey, Sarah.”
She ripped her gaze away, and I had a feeling that would be the extent of our interaction while we sat in the office waiting area. After a while, my phone buzzed inside my sweater pocket, breaking the tension a bit. It was Duckie. I knew it was him before I even looked at the screen. Because it always was. He texted me more than anyone, and at any time, day or night. It was just his way. I pulled it out and read the text. Just got yelled at by Miller, so I can’t wait for you. See you in class, k?
Miller was our school resource officer. Not that our school really had any need for a security guard. But with so many school shootings in the news, the PTA had insisted and the school board had agreed, and now we were stuck with an overly enthusiastic mall cop in charge of our safety. He carried a Taser on his hip and looked like he used steroids and spent way too much time at the gym. We were still trying to figure out why he chose to work at a high school, considering how much he seemed to loathe teenagers. Duckie’s theory was that he was probably some psycho who tortured puppies in his spare time. Mine centered more around the idea that maybe he had been made to feel powerless by someone when he was in high school, so this was his way of getting back at them and righting the wrongs of his past. But either way you swung it, Miller was a dick.