“Don’t be so tense. I’m right here.” His voice is soothing yet utterly ineffective.

  My palms are already tingling, and when I enter the cafeteria, I become hyper-aware of myself. I tuck my chin to avoid looking at anyone, but when voices hush, I know they all see me. I discretely tug the sleeve of my sweatshirt down over my hand to conceal the bandage on my wrist as I walk over to the trays.

  Max almost knocks me over when she runs up and hugs me. I flick my eyes to Marcus in a silent plea for help. It’s too much: the hug, the attention, the humiliation of them all knowing.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa, Max. Give her some space.”

  I avoid her eyes when she drops her arms.

  “I didn’t know you were coming back today,” she says excitedly “How are you?”

  Here we go with the dumb questions.

  “Fantastic.” My tone mocks her assumption that there could possibly be any other answer besides sucky.

  “Why don’t you go sit and let Harlow get her lunch?”

  After she scurries off, I grab my tray of food. “Will you sit with me?” I quietly ask Marcus, hating how weak I sound.

  “Yeah, no problem,” Marcus responds, picking up a tray for himself before following me to one of the empty tables in the corner. I make sure to take the seat that faces the wall so I don’t have to see anyone behind me.

  Staring down at the chicken nuggets I desperately want since I’m starving, I hesitate to pick one up. I’m too self-conscience.

  Marcus pops one into his mouth; it makes me slightly jealous. “Man, these aren’t half-bad.”

  I quirk a brow at him.

  “I mean . . . it’s no Chick-Fil-A.”

  “Wes would be mad if he heard you say that.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you shouldn’t eat hate chicken.” I get up the courage to pick up a nugget. “Like, ever.”

  I appreciate Dr. Amberg selecting Marcus to be the one to stick by my side. He’s the perfect distraction as we eat our lunch. In a strange way, I feel a little lighter than I did this morning. After all the crying and talking with my mom . . . I don’t know, I guess I was able to release some of the tension that’s been building inside me—a cleansing of sorts.

  When lunch ends, I take my time throwing my tray into the trash so I can be the last one in the med line. I stand behind Kevin, who shoots me an uncomfortable glower and then gives me his back. One by one, each person gets their pills and then heads to rec. Stepping up to the window, the nurse sets the cup of pills in front of me, but they aren’t the same ones I normally get and there’s more than what there should be.

  “These aren’t mine.”

  “They are,” she drones without looking up from her checklist.

  “I think there might have been a mix-up.”

  She finally acknowledges me before returning to her clipboard. Flipping up a few pages, she stops and reads, “Fluoxitine, clonazepam, and cephalexin.” She drops the pages. “Dr. Amberg signed off on your medication changes this morning.”

  Great. New meds.

  I dump the pills into my mouth and take a gulp of water.

  “Check.”

  I open, stick out my tongue, and then lift it.

  “Cough.”

  When I prove I haven’t cheeked anything, I’m clear to go.

  “No art today, so we’re going to rec,” Marcus tells me when I come to a stop at his side.

  “Why?”

  “Something about car trouble. I don’t know.”

  Per usual, most everyone is congregated around the television.

  “USA took gold last night in the men’s swimming relay,” he tells me as if I care.

  “How exciting.”

  My lack of enthusiasm gets a soft chuckle out of him.

  “If you see Max coming my way, can you tell her that I just want to be alone today?”

  “No problem.”

  I veer off to the bookcases and scan through the titles. I’m not the least bit interested in actually reading, but I figure people will be less likely to bug me if they see my nose stuck in a book. After picking out a copy of some random sci-fi novel, I head to the far corner of the room, take a seat on the floor, and lean against the wall. I doubt anyone will even notice me tucked back here.

  Opening the book, I begin reading the first page, and I’m not even a paragraph in before boredom strikes. It’s hard to imagine anyone actually enjoying this. It takes too long to get to the point. I’d much rather spend my time watching a movie. Television is even better—thirty minutes to an hour and you’re done.

  “Hey.”

  I peer up from the book to find Sebastian standing over me. My neck heats when I think about how he saw me yesterday.

  “Go bother someone else.”

  Sebastian, however, sits on the floor next to me.

  I refuse to look at him because I’m too uncomfortable, so I fake read in hopes that he’ll go away. God, what is he doing? Why is he just sitting here and not saying anything? This is a new version of torture for me, and when I glance up to seek out Marcus, he’s distracted by Jeremy, who’s gesturing to the floor and talking about Gus.

  “Are you okay?” His voice is soft and filled with uncertainty.

  I flip an unread page and nod.

  “Harlow?”

  “Why are you talking to me?” I’m annoyed, dropping the book to my lap before finally looking at him.

  “I just want—”

  “You just want what? All the ugly details so you can go back to school and tell everyone?”

  “Fuck no. God.” He sighs. “I wouldn’t do that.”

  “Right.” I go back to my book.

  From my peripheral, I see him rest his head against the wall. He isn’t his usual assholey self—I almost wish he were because the way he’s acting now is more bothersome. Predictable is better, at least then I know what to expect.

  “I’ve been a dick.”

  “You’re just now realizing that?”

  His hand touches mine, and I tense as he pushes the book away from my face. “I’m sorry,” he says with a seriousness I’ve never seen in him before.

  It makes me uncomfortable as I stare at him, dumbfounded.

  “I’m really sorry . . . I had no idea.”

  His apology makes me feel entirely too exposed, so I go into myself. Clamming up, I drop my eyes and do my best to hide behind my invisible walls, but he makes it impossible when his fingertips lightly touch the gauze wrapped around my wrist. Abruptly, I jerk my arm out of his reach and hide my hand inside my sleeve.

  Quietness expands, giving me time to notice that he no longer has his cast on. It doesn’t take long for me to grow annoyed with the stalemate, and I shift, ready to stand and walk away, but then he murmurs, “My dad died two years ago.”

  The force of his words jostles me. I had no clue that Mr. West died. I still remember the time in sixth grade when a group of us snuck into an R-rated movie and got busted. Sebastian’s dad came to the theater to pick us up from the manager’s office. He was so cool about it and never told any of our parents what had happened.

  “Since then, everything’s gone to shit,” he continues as I listen. “My mom’s an alcoholic.”

  I face him in disbelief. His mom, the woman who chaperoned field trips and was at every classroom party, is . . . an alcoholic?

  His eyes rim in shame. “Her scumbag boyfriend lives with us.” His jaw flexes before he confesses, “He gets a kick out of knocking me around.”

  I don’t even know what to do with everything he just dumped on me or why he’s even telling me this at all. In a million years, I never would’ve guessed that was his reality. He’s too popular, too perfect.

  “You can tell whoever. Spread it around school and destroy my reputation if you want.”

  My head shakes ever so slightly as I ask, “Why would I do that?”

  “Because I deserve it for how badly I’ve treated you.” He pulls his knees up to his chest and drapes his arms over them. “Now you have my biggest secret,” he says. “I know that I don’t know much about you anymore, but I’m assuming that what happened a couple of nights ago is your biggest secret. I guess . . . I guess I just want you to trust me when I say that I’ll never tell anyone, but I won’t care if you tell people about me.”

  “I won’t.” My response comes honestly.

  If I had known any of this a few months ago, I might have blabbed about it, but there’s a sincerity in him right now that I’ve never seen. It makes him more human to know he’s more than the shallow, egotistical jock he presents at school. It’s weird to connect with him—if that’s what is even happening—to discover that we both share pain. Although it’s a very different pain, it’s still pain.

  HARLOW

  Gazing out the window in a trance, I mindlessly tap the eraser of my pencil against my workbook. Thin sheets of gray clouds glide slowly across the sky, allowing the sun to peek out every once in a while.

  When I was a little girl, my family would take trips on airplanes. As we flew above the clouds, I would look down on them, thinking that was where Heaven was, but only the dead could see it. I believed souls lived on the billowy puffs of vapor, in their little houses that had little flower gardens, and if they wished for anything, it would instantly appear because God was magical like that. I would spend almost the whole flight thinking of things I would wish for like candy and toys. Looking back, I can see just how frivolous those wishes were.

  Now, I’m not sure what I would wish for because all the things I want are too abstract.

  “Knock it off.”

  Snapping my eyes from the window, I look to the other table to find Kevin glaring at my hand.

  I stop tapping my pencil, and he gives an exasperated, “Finally,” before turning back to his work.

  “Do you understand any of this?” Sebastian asks. He’s sitting next to me and keeps glancing at my workbook. “You haven’t even started.”

  I look at the page of unsolved quadratic equations.

  “Do you know how to do this stuff?”

  “Voices,” Mr. Garrison, the fake teacher who comes in every day, warns. He’s a glorified babysitter who makes sure we do our remedial schoolwork.

  Even though it’s summer, we are forced to have three hours of curriculum each day, except on the weekends. It’s a crime in and of itself if you ask me.

  “So, do you?” he whispers.

  “We learned this freshman year.”

  “And your point?”

  “How did you pass if you don’t know how to do this stuff?”

  “I cheated,” he responds flippantly, as if duh.

  “Here,” I say, sliding the workbook between us and then explain how to factor the equation by moving everything to one side of the equal sign.

  He follows along, but after I solve for x, his eyes are glazed over in confusion.

  “You seriously don’t remember any of this?”

  “Don’t you go to college after next year?” Wes asks him from across the table.

  “Yeah, so?”

  “You’re going to get stuck in zero-level courses.”

  “Are you serious?”

  Wes nods at the same time as I say, “Yeah.”

  He tosses his pencil and slouches in his chair.

  “Maybe you should cut back on all the partying,” Wes teases.

  “Not a chance, man.”

  “Shut up,” Kevin barks at me as he spins around in his seat again, scraping the legs of his chair against the floor loudly.

  “I wasn’t even talking just now.”

  “Your lips are moving, aren’t they?

  “Hey!” Mr. Garrison scolds, but no one pays attention to him when Kevin comes back with, “Why don’t you use your mouth for something besides talking?”

  “What the hell is your problem?” Sebastian bites back in my defense.

  Kevin sneers, “I hope she’s better at giving blow jobs than she is at killing herself.”

  Before I can react, Sebastian erupts from his chair, launches toward Kevin, and punches him in the jaw. Everyone is on their feet and the room breaks into chaos. I watch in disbelief as the two of them scuffle on the floor, each one taking jabs at the other. Everything happens so fast. Mr. Garrison calls for help, and seconds later, a few nurses burst through the door.

  Sebastian and Kevin are restrained, but they keep throwing insults back and forth at each other. I’m in too much shock to speak, but my wide eyes find the small trickle of blood coming from Sebastian’s nose as he’s dragged out of the room.

  Chatter grows despite Mr. Garrison’s attempt to bring order back to the room.

  “Seats! Now!” he demands in a harsh tone that gets everyone’s attention.

  I sit as a wave of guilt rolls in. I can’t believe that Sebastian, of all people, stuck up for me the way he just did. They should be thanking him instead of punishing him.

  The other kids keep looking my way. Some of them snicker while others stare with curiosity—or is it condemnation? It’s humiliating enough that they all know what I did, but to think that some of them view me as more pathetic because I failed is . . . my god, there isn’t any way to describe how that makes me feel.

  “Everyone needs to stop talking and get busy!”

  As they all turn to their work, I keep my chin tucked. I don’t dare reach for my pencil, too fearful that any movement will draw attention back my way.

  “I can’t believe he did that,” Wes whispers from across the table.

  Max then switches her seat for the one next to mine that Sebastian was just sitting in. “Are you okay?”

  I shrug and then pull my sleeve into the palm of my hand. She sees me covering my bandage.

  “Kevin’s a punk. Everyone knows that.”

  “Yeah, that guy’s an asshole,” Wes adds, but it doesn’t change the fact that he called me out in front of everyone. “He deserved to get punched in the face.”

  It’s nothing new for fights to break out around here. Although not a daily occurrence, it does happen from time to time, but never has one involved me or been about me.

  “Is something going on between you two?”

  My eyes dart to Max, and I stare at her as if she’s lost her mind. “What? No,” I respond on a heightened whisper. “Are you crazy?”

  “No, but the guy just threw a punch for you.”

  “So?”

  “So . . . maybe he likes you.”

  My eyes roll because she has no idea how far off base her comment is. Sure, we’ve been getting along better these past couple of days, but that’s it.

  “He has a girlfriend,” I tell her as I grab my pencil and start on my work.

  She leans across the table and grabs her own workbook, murmuring, “Has he ever beaten up someone for her?”

  Not that I know of, but I’m not the most informed person at my school. Max wouldn’t understand that, had someone made that comment to me at school, Sebastian wouldn’t have lifted a finger. Heck, he would have been the person making the comment.

  I’m starting to see that there are two sides to him—the one in Edmonds and the one here at Hopewell. There is no way for me to know which one is the real him, and then I wonder if it even matters, if I should even care.

  No, I shouldn’t.

  “Okay, wrap it up for elective time,” Mr. Garrison announces before everyone starts checking their pencils back in.

  “You coming to the game room?” Wes asks as I stand. “Marcus said they got the foosball table fixed.”

  “I wanna go!” Max chirps.

  “I think I’m going to go outside.”

  “Oh, well then, I’ll go outside with you.”

  “That’s okay, Max. Go play foosball.”

  “Are you sure?”

  I paste an unconvincing smile on my face. “Yeah. I need some time alone.”

  “Catch you later,” Wes says before they dip out of the room.

  After dropping my workbook into the tub and waiting for Mr. Garrison to sign off that I returned my pencil, I turn to find Marcus standing by the door. I get that I’m on suicide watch and it’s his job, but we’re on day three and his presence is starting to irritate me.

  “Aren’t you sick of me yet?” I mutter as I walk out of the room.

  “You’re going to miss me tomorrow.”

  “What’s tomorrow?”

  “You’re coming off watch.”

  “Yippee.”

  Outside, a few boys are on the basketball court, so I head across the grass toward the fence with Marcus in tow. “You think I could get some breathing room?” I hold up my hands, mocking, “I’m safe, I swear.”

  Beneath a light chuckle, he agrees, “Okay. I’ll be right over here,” he says motioning to the picnic table.

  “Don’t have too much fun.”

  He splits off, and I slowly graze my shoes along the blades of grass before eventually settling down against the fence. With my knees tucked against my chest, I lift my chin and wait for the sun to reappear through an opening in the clouds. I close my eyes, and seconds later, my skin warms for a moment, illuminating the darkness behind my lids to a murky red. When the color vanishes, I open my eyes to find Sebastian standing over me, blocking the sun.

  “Hey,” he says, and I notice a light bruise staining the crest of his cheek.

  “Hey.”

  “Are you okay?”

  Slightly confused as to how he got out of trouble so swiftly, I nod and don’t protest when he sits next to me. He looks toward the court where the guys are playing. I stare at him, at his bruise, and ponder why he’s asking if I’m okay when I should be asking him.

  I should ask him.

  Ask him, Harlow.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine. That guy’s an asshole.”

  “He’s that way with everyone,” I say. “You didn’t have to stick up for me.”

  He turns and looks at me as if I’m crazy. “No one should be talking shit like that to you.”

  I shrug. “I’m used to people teasing me.”

  The anger quickly drops from his expression.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that against you.”

  “You don’t have to lie to me.” He drapes his arms over his knees. “I deserve to feel like shit.”