I try to get control of my thoughts. I can’t worry about that stuff right now. I need to keep going, second by second, minute by minute. That’s it. That’s the only way I’m going to survive.
CHAPTER TWO
I’m in the middle of my calc equation when there’s a knock at our classroom door. It’s the school secretary, Mrs. Gardner, wearing a totally unflattering navy blazer. It’s way too long, way too boxy for her, with buttons that are huge and gold. It looks like she stole it from her husband’s closet—in 1980. Short women should never wear blazers, in my opinion. Unless they are cropped and super fitted with, like, three-quarter sleeves.
Anyway.
I go back to my worksheet. We’re solving derivative problems. It’s not even hard. All everyone said last year is that calc is the hardest thing ever. Umm, seriously?
But then Mrs. Gardner drops a yellow slip of paper on my desk. Lillia Cho is written on the first line. Then it says Report to guidance office. There’s a line for the time I’m supposed to be there. It says Now.
Inside me, everything tightens up. Today is Reeve’s first day back. Could he have said something to someone?
I push my hair over my shoulder and pack up my stuff. Alex looks at me on my way out the door. I smile and shrug my shoulders, carefree, like, Weird. What could this be about?
I take a deep breath and walk quickly down the hall. If I were in trouble, if someone figured out what I did to Reeve at the dance, I’d be sent to the principal’s office. Not to guidance.
Mr. Randolph has been my guidance counselor since freshman year. He’s not old. His college graduation diploma is dated ten years ago. I checked on that once. I bet he was cute, back then, but he’s started to lose his hair, which is unfortunate. His parents own the stables where we board my horse, Phantom. There are equestrian plaques and medals all over the place, from when he used to compete.
I wait for a second in his doorway. He’s on the phone, but he waves me inside.
I sit down and rehearse in my head what I’ll say, in case he does confront me. I’ll scrunch up my face and go with something like, Excuse me, Mr. Randolph? Why would I ever, ever do something like that? Reeve is one of my closest friends. This is, like, beyond ridiculous. I don’t even know what to say. Then I’ll fold my arms and stop talking until I get a lawyer.
Mr. Randolph makes an annoyed face and rubs his balding head. I wonder if that’s why he’s balding prematurely, because he’s so stressed and he rubs his head all day. “Yeah, okay, yeah, okay. Thank you.” He hangs up the phone and lets out a deep breath. “Why so nervous, Lillia?”
I force myself to smile. “Hi, Mr. Randolph.”
“I haven’t seen you at the barn much lately. You aren’t thinking of selling that horse, are you?”
“No! I’d never sell Phantom!”
Mr. Randolph laughs. “I know, I know. But if you ever change your mind, you know who to call first, right?”
I smile, but there is no way. I’d never make that phone call. I’d never, ever sell Phantom. “Right.”
“So . . . I was going over your transcripts. They look really good, Lillia. Really good. You might even have a shot at salutatorian.”
Relief washes over me. “Wow. That’s amazing. My dad will be happy.”
Mr. Randolph opens up a file with my name on it. I’m wondering if he’s going to tell me my class rank, but then he says, “However, I did notice that you still haven’t taken the swim test.”
“Oh.” Ever since Jar Island had the indoor pool built, it’s mandatory that all students pass a swim test. It’s part of graduation requirements.
“Unless that’s a clerical error?”
I wriggle back in my seat. “No. I haven’t taken it.”
He rocks his head from side to side. “All right. Well, you do understand that passing the swim test is required for graduation.”
“Unless I get a doctor’s note, right?”
He looks surprised. Surprised and disappointed. “Correct. Unless you get a note.” He closes the file. “But don’t you want to learn to swim, Lillia?”
“I know how to not drown, Mr. Randolph,” I assure him. “But actual swimming is just not my thing.”
He gives me a look like I’m being ridiculous. “It’s a good life skill, Lillia, especially for a girl who lives on an island. It could save your life one day. Or someone else’s. Promise you’ll think about it.”
I will think about it. I’ll think about how to ask my dad to write me a note. If he won’t, I’m sure I could get Kat to do it on his stationery.
As I walk back to class, someone’s stapling paper pumpkins on the big bulletin board, framing the October calendar. It’s only been a little more than a month since Kat, Mary, and I met down by the docks, which seems crazy. It sure feels like we’ve been friends for longer than that.
We’re all at the lunch table, and people keep coming over, trying to sign Reeve’s cast. The Reeve I know would have lapped up the attention; he would have loved every second. But not this guy. This guy couldn’t care less. All he wants to do is talk about his physical therapy plan with Rennie. They’re huddled together on the other side of the table, his cast up in her lap.
“While I have the hard cast on, I’m focusing exclusively on my upper body. Chest, biceps, triceps, back, core. Bulk up from the waist up. Then three, maybe four weeks and I’m in the soft cast. Boom. Hydrotherapy.”
I’m mesmerized as I watch him tear through two steamed chicken br**sts and a huge ziplock bag of cut-up carrots and spinach. He’s inhaling food like he’s a vacuum.
“I ordered you a buoyancy belt last night,” Rennie says. “It should be here by the end of the week.”
Alex keeps leaning over and trying to convince Reeve to come to the football game on Friday, but of course selfish Reeve isn’t having it. Alex says, “Come on, Reeve. You know it would be huge for morale. The guys are scared shitless about Lee Freddington quarterbacking for us again.”
“That’s ’cause Freddington can’t throw for shit,” Derek says, his mouth full of pizza.
It’s true. Our game last weekend, the first without Reeve, was a complete disaster. We lost big-time to a team that’s second to last in our division.
PJ pipes up, “We miss you, man. And, I don’t know, maybe you could give Freddington some tips or whatever.”
CHAPTER TWO
I’m in the middle of my calc equation when there’s a knock at our classroom door. It’s the school secretary, Mrs. Gardner, wearing a totally unflattering navy blazer. It’s way too long, way too boxy for her, with buttons that are huge and gold. It looks like she stole it from her husband’s closet—in 1980. Short women should never wear blazers, in my opinion. Unless they are cropped and super fitted with, like, three-quarter sleeves.
Anyway.
I go back to my worksheet. We’re solving derivative problems. It’s not even hard. All everyone said last year is that calc is the hardest thing ever. Umm, seriously?
But then Mrs. Gardner drops a yellow slip of paper on my desk. Lillia Cho is written on the first line. Then it says Report to guidance office. There’s a line for the time I’m supposed to be there. It says Now.
Inside me, everything tightens up. Today is Reeve’s first day back. Could he have said something to someone?
I push my hair over my shoulder and pack up my stuff. Alex looks at me on my way out the door. I smile and shrug my shoulders, carefree, like, Weird. What could this be about?
I take a deep breath and walk quickly down the hall. If I were in trouble, if someone figured out what I did to Reeve at the dance, I’d be sent to the principal’s office. Not to guidance.
Mr. Randolph has been my guidance counselor since freshman year. He’s not old. His college graduation diploma is dated ten years ago. I checked on that once. I bet he was cute, back then, but he’s started to lose his hair, which is unfortunate. His parents own the stables where we board my horse, Phantom. There are equestrian plaques and medals all over the place, from when he used to compete.
I wait for a second in his doorway. He’s on the phone, but he waves me inside.
I sit down and rehearse in my head what I’ll say, in case he does confront me. I’ll scrunch up my face and go with something like, Excuse me, Mr. Randolph? Why would I ever, ever do something like that? Reeve is one of my closest friends. This is, like, beyond ridiculous. I don’t even know what to say. Then I’ll fold my arms and stop talking until I get a lawyer.
Mr. Randolph makes an annoyed face and rubs his balding head. I wonder if that’s why he’s balding prematurely, because he’s so stressed and he rubs his head all day. “Yeah, okay, yeah, okay. Thank you.” He hangs up the phone and lets out a deep breath. “Why so nervous, Lillia?”
I force myself to smile. “Hi, Mr. Randolph.”
“I haven’t seen you at the barn much lately. You aren’t thinking of selling that horse, are you?”
“No! I’d never sell Phantom!”
Mr. Randolph laughs. “I know, I know. But if you ever change your mind, you know who to call first, right?”
I smile, but there is no way. I’d never make that phone call. I’d never, ever sell Phantom. “Right.”
“So . . . I was going over your transcripts. They look really good, Lillia. Really good. You might even have a shot at salutatorian.”
Relief washes over me. “Wow. That’s amazing. My dad will be happy.”
Mr. Randolph opens up a file with my name on it. I’m wondering if he’s going to tell me my class rank, but then he says, “However, I did notice that you still haven’t taken the swim test.”
“Oh.” Ever since Jar Island had the indoor pool built, it’s mandatory that all students pass a swim test. It’s part of graduation requirements.
“Unless that’s a clerical error?”
I wriggle back in my seat. “No. I haven’t taken it.”
He rocks his head from side to side. “All right. Well, you do understand that passing the swim test is required for graduation.”
“Unless I get a doctor’s note, right?”
He looks surprised. Surprised and disappointed. “Correct. Unless you get a note.” He closes the file. “But don’t you want to learn to swim, Lillia?”
“I know how to not drown, Mr. Randolph,” I assure him. “But actual swimming is just not my thing.”
He gives me a look like I’m being ridiculous. “It’s a good life skill, Lillia, especially for a girl who lives on an island. It could save your life one day. Or someone else’s. Promise you’ll think about it.”
I will think about it. I’ll think about how to ask my dad to write me a note. If he won’t, I’m sure I could get Kat to do it on his stationery.
As I walk back to class, someone’s stapling paper pumpkins on the big bulletin board, framing the October calendar. It’s only been a little more than a month since Kat, Mary, and I met down by the docks, which seems crazy. It sure feels like we’ve been friends for longer than that.
We’re all at the lunch table, and people keep coming over, trying to sign Reeve’s cast. The Reeve I know would have lapped up the attention; he would have loved every second. But not this guy. This guy couldn’t care less. All he wants to do is talk about his physical therapy plan with Rennie. They’re huddled together on the other side of the table, his cast up in her lap.
“While I have the hard cast on, I’m focusing exclusively on my upper body. Chest, biceps, triceps, back, core. Bulk up from the waist up. Then three, maybe four weeks and I’m in the soft cast. Boom. Hydrotherapy.”
I’m mesmerized as I watch him tear through two steamed chicken br**sts and a huge ziplock bag of cut-up carrots and spinach. He’s inhaling food like he’s a vacuum.
“I ordered you a buoyancy belt last night,” Rennie says. “It should be here by the end of the week.”
Alex keeps leaning over and trying to convince Reeve to come to the football game on Friday, but of course selfish Reeve isn’t having it. Alex says, “Come on, Reeve. You know it would be huge for morale. The guys are scared shitless about Lee Freddington quarterbacking for us again.”
“That’s ’cause Freddington can’t throw for shit,” Derek says, his mouth full of pizza.
It’s true. Our game last weekend, the first without Reeve, was a complete disaster. We lost big-time to a team that’s second to last in our division.
PJ pipes up, “We miss you, man. And, I don’t know, maybe you could give Freddington some tips or whatever.”
