“It’s green.” Duckie set his tray beside mine and sighed in exasperation.
What he was referring to, of course, was the weird rectangular cut of pizza that sat on each of our lunch trays. I looked at it and shrugged. “It’s always green. Maybe they grind up broccoli or kale or something and mix it with the cheese in an effort to force us into a healthier diet.”
Duckie rolled his eyes and reached for a reliable french fry. “Puh-lease. It’s mold. This pizza is older than me.”
I cracked open my tiny pint carton of chocolate milk and took a swig, flicking my eyes toward the newcomer and trying hard to sound blasé. “Who’s he, anyway?”
Duckie glanced over his shoulder at the boy in the biker boots. When he turned back to me, a playful smile was dancing on his lips. “Why do you wanna know?”
Why did I want to know? Maybe because he seemed interesting. Or maybe it was because of the way my chest had tightened slightly at the sight of him. But I wouldn’t say. Not even to Duckie. “I just wanna know, okay?”
Duckie’s left eyebrow was raised sharply. He didn’t believe me. Not even one bit. “Just curious, eh? Nothing to do with the fact that he’s rock ’n’ roll gorgeous?”
“Duckie,” I pleaded, hoping he wouldn’t push me today.
After a moment, Duckie sighed. “He moved here about three weeks ago. His name is Derek Holloway. He’s a senior. And he is straight.”
It was my turn to raise an eyebrow. My eyes drifted back to Derek before returning to Duckie. “How can you tell?”
“I just can.” He shrugged. “He’s single too. You interested?”
Inside my backpack, the paper cranes whispered before shaking their tiny heads at me collectively. “I don’t have time for a relationship.”
Duckie reached out and cupped his hand over mine, giving it a gentle squeeze. As afraid as I was that he might see my intentions lurking in my eyes, I met his gaze. Duckie wasn’t smiling. Duckie wasn’t putting on his charm. Duckie was, in one of his rarer moments, being completely sincere. I both loved him and hated him for it. “Honey, you just went through hell. All you have is time right now. If you let yourself.”
We sat there like that for a while, until I finally slipped my hand slowly out from under his. I picked up the apple from my lunch tray and stood, slinging my backpack over one shoulder. “Let’s get out of here.”
Duckie stood up without hesitation. “Where do you wanna go?”
I shook my head. I had no answers. “Anywhere. Just . . . away.”
“Library?”
“Library.” On our way out of the lunchroom, I set the apple I was holding on the table in front of the new guy. I wasn’t sure why. Maybe I just wanted to show him that not everyone in the world is the kind of person to write “RIP” on someone’s locker. Maybe I just felt like being nice to someone on a day when it felt like very few people had been nice to me.
He looked up at me, his ocean eyes rolling over me in waves. He opened his mouth to say something, but I turned and walked away before he had the chance.
As I exited the room with Duckie in tow, I let the new guy’s name turn over gently in my mind. Derek.
What a nice name.
CHAPTER FOUR
As expected, Ms. Quinn was really overwhelmed and happy to have some help reorganizing the library that afternoon. While she filled out paperwork, Duckie and I got to work moving the chairs and tables around. She put us on shelf-moving duty after that—which sucked, but removing books and relocating the shelves before putting the books back in their rightful place seemed a hell of a lot better than facing the rest of the day’s classes. Besides, since it was just we three, she let us put music on while we worked.
Ms. Quinn was, without doubt, the coolest person on staff at Eleas High. She didn’t let anybody give anybody else any crap in her library. And if you needed a hall pass or a break from class for a good reason, she really understood.
“Hey, Brooke, would you mind clearing off the bulletin board and hanging up the papers in that stack on the counter? It looks like it’s getting pretty crowded. I’ve gotta run these to the office real quick,” she said, knowing I’d be fine with it, and stepped out the door with an armload of freshly printed fliers before I could answer.
The bulletin board was just inside the library doors, right next to the front desk. School clubs posted stuff there about meetings. School functions were advertised there. Anyone could use it, and they did.
Anyone. Including whoever had apparently posted a poorly designed invitation to my funeral.
I reached up to take it down, my chest heavy and hollow. But before the tips of my fingers could make contact with the page, Duckie ripped it from the board and said, “What the hell?! Who does shit like this?”
No words formed on my tongue. Because I was past wondering, past caring.
Duckie’s face was flushed with anger. He shredded the invitation into bits and threw them on the ground before grabbing me by the arm. “Come on. I don’t care what your mom and dad said. We’re getting you out of here now.”
I didn’t argue. I just grabbed my backpack and followed.
Sneaking out of Eleos High wasn’t exactly like breaking out of prison—even though it felt that way. Miller should have been keeping an eye on the front door, but as usual, he was hitting on the young blond office assistant whose name I could never remember. So while Miller was working on getting some, Duckie and I just slid out the front door and made our way to the Beast as quickly and as nonchalantly as we could. So much for school security.
But then, people were kidding themselves if they thought that resource officers were the answer to all the violence in schools. They were merely placeholders. They were there to make parents and the administration smile and nod and pat themselves on the back for doing something.
The fact was, no one really survived high school. Sure, most people live on after graduation—but something in them stays behind in its jaws. Like bits of meat trapped between the teeth of a hungry animal. I’d seen it in my dad’s eyes whenever the subject turned to his days in school. High school took a bite out of your soul.
My seat belt was barely buckled when the Beast’s engine sputtered to life. Dropping my backpack to the floor between my feet, I could tell the paper cranes inside were sighing in relief at granting ourselves an early dismissal. Duckie pulled out of the parking lot and headed west. I knew exactly where he was going without him having to say a word. We rolled the windows down, and the warm breeze blew through the car, knocking Duckie’s fedora into the backseat and blowing my hair from my face. When we reached Washburn Road he turned left, taking us farther out into the country. On the corner was a sign that read “Spencer—6.5 miles.” But we weren’t going to Spencer. We were going to a place that I was pretty sure only Duckie and I ever visited—somewhere we could be alone.
Closing my eyes, I let myself enjoy the warmth of the sun on my face. Duckie popped a cassette into the tape deck. It didn’t take long for me to recognize the song. It was “Lovesong” by The Cure. Duckie had discovered a shoe box full of cassettes in the trunk when he’d bought the Beast. Most were crap. But The Cure was definitely a keeper, and the tape was one we listened to often.