“What did he say? Afterward?”

Honest. I feel I have to be honest.

“He kept calling you ‘that black bitch.’ ”

I watch A grimace. “Charming.”

Again I feel the need to defend Justin. “I think he sensed it was a trap. I don’t know. He just knew something was off.”

“Which is probably why he passed the test.”

He won’t give up. The way he wants Justin to be a bad guy—it reminds me of Justin.

I pull my hand away. “That’s not fair.”

“I’m sorry.”

Sorry. He’s sorry. I’m sorry. We’re all so sorry.

He asks me, “What do you want to do?”

That look again. Those eyes. Not sorry. Yearning.

I do not turn away. I try to be a fact, not a feeling.

“What do you want me to do?” I ask.

“I want you to do whatever you feel is best for you.”

Too perfect, too scripted, too out of touch with that yearning.

“That’s the wrong answer,” I say.

“Why is it the wrong answer?”

He doesn’t get it. “Because it’s a lie.”

He blinks. “Let’s go back to my original question. What do you want to do?”

How can I tell him that what I want isn’t the point. It’s never the point. I want a million dollars. I want to never return to school and to get a good job anyway. I want to be prettier. I want to be in Hawaii. Want costs you nothing, unless you try to spend it. What do you want to do? isn’t what he should be asking. He should be asking me what I can do.

How can I make him see this? I say, “I don’t want to throw everything away for something uncertain.”

“What about me is uncertain?”

Kidding. He has to be kidding.

“Really?” I say. “Do I have to explain it to you?”

He waves his hand dismissively. “Besides that. You know you are the most important person I’ve ever had in my life. That’s certain.”

“In just two weeks,” I point out. “That’s uncertain.”

“You know more about me than anyone else does.”

“But I can’t say the same for you. Not yet.”

“You can’t deny that there’s something between us.”

I can’t deny it—that’s true. But I can deny that it means what he thinks it means.

“No,” I say. “There is. When I saw you today—I didn’t know I’d been waiting for you until you were there. And then all of that waiting rushed through me in a second. That’s something…but I don’t know if it’s certainty.”

Fourth period isn’t over, but I was planning on studying for history during math, and I still need to do that now. I have to remind myself that here is where my life is, and I can’t afford to screw it up.

“I have to get ready for my test,” I tell A. “And you have another life to get back to.”

Hurt. It crosses his face and dims his eyes. “Don’t you want to see me?” he asks.

Want. Everything about him is want.

“I do,” I say. “And I don’t. You would think it would make things easier, but it actually makes them harder.”

“So I shouldn’t just show up here?”

Is this helping? No, it’s not helping. This is the disruption, because it makes everything else seem lesser.

Instinctively, I know: I can’t show up to school every morning wondering if he’ll be here. I can’t be looking into the eyes of every stranger hoping it will be him.

So I tell him, “Let’s stick to email for now. Okay?”

I can sense all the want pulsing beneath his skin. I can see how badly he’s trying to keep himself together. But there it is. He doesn’t get to choose. I don’t get to choose.

The classroom door opens and a teacher I don’t know comes in. She takes one look at us and says, “You can’t be here. Shouldn’t you be in class?”

I mumble something about a free period. I pick up my bag. A doesn’t have one, and I hope the teacher doesn’t notice.

We say goodbye in the hallway. I know I’m not going to see him like this again. I will see him as someone else. But not like this. Not with him as hopeful as he was when he saw me this morning.

I can still feel the connection between us, even as I walk away.

I go to Justin’s locker after school, but he’s already gone.

I spend the rest of the day and night alone. My parents don’t count.

Chapter Sixteen

Something is off the next day. Justin barely speaks to me. Rebecca looks at me curiously. Even my teachers seem more aware that I’m in the room, and won’t stop calling on me. I have an English report I have to finish during lunch, so I spend it in the library.

After sixth period, Preston texts to see if I want to do something after school. I feel like I haven’t talked to him in a while—and I’m grateful that someone is actually trying to make plans with me.

We decide to drive to the outlet mall—Preston has a cousin at Burberry who’s let him know the coat he’s been crushing on is getting marked down today. He still can’t afford it, but at least he can try it on one more time before it’s sold.

I think the coat’s going to be the top priority in our conversation, but then Preston jumps in my car, plugs in his iPod to blast some Robyn, and says, “So…spill!”