I’m not sure which part of “Don’t tell anyone about this” Bennett wanted me to keep under wraps, but I hope it didn’t include the migraine, because I can’t think of any reason to be asking about his personal information without disclosing that part.
“I know you just want to help, Miss Greene, but you know I can’t release another student’s confidential information. I’m sorry.” Her tone is patronizing and not at all apologetic. “I’m sure he’ll be here tomorrow.”
How the hell do you know? I want to say, but instead I mumble, “Thanks,” and shuffle out the door. I never should have left him there. All he wanted me to do was sit with him, and instead I left him alone on a bench in a dark deserted park, sweating and panting.
I head into the locker room and change, but as I listen to the team chatter, I start to dread the idea of running in a circle on an overcrowded track. I duck out before anyone notices and make my way to the abandoned and frozen cross-country course instead. And as I run, I try to listen to the sounds of the wind and the woods, the rhythm of my feet sloshing through the mucky trail, but all I hear is his voice in my head: Just sit with me, Anna? Please? I feel horrible.
As it turns out, Ms. Dawson was wrong. Bennett isn’t at school on Wednesday. Or on Thursday. By Friday afternoon, as I’m walking The Donut between fifth and sixth—and freaking out about facing the entire weekend without knowing what’s happened to him—the solution hits me out of nowhere. It’s my only option.
I rush to Emma’s locker and wait, but she doesn’t show. When the bell rings, I pull out my spiral notebook and scribble, I need to talk to you . Folding the paper into a small square, I feed it through one of the vents and sprint to class.
After the bell rings again, I race back to Emma’s locker and find her there, reading my note. “I need your help, Em,” I blurt out. “Do you think you can get something from the office for me?”
“Probably.”
“I need Bennett Cooper’s phone number. I asked Dawson and she wouldn’t give it to me. But she likes when you come into the office and talk about your auction-party planning, so maybe she’ll tell you.” She starts to say something, but I stop her. “Please don’t ask why I need it.”
Emma presses her lips together and raises her eyebrows. She stares at me and does that tell-me-everything superpower thing.
“Look. I ran into him last Sunday night, and he was…sick. Now he hasn’t been here all week. I just want to be sure he’s okay.” I’m standing there, bracing myself against her locker and preparing for the inquisition, when she breaks into a huge grin.
“You wanna shag Shaggy!” She laughs as I look around wildly to see if anyone’s heard her. “Come on, just say it. You like this guy, don’t you?” We stare at each other. I don’t reply. She repeats herself. “Don’t you?”
I let out the breath that’s been constricting my chest. “I’m just worried about him.”
She stares at me with big eyes.
“Okay, maybe.”
She grins. “See. You did it. The first step is admitting you’re powerless,” she says, bastardizing the first of AA’s Twelve Steps. “Let me see what I can do. I’ll meet you at the car after school.”
“How are you going to get it?”
“I don’t know yet. I’ll think of something.”
An hour later, in the warmth of the Saab, Emma is euphoric, boasting about her skills in crafty manipulation.
“I really can’t take any credit for the first thing that happened. That was absolute luck,” she says as she whips the car out of the parking space. “Get this. I walked in and Dawson’s on the phone—with Argotta, I assume—saying she needs this week’s Spanish work so she can take it to Bennett Cooper’s house tonight.” Butterflies come to life in my stomach at the sound of his name. Someone, please shoot me. “So I offered to take his homework to him.”
“She
“I know you just want to help, Miss Greene, but you know I can’t release another student’s confidential information. I’m sorry.” Her tone is patronizing and not at all apologetic. “I’m sure he’ll be here tomorrow.”
How the hell do you know? I want to say, but instead I mumble, “Thanks,” and shuffle out the door. I never should have left him there. All he wanted me to do was sit with him, and instead I left him alone on a bench in a dark deserted park, sweating and panting.
I head into the locker room and change, but as I listen to the team chatter, I start to dread the idea of running in a circle on an overcrowded track. I duck out before anyone notices and make my way to the abandoned and frozen cross-country course instead. And as I run, I try to listen to the sounds of the wind and the woods, the rhythm of my feet sloshing through the mucky trail, but all I hear is his voice in my head: Just sit with me, Anna? Please? I feel horrible.
As it turns out, Ms. Dawson was wrong. Bennett isn’t at school on Wednesday. Or on Thursday. By Friday afternoon, as I’m walking The Donut between fifth and sixth—and freaking out about facing the entire weekend without knowing what’s happened to him—the solution hits me out of nowhere. It’s my only option.
I rush to Emma’s locker and wait, but she doesn’t show. When the bell rings, I pull out my spiral notebook and scribble, I need to talk to you . Folding the paper into a small square, I feed it through one of the vents and sprint to class.
After the bell rings again, I race back to Emma’s locker and find her there, reading my note. “I need your help, Em,” I blurt out. “Do you think you can get something from the office for me?”
“Probably.”
“I need Bennett Cooper’s phone number. I asked Dawson and she wouldn’t give it to me. But she likes when you come into the office and talk about your auction-party planning, so maybe she’ll tell you.” She starts to say something, but I stop her. “Please don’t ask why I need it.”
Emma presses her lips together and raises her eyebrows. She stares at me and does that tell-me-everything superpower thing.
“Look. I ran into him last Sunday night, and he was…sick. Now he hasn’t been here all week. I just want to be sure he’s okay.” I’m standing there, bracing myself against her locker and preparing for the inquisition, when she breaks into a huge grin.
“You wanna shag Shaggy!” She laughs as I look around wildly to see if anyone’s heard her. “Come on, just say it. You like this guy, don’t you?” We stare at each other. I don’t reply. She repeats herself. “Don’t you?”
I let out the breath that’s been constricting my chest. “I’m just worried about him.”
She stares at me with big eyes.
“Okay, maybe.”
She grins. “See. You did it. The first step is admitting you’re powerless,” she says, bastardizing the first of AA’s Twelve Steps. “Let me see what I can do. I’ll meet you at the car after school.”
“How are you going to get it?”
“I don’t know yet. I’ll think of something.”
An hour later, in the warmth of the Saab, Emma is euphoric, boasting about her skills in crafty manipulation.
“I really can’t take any credit for the first thing that happened. That was absolute luck,” she says as she whips the car out of the parking space. “Get this. I walked in and Dawson’s on the phone—with Argotta, I assume—saying she needs this week’s Spanish work so she can take it to Bennett Cooper’s house tonight.” Butterflies come to life in my stomach at the sound of his name. Someone, please shoot me. “So I offered to take his homework to him.”
“She
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