Brooke nearly spills my coffee when she throws her arms around my neck. “You’re home!” After a quick hug, she bounces over to Dad and gives him a peck on the cheek. She stops suddenly, and her gaze darts back and forth between the two of us. “Uh-oh,” she says, wiggling her fingers in the air. “There’s tension…” Brooke slips into her usual role, using humor to restore peace to our somewhat dysfunctional family. She slaps Dad’s arm with the back of her hand. “So, what’d he do this time?” She looks over at me and gives me a wink.
“Nothing,” Dad says. “Nothing at all.”
The double meaning isn’t lost on me.
He cleans his glasses again, this time with a dishcloth, looking out the window the entire time. “It’s going to be a gorgeous day.” His voice is higher that usual and that enthusiastic tone sounds forced. “Let’s get that boat on the bay, shall we?” He checks his watch. “I want to leave in a half hour. Can you two be ready?”
Brooke and I nod.
“Good. I’d better go see if your mom needs help.”
As soon as he’s out of earshot, I turn to Brooke. “Family day,” I say flatly. “Super.”
She raises an eyebrow at me. “Come on. They’re not that bad, you know?”
“Easy for you to say. You’re not a huge source of disappointment to one and a constant worry to the other.”
“And neither are you, but whatever…” She lifts herself onto the kitchen counter and points to the half-empty coffee mug I’m holding. “Hurry up, we only have a few minutes. Top off your coffee, pour me a cup, and tell me everything.”
So I do. In hushed tones I speed through the details, telling her all about Maggie and the reason there’s a photo of the three of us at the zoo. Brooke’s eyes grow wide, and she asks for more details about the stuff I try to breeze past, like Emma and Justin’s breakup and how the Greenes let me crash on their couch the first night. She sips her coffee, hanging on every word, and after I’ve given her a play-by-play of practically the entire trip, I shake my head and tell her how Anna decided—once again, and for reasons I honestly can’t fathom—that she’d rather put up with the oddities of this bizarre relationship than tell me to stay where I belong. I tell Brooke how hard it was to leave, and with every word, I’m more relieved to have one person here who understands. The thought makes me remember Anna’s request for a confidante of her own. I wish I hadn’t left town without giving her one.
Mom and Dad walk back into the kitchen carrying bags over their shoulders and jackets in their arms. Dad heads straight for the garage, but Mom takes a detour to give me a peck on the cheek and tell me she’s happy I’m home. Then she asks me to carry the cooler out to the car.
As I’m picking it up, Brooke leans in close and nudges me with her elbow. “I’m glad you’re home too,” she says.
It feels so strange to lie to Brooke, but I do it anyway. “So am I,” I say.
10
People keep walking by, but so far no one seems to have noticed that I’m sitting here alone in the Jeep, staring at the door that leads to my locker. The warning bell sounded thirty seconds ago, but I can’t bring myself to leave this spot.
It would be so easy to close my eyes right now, disappear from this car, and open them in a secluded corner of Westlake Academy. I’d go straight to the office and tell Ms. Dawson at the front desk that my family’s plans have changed, I am back in town for my senior year after all, and, if possible, I’d like a class schedule. Then I’d walk the hallway until I found Anna. We’d eat lunch with Emma and Danielle like we always did. That night, while we were sprawled out on her bedroom floor studying together, I’d surprise her by grabbing her hands and transporting her to a quiet spot far away, like a beach in Bora-Bora.
The final bell rings. I reach down for my backpack, throw it over my shoulder, and slam the Jeep door. As I cross the student parking lot, I look down at my jeans and T-shirt. I never thought I’d actually miss the Westlake uniform.
I don’t pass a single person as I climb the staircase that leads to my locker on the third floor, and when I pull up on the latch, the click echoes in the empty hall. Inside, there’s nothing but empty water bottles, a few granola-bar wrappers, and a bunch of loose papers that someone fed through the slats while I was gone. Collectively, they represent everything I missed last spring. There’s a prom court voting ballot, a sign-up sheet for the annual senior class Olympics, and a flyer for the spring musical. I push them back in my locker and shut the door.
I printed out my class schedule this morning, but I barely even glanced at it before I shoved it into the front pocket of my jeans. I haven’t the slightest clue where I’m supposed to be right now, so I dig it out and open it. First period: AP World Civilizations with Mrs. McGibney. Building C, the one farthest from my locker, clear on the other side of the quad. I check the time on my phone. I’m already five minutes late.
It takes me another five minutes to reach the classroom door, and when I open it, a roomful of faces I haven’t thought about in months turns to look at me. I take a few tentative steps inside, and the next time I look around I see Cameron in the back row. He lifts his hand and gives me a nod.
“You must be my missing student.” McGibney doesn’t look up or stop writing on the whiteboard as she addresses me. “Are you Mr. Cooper?” she asks, but she keeps talking and doesn’t wait for me to answer. “I was just going over the rules of this class. The first one is that I expect my students to be sitting in their seats when the bell rings.”
“Sorry,” I mumble under my breath.
“I give one freebie, and you just used it.” She still hasn’t looked away from the board. I have no idea how she can talk to me and write at the same time, but I’m a little bit impressed. She’s already written the words “First Civilizations” and started a bulleted list below: “agriculture,” “significant cities,” “writing systems.” “Are you going to sit down and join us, Mr. Cooper, or would you prefer to stand by the door for the rest of my class?” She adds a bullet and the words “formal states” as she speaks.
The only empty seat is in the first row, directly in front of her desk, and I can feel every eye watching me as I shuffle across the room and settle in. Trying not to move too quickly, too slowly, or too loudly, I unzip my backpack and remove my notebook and a pencil.
A pencil. I run it back and forth between my fingers as I picture Anna piling her curls on top of her head and using my pencil to hold them in place.
“Hi.” The voice jolts me from my thoughts, and I look to my left. Megan Jenks is leaning over her desk, writing in her notebook, and looking at me from behind a veil of blond hair.
“Hi,” I say under my breath.
She smiles before she turns back to her notes. I return to mine, madly copying the words on the whiteboard into my composition book, as if the exercise alone will give them some kind of meaning. McGibney asks a question but I only half hear it. Not that it matters since I have no idea how to answer.
Megan’s hand shoots up next to me. “Miss Jenks,” McGibney says, pointing at her.
“The Neolithic Revolution.”
“Yes. Good.” McGibney returns to the whiteboard and writes something under the word “agriculture” as Megan looks over and sends another quick smile my way. I give her a nod, turn to my notebook, and write “Neolithic Revolution.” It’s the first day of school, and I’m already wondering if I missed some required reading or something, because I have absolutely no idea what they’re talking about.