“I know about comas.” He looked out the far window, and tiny lines formed at the corners of his eyes from the glare. He wasn’t smiling anymore. “How about I leave you my number. In case you have any questions or want to talk about anything. Anything.” He picked up his pencil and ripped off a triangle from the bottom of the textbook’s title page. He handed it to me and I took it, but I didn’t plan on having anything to do with anyone who would knowingly deface library property.
“Mr. Varga?” A freshman from my school who, from the looks of it, was experimenting with makeup for the first time, stood over his table with a stack of books in her hands. “I found them for you.” She looked from him to me, placed the books on his table, and speed-walked back behind the checkout counter.
“Mr. Varga?” he leaned forward and whispered. “Do I look old enough to be a mister?”
I shook my head and smiled, but the truth was, he kind of did. Put him in a suit, slick back his hair, he could pass for thirty. But now, in his dark jeans and hooded sweatshirt, with his hair falling haphazardly over his face, he looked my age. “Well, how old are you?”
“Nineteen,” he said. “And change.”
Not my age. “I gotta go. Nice meeting you,” I said, because I may not have been good at small talk, but at least I knew my manners.
“See you ’round, Delaney Maxwell.”
I walked into the front lobby and called Dad. Then I stood in front of the bulletin board and scanned the fliers. A neon pink want ad for a roommate (female, nonsmoker); a poorly photocopied announcement for game night at the senior center; a poster for Wednesday night Bible study at the Baptist church, which, if the announcement was an accurate representation of the event, would be far more exciting than game night.
I pretended to care. I squinted to read the fine print, I smoothed down the folded edge of the bright pink paper, I took out my pencil and traced the words on the faded game night announcement so the seniors would be able to read it. I pretended to care so I wouldn’t turn around and see Troy staring at me. So he wouldn’t know I knew he was watching.
Monday brought snow again, and I wore pajamas to school as was the custom during exams. Decker was leaning against his car, waiting for me. I walked over to his driveway with Mom chasing behind me.
“I’ll drive you, honey,” she called from the doorway.
“Decker always drives me to school.”
“Well, now I will.” She scanned the room behind her, probably searching for the keys while attempting to keep me in her sight.
“Mom, you’re killing me. You already pack my lunch. You cannot drive me to school. You cannot.”
Mom turned a sickly shade of white. “Okay, okay, just wait.” She disappeared inside and reemerged with my vial of pain medication. “Just be safe,” she said to both of us. “And take this, just in case.” I stuffed the medicine into my jacket pocket. “And you”—she grabbed Decker’s shoulder so hard he flinched—“be careful on the roads.” Then she entered the house, but I could still see her standing at the front window, holding back the curtains.
Decker eyed my red flannel button-up pajamas and grinned. “Hey, Mrs. Claus,” he said.
“You calling me fat?” Decker, never one to conform, wore jeans.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Ribs are better.” I twisted my upper body back and forth to prove it.
He nodded his head once. “Ready to derive?”
I pulled a calculator from one pocket of my fleece ensemble and a pencil from the other. “Prepared, as always.”
“God, you’re such a nerd.”
“Embrace it,” I said. Then I got myself into the van before Mom could change her mind.
It was a short ride and the roads were sanded and salted, but Decker drove extra slow. Mom could put the fear in him like that. And Decker knew her well enough to know when to fear and when to smile. Mom started babysitting Decker after his mom went back to work when we were five. She watched him after school every day until middle school, when Decker decided he didn’t need to be watched anymore. Nothing changed. He still came over every day anyway.
So he knew as well as I did, this was a time to fear. By the time we arrived in the parking lot, the good spaces were already taken. While Decker inched through the rows, I searched for a place to store my medicine. I was not about to bring it into the building.
Kevin of ice-rescue lore got suspended last year for bringing topical steroids to school. The school board made a big fuss over the possibility of kids selling or distributing drugs. Kevin, being brave, took the story to the local news, at which point our school board gained notoriety for being a particular brand of stupid. After all, it was just a skin cream for eczema.
They rescinded Kevin’s suspension five days later, but I was sufficiently freaked out. My permanent record was perfect. All As, advanced classes, no blemishes. I aimed to keep it that way. Somehow, I didn’t think the local news would look as lightly upon oxycodone.
Decker kept a cooler filled with emergency supplies and snacks (also for emergencies, he claimed) between the front seats. I stuffed the vial of pills between the road flares and potato chips while Decker parked and walked over to my side.
The snow was fully snow, not that disgusting mix of slush and sleet that people still called snow, so I walked securely, knowing I wouldn’t wipe out on ice.
Everyone looked at me as I entered the school. Some patted my back, my shoulder, or my head. A few girls tried to hug me, but Decker kind of blocked me. My recent visit with death had transformed me from girl who hangs out with the popular kids to flat-out popular faster than I could say keep off the ice. Sure, I was friendly with the kids from my classes, and most people smiled at me in the halls, but I had never been particularly popular. After the attempted hugs, I didn’t have any great desire to be either.
“I’ll meet you in the lobby after,” Decker said as we prepared to head for separate testing rooms.
Janna came up to us and grabbed my arm. “Come with me,” she said. And then to Decker, “You can detach yourself now.”
When we were out of earshot, she said, “I need to talk to you.”
“Can it wait until after?” I asked. I was trying to keep all the information fresh in my mind, replaying it over and over to myself until it burned an image into my brain.
“Whatever,” she said as we squeezed between the classroom door at the same time. She took a seat across the room from me.
I was the first to finish my exam, as always. I handed the booklet to my teacher and paced the halls until Decker finished his test, as always. Janna found me before Decker finished. “So, we’re friends, right?”
“Right,” I said.
But I must’ve hesitated a little too much, or else she was also mentally assessing just how friendly we actually were, because she added, “You kissed my brother. We’re practically related now.” Wicked grin, just like Carson’s.
I covered my face with my hands. “Can we maybe not talk about that?”
“Gladly.” Then she nodded once, as if solidifying our friendship. “But as your friend, I need to tell you something.”
I hoped her other acts of friendship wouldn’t be mortifying. “That guy on Saturday. You know him?”
“Yes. I mean, no. I didn’t. But now I do I guess.”
She stepped closer, totally invading my personal space, her hand on my arm again. I could feel the cold of her fingers through my shirt. “There wasn’t any article, Delaney.”
“What?” The snow turned to sleet, pelting the windows in the front lobby, echoing down the halls.
“The newspaper article about you. There wasn’t any. You know how I intern at The Ledger? It was my idea to write something up about you, but I couldn’t. Your parents didn’t give permission. And because of your age, we couldn’t print your name. So nothing ran. And if nothing ran in the local paper, nothing ran in the bigger ones.”
“Okay,” I said, desperately trying to process the information.
“He doesn’t know you from the paper,” she said again.
And then someone’s arms snaked around my shoulders and covered my eyes, and I jumped.
“God, Decker, you scared me to death,”
“Hyperbole,” he said, throwing an arm over my shoulders. “Remember that for your English exam.”