Confessions of an Almost-Girlfriend (18 page)

But it was Conrad who turned out to be the star. All the actors in the ensemble play a bunch of different parts, and Conrad transformed himself for each character in a way that nobody
else did. The most amazing moment was when he was playing
an E.R. doctor, and he had this really hard monologue about
what Matthew looked like when the ambulance brought him
in. It was incredible, the way Conrad did that. I got chills, not
just because of the play or Conrad’s performance but because
Conrad became an actor in front of our very eyes. He found the
thing he can do, and he did it perfectly.
It’s the first time I’ve ever been jealous of Conrad Deladdo.
By the time the play was over, I felt like I’d been to Laramie
and talked to the people who knew Matthew Shepard myself.
After the curtain call, there was a talkback where the cast answered questions, and Mr. Donnelly explained how he hoped
that the show would help people to understand what it means
to truly accept others for who they are.
I think half the audience was at least sniffling at that point,
if not wiping tears off their faces.
When we were waiting for Robert and Holly, I watched Conrad being congratulated by people. He looked like a totally different person—he looked happy.
“The writing is just so interesting,” Dirk says as he refills my
mother’s wineglass. “What did you think of the script, Rose?”
The kitchen door swings open again, and this time I see someone with a handful of real flowers, placing them in between the
candles on the cake.
“It was really smart the way it was different people talking but
not necessarily to each other. It was like the lines spoke to each
other, even if the people weren’t actually speaking to each other.”
My mother smiles at me as if she’s impressed with my comment.
“But did it move you?” Dirk asks. “Ultimately, did the structure work?”
“Dad,” Holly scolds. “This isn’t class. It’s Rose’s birthday.”
“Sorry, Rose.” He apologizes with his trademark smile that
can get him pretty much anything in the world—I think the
obsessed hostess swoons across the room.
“No, it’s okay,” I say. “The structure of the play did move me.
And so did the production. Especially Conrad. I can’t believe
that was his first play.”
“Conrad was really good,” Holly says. “He worked harder than
anyone else in rehearsal.”
Robert is bristling before she can even finish the sentence. “He
came a long way during the process. He needed a lot of help.”
“Well, he’d never acted before,” Holly explains. “I think he’s
a natural. Don’t you, Dad?”
“He has great—”
“He’s not a natural,” Robert scoffs, cutting Dirk off.
Dirk looks at him in surprise, clearly not used to being interrupted.
“Stop,” Holly says to Robert quietly.
Robert doesn’t answer.
I look back and forth between them. All is not well in paradise.
“What do you mean by natural, Holly?” Dirk asks.
Holly doesn’t get the chance to answer because ten guys in
suits suddenly materialize and surround our table. They start
singing an elaborate a cappella version of “Happy Birthday” in,
like, six-part harmony. As they sing, the waiter brings over the
giant cake lit with sparklers and covered in roses both real and
made of icing. When they’re done singing, I lean over and blow
out the candles, and the whole restaurant applauds.
“Thanks, guys. Thanks for coming tonight,” Dirk says to the
singers, rising to shake their hands as a few flashes go off in the
restaurant. “You’ve got quite a voice, Cal,” he says to one of the
younger guys in the group. “Cal is in my first-year class,” he explains to us.
“Thank you, sir,” Cal says, beaming, forgetting to let go of
Dirk’s hand as his eyes drift over to Holly.
“Rose?” my mother says, raising her eyebrows, reminding me
to be polite.
“Oh! Thanks. That was really nice,” I say to the group as I half
stand and give them a weird little thank-you bow. Even though
a cappella singing sort of makes me want to yank my hair out
by the roots, I have to admit it’s pretty cool to be serenaded by
a bunch of college guys in suits. Cal smiles at me, and then his
gaze shifts back to Holly.
“Hi, Holly,” he says with a grin.
“Hey, Cal,” Holly answers with a little wave. “That sounded
so great. Thanks for singing for my friend.”
Despite the fact that Cal is super cute, with messy blond hair
and bright green eyes, Holly’s greeting is totally innocent. But
Robert doesn’t see it that way.
While Dirk walks the singers to the door of the restaurant and
my mother is engaged in strategic conversation with the headwaiter about how to serve the giant cake, Robert turns to Holly.
“How do you know
that
guy?” he asks.
“Like Dad said. He’s in his first-year class.”
“That still doesn’t explain how you know him.”
She gives him a long look, like he’s trying her patience. “You
are not in a position to accuse me of flirting with someone right
now.”
Robert takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry.” When she doesn’t acknowledge his apology, he says, “How long are you going to be
mad at me?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I should ask Rose how long I should
stay mad at you.”
“Tell her,” he says, his crystal-blue eyes blazing. “Just tell her.”
“Okay,” Holly says sharply. She turns to me. “Robert told me
that
he
liked
you
last year, not the other way around.”
“He did?” I say, unable to hide my surprise that Robert finally
told Holly the truth.
“Rose, why didn’t you tell me?”
Holly looks hurt and it makes me feel terrible.
“I, uh…I felt like he should tell you. And I told him that. I did,
Holly, I swear.” I think about adding the fact that Robert asked
me not to say anything, but I figure he’s in enough hot water as
it is. “It just didn’t feel like my place to say anything.”
My mother goes to the front door of the restaurant to say goodbye to the singers as the headwaiter starts cutting the cake and
resetting the table for six.
Six?
“Well now I know why he’s weird about you sometimes,” she
says to me. “You chose someone else over him.”
Robert’s not even listening at this point. He’s staring at Dirk,
who has his arm over Cal’s shoulders and is telling my mom
something obviously complimentary about him. Robert looks
like he’s contemplating the best way to murder Cal.
“No, Holly, it wasn’t really like that—”
“Do you want to be with that college guy?” Robert interrupts.
“Because if you do, you should just go.”
Holly looks at Robert, and then looks over her shoulder to
see Dirk chatting with Cal. Slowly—dangerously slowly—she
turns back to Robert.
“Oh, should I?” Holly asks sarcastically. I’ve never seen her
look angry before. For the record, she’s just as pretty when she’s
angry as when she’s happy.
Robert says, “Yeah, you should.”
I want to grab the words and stuff them back into his mouth.
He has no idea what he’s doing.
Holly slowly picks up her sparkly silver clutch and stands just
as the headwaiter puts a piece of cake down in front of her. She
walks over to her father, says something to him and then continues right out the door.
Dirk and my mother aren’t quite sure how to respond, but
Cal is. He doesn’t waste a second—he goes after her instantly.
Robert is out of his seat and halfway across the room before I
can tell him he’s being an idiot. Dirk stops him and hands him
off to my mother, who is still talking to the singers, before going
after Cal and Holly. My mother then sends Robert back to the
table, presumably so he doesn’t have to withstand the coldly appraising looks of the college guys who can’t understand what a
beauty like Holly is doing with a high school sophomore.
Robert sits down heavily in his seat and rests his forehead in
his hand. “Sorry to mess up your birthday night.”
The waiter puts a piece of the perfect cake down in front of me.
“Robert.”
“Yeah?”
“What are you doing here?”
He looks up at me. “What do you mean?”
I shake my head. “Why are you listening to Dirk and my
mother?”
It takes him a second, but he stands up and starts to run. Then
he comes back. “Rosie, I’m sorry I—”
“Yeah, I know, I know. Go.”
He doesn’t have to be told again.
I look down at my chocolate cake with a real red rose on it
and I pick up my fork, wondering whether being the birthday
girl means I can start even if no one else is at the table.
“That is some dress, Rose.”
I look up and Jamie is standing next to me in a suit.
An actual suit.
It’s black, and it fits him perfectly. He has on a tie. His hair is
still wet from the shower, and he’s holding a thin package neatly
wrapped in brown paper with a bow made of twine and my name
carefully printed in that meticulous block handwriting. I almost
reach out to touch him, to make sure he’s not some weird hallucination I’m having.
“Your mom invited me. I couldn’t make the play or dinner,
but she said come for dessert.”
The headwaiter materializes out of nowhere with another chair
and places it in front of the sixth table setting.
“My…mom?”
How did she even know to call him? I haven’t said anything
to her about Jamie in months.
Jamie pulls out the chair next to me and sits. “Sweet sixteen,
huh?”
“I guess so.”
“Everything okay?” he asks, looking at the host stand where
my mom is deep in conversation with Dirk, who has just come
back in from outside.
“Robert and Holly are having some drama,” I say.
Jamie nods. “How was the play?”
I pause, not sure if I should bring Conrad up, but I know that
Jamie would want to know. Since Conrad isn’t talking to him—
thanks to me—it’s really the least I can do.
“It was amazing,” I say, “thanks to Conrad. He was great.
Really, really great.”
“Yeah?” Jamie says, sounding surprised. And also proud. I understand, in a way that I never did before, what Jamie has been
trying to explain to me all year.
Conrad is family to him.
And so is Regina.
I have to tell him. If I don’t tell him and something happens
to her, he’ll never talk to me again.
“So he can act, huh?” Jamie asks thoughtfully.
“Yeah,” I say. “He did this whole monologue that made everybody cry.”
Jamie’s eyes roam over my face for a second. “I don’t like to
hear about you crying,” he says, and I know we’re not just talking about the play anymore.
“It just happens sometimes,” I say, picturing Angelo telling
Jamie about the snot-fest I had in his car after I totally blew
“Cherry Bomb.” I take a deep breath, and say, “I’m sorry about
what I said to you that day. About how I feel.”
“Don’t be sorry, Rose.”
“I am, though. I know we’re not…”
“It’s good that you told me,” he says when I don’t finish my
sentence.
“I could tell it made you feel weird.”
After a second of Jamie staring me down with those beautiful, gold-flecked hazel eyes, he hands me the package I forgot
he was holding and leans forward to whisper in my ear. “You
look gorgeous.”
My heart stops in my chest. Jamie stands to greet my mother
and Dirk, who are coming back to the table without Holly and
Robert. I know, without opening any of my presents, that I’ve
just received the best gift I ever could have dreamed of for my
sixteenth birthday.
“Jamie.” My mother smiles, grasping his hand in both of hers.
“This is Dirk Taylor.”
“Pleasure,” Dirk says, shaking Jamie’s hand. “Glad you could
join us.”
“Thanks for the invitation,” Jamie answers. As he sits, Dirk
gives me an approving wink. My mother catches my eye and I
can’t help smiling at her. I can’t believe she did this for me.
Now I know why she sent me to buy a dress—a blue dress,
to be exact.
“I think we should get started,” she says, discreetly implying
that whatever is going on with Holly and Robert could take a
while.
If someone had told me two years ago that I’d be spending my
sixteenth birthday at a fancy restaurant with my mother and a
movie star, I would have called that person nuts. If they’d said
that I’d have Jamie Forta next to me, looking perfect in his suit
and making polite conversation with my mother and the movie
star, I would have said that person was totally certifiable.
“Are you ready to open some presents?” my mother asks.
There’s a little pile of beautifully wrapped boxes in the center of
the table, but I’m most interested in the one in my hands.
“I’ll start with this one,” I say as I pull the end of the twine
bow. The package is very light, like there’s nothing in it. As I slide
my finger under the tape and pull the brown paper away, I see
what looks like a piece of cardboard. When I notice the frayed
edge on one side, and realize it’s the back cover of a notebook, I
know exactly what I’m looking at.
I turn the cardboard over and see the beautiful house that
Jamie was drawing in study hall on the first day we ever talked
to each other last year, the one I told him I really liked. He finished it—it’s a much bigger house and the woods that surround
it are denser—and he inscribed it.
Happy 16, Rose. Love, Jamie.
Love, Jamie.
“What is it?” my mother asks.
I hold up the drawing.
“Jamie, is that your work?” she asks, as if he were a professional artist. When he nods, my mother says, “You have real talent. It’s beautiful.”
“What a spectacular design, son. Have you thought about architecture school?”
I make my second mental note about Dirk for the evening:
he’s supportive. Genuinely.
“See?” I say to Jamie, grinning at him. “It’s not just me.”
Jamie thanks my mother and Dirk but can’t quite look at me,
choosing instead to focus on putting sugar in his coffee. I let him
off the hook and pick up my fork, cutting a perfect piece of dark
chocolate cake, working around a real red rose. I’m just about to
taste it when Jamie takes my hand under the table.

“ROSE.”
I hear Tracy’s heels clacking down the hall.
“Rose!” she calls again when I pretend I can’t hear her over the

sound of yanking my locker door open. I’m checking my hair
when her face appears behind me in my mirror. “Can I talk to
you for a minute?”

I take another few seconds to check out my new blue streaks
before grabbing my stuff and slamming my locker closed. I turn
around.

Tracy doesn’t look like a high school student anymore. She
dresses like she works at a fashion magazine, which, I guess you
could argue, she sort of does. The Sharp List now has followers
all over the place, not just in Union. I think some reporters in
New York even follow her blog. Stephanie told me that her parents are so excited that they are hiring a professional web designer to build her site.

“Your hair looks cool,” she says as she automatically takes in
my outfit.
Today is my callback for the band, and I’m wearing torn-up
black jeans with safety pins in the seams and pretty much every
bracelet I could find in the house. Holly lent me a super-cool
off-the-shoulder camouflage shirt, and she helped me with my
makeup in the bathroom this morning before first period, so my
thick black eyeliner is way better than it was last time.
I’m lucky that Holly was willing to help me.
After the birthday dinner, I called her to apologize and because she’s Holly, she said not to worry about it, and that Robert shouldn’t have put me in the middle like that. I told her that
it was obvious that Robert was completely and totally in love
with her, and that he’s an idiot sometimes but a really good guy.
That’s when she told me that they’re on a “break” now.
I’m sure Robert is in a dark room somewhere, pulling his
hair out and rocking back and forth, trying to figure out how he
messed up the best thing that ever happened to him.
I’m going to call him later to check on him.
“Are you busy today?” Tracy asks.
“I have my callback for Angelo’s band.”
“Oh, okay,” she says, sounding a little disappointed. “Chen
asked me to do a special prom post for The Sharp List, so I have
to get a dress before tomorrow night.”
I wait to see how this involves me.
“Um, Peter is meeting me in the lot and we’re going shopping.
I thought maybe you could come along, too. And then maybe
the three of us could get a slice after?”
“Sorry. Can’t,” I say. My voice sounds cold even to my own
ears.
“Maybe some other time,” Tracy says, turning to go.
Give her something,
says a voice in my head.
“I’m walking to the lot now,” I say, and Tracy looks back at
me. “Want to walk together?”
A smile lights up her face.
As we walk out into the perfect May afternoon, I try to sort
out what I want to say to her.
“It just makes me feel weird” is how I start.
She knows me so well, it’s not a problem that I started in what
should probably be the middle of the conversation. “I know,”
she says.
“Why didn’t you guys just tell me?”
“It really didn’t happen the way you think it did.”
“Okay, so how did it happen?”
“When he texted me in December, he just needed help. He
was afraid to tell you and your mom, and he thought if I was
there, it would be easier. He asked me not to tell you because he
knew you’d be upset that he didn’t call you first. But I figured
you’d want me to help him. So I said okay.”
“So, between Christmas and Valentine’s Day…?”
“Nothing, Rosie. I swear. We just talked on the phone a bunch.
He was miserable and he felt like he had no one to talk to, so he
called me.” For once, Tracy is the one who blushes. “You know
I’ve been crushing on him forever. Talking so much just made
it…worse. And then, when I kind of couldn’t take it anymore, I
told him to meet me at the end of the Valentine’s Day dance. And
I kissed him. I felt bad that you found us, Rose. Peter did, too.”
“He did?”
She’s surprised by my surprise. “He hasn’t told you that?”
“He acts like he didn’t do anything wrong.”
Tracy seems baffled by this, but she doesn’t offer any explanations.
“See? That’s why this is weird. You have all this information
in your head about what’s going on, but you can’t tell me anything because of him.”
“I want to be your best friend, and I also want to be Peter’s
girlfriend,” she says. “How do I do that?”
We fall silent as we walk toward the hill.
Union High girls are calling out to Tracy, telling her that she’s
going to want to take their picture tomorrow night because
they’re going to be wearing this or that designer to the prom.
The girls who want to be models have actually started giving
Tracy little gifts when she puts them on her site, thanking her
for giving them something for their portfolios.
It still seems weird to me that Tracy gets this kind of attention, but she handles it like a pro.
I’m proud of her.
Maybe I should tell her that.
“I’m proud of you.” Tracy does a little double take, like she
doesn’t understand what I’m talking about. “The site. Everything
you did with it. All the followers you have. You’re going to be able
to work anywhere you want when you leave Union. It’s cool.”
Tracy smiles. “I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said
to me.”
“It’s true. The Sharp List is awesome.”
“Will you start working on it again? The writing is so bad
without you.”
“Only if you put me on the thing for once.” I try to sound like
I’m joking, but she sees right through that. She lifts the camera that now lives permanently around her neck and snaps my
photo before I’m ready.
“Wait—”
“You know what, Rosie? You used to wear whatever I told
you to wear, and don’t get me wrong, you looked good, thanks
to me. But I just never felt like you had your own style—until
now. I love those blue streaks. And as much as I wish I could
take credit for them, I can’t.”
She keeps snapping photos as we start up the path on the hill.
“You can stop now. You’re making me self-conscious.”
Tracy laughs and lowers her camera. “So how’d you like my
birthday present?” she asks.
I think back to my birthday, to the pile of presents on the table
for me at the restaurant. I can’t remember a gift from Tracy. “Did
you give me a present?”
“You don’t think your mother figured out to invite Jamie to
your birthday dinner on her own, do you?”
I grab her hand to make her stop walking. “Wait. That was
you? You made that happen?”
“Me and Peter. She invited us. We told her you’d rather have
him there, and she knew we were right.”
I feel warm as I remember looking up and seeing Jamie standing next to me in a suit, holding a birthday present. “Oh, my
god, Trace” is all I can say.
“Holly said your dress was totally amazing. I have to see it.”
“Jamie told me I looked gorgeous. It was the greatest birthday present ever.”
Tracy smiles. “You’re welcome, Rosie.”
She gives me a hug. I know somehow, as we stand there, that
we can never go back to the way we were before she was going
out with my brother. But maybe that’s not a bad thing.
We get to the top of the hill and hear a crazy commotion at
the same time. There’s a big group of people standing around in
a circle, watching something. As we get closer, I see fists flying.
Suddenly Stephanie is running toward us as fast as she can
in her high-heeled clogs, yelling something I can’t hear. When
she stops and starts waving for us to hurry, I break into a sweat
before I even start to run.
I push my way through the circle. Jamie and Anthony are
locked together on the ground. Anthony’s nose is gushing blood
and Jamie’s eye is starting to swell but they’re still swinging at
each other like they don’t intend to stop until someone dies.
I look up and see Angelo on the other side of the circle, his
eyes glued to Jamie. He looks like he’s dying to get in there but
he’s holding himself back.
Which means that Jamie told Angelo not to jump in.
Which means that Jamie started this.
Which means he knows.
Conrad and Regina are near Angelo, and Regina is crying.
I’d only seen her cry once before the other day, and I was pretty
sure I’d never see it again. But she’s actually sobbing, and Conrad is practically holding her up. Conrad looks at me—I can’t
read his expression. Lena is on the other side of Regina, and she
looks terrified. When our eyes connect across the circle, I know
exactly what happened.
Lena told Jamie. Did she also tell him that I knew?
Do I even have to ask that?
Anthony gets the upper hand and rolls on top of Jamie, getting in a good shot at Jamie’s stomach. Jamie manages to shove
Anthony backward and stand up.
Suddenly, there are two West Union guys in the circle. They
grab Jamie from behind.
The Union crowd thinks this is unfair. Angelo now has the
reason he was looking for to jump in. He starts swinging at Anthony. One of Anthony’s pals lets go of Jamie to go after Angelo.
And then suddenly Peter is shoving his way through the circle.
He gets Anthony in a headlock and drags him backward.
Jamie shoves Anthony’s guy to the ground and comes toward
Anthony, fists clenched, face bloodied, fury pouring off him in
waves. Peter yanks Anthony around so that Jamie can’t hit him.
“Enough, man, enough!” Peter says to Jamie, breathless with
effort. Even though Peter’s older, he’s struggling to hold on to
Anthony, who’s way bigger. And while Peter has been sitting in
a room with other addicts talking about his feelings, Anthony
has been weightlifting with his puckhead friends.
Jamie ignores Peter and easily frees Anthony from Peter’s headlock. Peter stumbles a little but quickly turns around so he and
Angelo can block Anthony’s pals as Jamie and Anthony go at it
again.
Jamie lands a fierce punch and Anthony crashes to the
ground. Anthony’s up a second later, charging at Jamie. Somehow, he manages to pin Jamie to a parked car and he starts
landing punch after punch. Jamie doesn’t seem to be defending
himself anymore, and I realize he can’t really see because one
eye is now swollen completely shut, and the other one doesn’t
look so good.
I think Conrad must realize the same thing because he lets
go of Regina and takes a flying leap at Anthony, trying to keep
him from hitting Jamie again. Conrad pins Anthony’s arms long
enough for Jamie to slide down the side of the car and land on
the ground.
“What the hell is going on here? Break it up!”
As Mr. Camber runs toward the group, everyone who was
watching starts to melt away, vanishing into nearby cars or stores.
“You!” Camber says to Anthony, who’s struggling to get Conrad
off him. “Get over here by this car and don’t move. Conrad, let
go and stand over there. Zarelli!” he calls to my brother, pointing to Anthony. “Watch him!”
Camber crouches down in front of Jamie and looks at his
busted-up face. “This is not going to end well for you, Forta,” he
says, his voice full of furious disappointment.
Jamie doesn’t even seem to hear Camber. He’s focused on Regina, who is still sobbing.
“Fuck you, Rose!” she shrieks at me. “Fuck you!”
I open my mouth to tell her it wasn’t me but Camber starts
yelling. “Somebody start talking—now!”
“Forta don’t like me goin’ out with his ex-girlfriend,” Anthony
says, his voice weird because of his broken nose. His entire shirtfront is covered in blood and snot.
“Is that true?” Camber asks Jamie.
Jamie’s semi-good eye shifts to Lena, and then lands on me.
This can’t be happening. This can’t be the way this is going
to go.
“You have to give me something here, Jamie, or I can’t help
you,” Camber says.
Jamie spits blood on the ground and stays silent.
As Camber keeps grilling him, Lena tries to sneak away. I
grab her arm. “You told him?” I whisper.
She pulls away. “Of course I did. What’s wrong with you?”
she says.
The irony of her response is too much for me to handle right
now. I let go of her and she disappears.
The paramedics and the cops arrive at the same time, and
things start to happen really fast. Bobby Passeo, who used to
play hockey with Peter and Jamie—and who I got to meet not
once but twice last year—jumps out of the ambulance, opens
the back and grabs his red box.
“Hey, Zarelli!” he says to my brother, as if seeing two guys on
the ground with bloody faces is way more normal to him than
seeing my brother back in Union. “Just like old times, huh? Long
live puckheads.”
He checks Anthony’s nose and shoves gauze up his nostrils to
stop the bleeding, making Anthony wince in pain. Bobby gives
Anthony’s forehead a shove.
“If you want to stop bleeding, keep your head back,” he says.
As he checks Anthony’s pulse, he sees me.
“Rose! What do you know—two Zarellis for the price of one.
Hey, do me a favor and bring this ice pack over to Forta. You gotta
crunch it up to make it cold,” he instructs as he hands it to me.
I take the pack and bend it back and forth a few times, feeling the cold start to seep through the plastic into my fingers. It
continues into my veins and travels through my whole body. I
work up the courage to take two steps toward Jamie but the fury
in his gaze stops me in my tracks.
I never thought I’d know what it was like to be on the receiving end of that look.
“I told her to tell you,” I begin, trying to speak normally. “I told
her you’d want to know. She said it wasn’t my place—”
Jamie doesn’t even bother to answer—I see the wall come
down and he’s gone.
The radio in Officer Webster’s car is crackling to life. Webster goes to the cruiser, reaches in the open window and picks
it up. After a second, he gets in the car, closing the door so that
we can’t hear his conversation.
Jamie watches Webster. When Webster gets out of the squad
car a minute later, he crosses to Jamie and squats down next to
him. I’m still frozen in place just a few steps away with the ice
pack in my outstretched hands.
“Your dad wants me to bring you in.”
I can’t believe this is happening because of Regina
again.
I
just can’t. Conrad is trying to get her to leave but she won’t
move. She just keeps saying, “I’m sorry, Jamie, I’m sorry,” over
and over again.
But I don’t think he hears her, either.
Webster extends his hand and helps Jamie up. But when the
officer crosses to the car and opens the back door for Jamie to
get in, Jamie doesn’t follow him.
“Jamie,” I say, though I’m not sure what comes after that.
It doesn’t matter that I’m not sure because the next thing that
happens is he comes over to me and says, “I don’t know you.”
And then he starts walking out of the lot.
No one knows what to do. Officer Webster looks at Camber,
who seems to be wrestling with a decision. Finally he calls after
Jamie.
“Forta, if you walk away, there’s not a chance in hell you’ll
graduate!”
But Jamie just keeps going. He walks away—from Officer
Webster, from Camber, from Union High, from me.
I feel like I might fall down. And in fact, I start to.
Angelo grabs my arm. Someone has my other arm—it’s Peter.
They walk me over to a curb and sit me down.
“It’s going to be okay, Rose,” Peter says from very far away.
“Jamie’s fine. He’s not hurt that badly.”