I stand up. But I don’t want to go. “Having a crush on you.”

Cami blushes and stands up too. Climbs the stairs. “I should go,” she says. “I’ll see you Monday?”

I bite my lip. “Yeah, I guess.”

She gives me a hug, and that freaking kills me. It really does.

CHAPTER 13

Friday night doesn’t end until Sunday. The visitors keep coming. Another newspaper and TV crew show up to do a story, and Mama makes them give us the questions first so we can approve them. Somewhere during that time, two uncles and an aunt barge into Blake’s bedroom to construct my bed.

By the end of it, when Dad finally closes down the circus and says “enough,” Gracie is cranky from too much attention and sweets, Blake is disgusted by being ignored and trampled, Mama is frazzled, and I’ve got a major headache from all the stress, noise, and stupidity. I escape to the basement for some privacy and hold my ears to stop the ringing sounds.

Later, after lights-out, Blake won’t even talk to me. I wish he would accept me, but I just lie in my new bed and feel like I’m taking up space.

Monday morning I’m wide awake at five, thinking about school. Wondering where they’ll put me. My chest is in a vise grip. I can’t breathe. I start wheezing, sweating, and I get out of bed so I don’t wake up Blake. Walk to the bathroom and just sit in there, on the edge of the bathtub, trying to get a grip. I drape a towel over my head and breath in and out, in and out. In. And out.

In the shower I think about Cami. That helps me calm down.

I’m ready for school two hours early, so I just sit at the dining table drinking about forty-nine cups of coffee. I watch, like I’m a security camera, the people moving through the house and sitting at the table for a few minutes to eat, then going on their way, first Dad, then Mama and Gracie, then Blake. If we talk, I don’t remember what we say. Mama gives me some papers and talks to me, a concerned look on her face. “You’re enrolled and you’re all set. Are you sure you don’t want me to go with you? Set you up with the school counselor?”

But I can’t comprehend right now. I shove the papers in my backpack. “No, I’ve had lots of first days at schools. I know the drill.”

“Okay,” Mama says, doubtful. “Come straight home after and tell me how it went.”

I just nod. “I’m good, Mama. I know what to do.” I am in a zone, a place I need to be to keep away the panicky things inside me.

Still, it’s been a while since I went to school. Like, a really long time.

At the bus stop, Blake stands off to the side, watching me. He calls out to a few guys who are near me. They ignore him. He pretends like he doesn’t care, but his face is hard, and I feel bad for him. I can tell he’s not a popular kid, and that worries me, because maybe I’m not popular either. I wonder how big the school is. Maybe I’ll be just a blip.

Cami is at the bus stop, and she smiles at me but lets the others crowd around me. I talk to them, but I stare at her until she blushes. I want to talk to her more. Have her ask me easy questions that don’t stress me out. And I want to know what everyone did, what things were like right after it happened. I want her perspective.

I want her.

She’s a fucking lake of beautiful.

On the bus, I shove into the seat with her. The other girls give sidelong glances and carry on stupidly, but I don’t care. “Hey,” I say.

She looks at me and blinks her ropey lashes. “What are you doing?”

“Why? Is this seat taken?”

“My friends . . . ,” she says.

“Tough,” I say, but I smile.

She laughs and gives in, shrugging to the other girls and moving her backpack from between us. “You nervous?”

The vise grip tightens on my ribs. “Nah. I’m cool.”

“Oh, I see,” she says with a lopsided grin. Teasing me. “I thought if you were nervous I could show you around, but . . .”

I slouch in the seat, stick my knee up against the seatback in front of us, and lean my head back. My heart races from all the caffeine this morning, and from the closeness of this girl. “So, what—you only show the nervous loser-type guys around, not the cool ones who used to be your best friend? What kind of person are you?”

Cami shrugs, takes her wool cap off, and smoothes her hair down. “I help those in need. You, apparently, don’t need anything.”

Oh, God. I need her.

In school, she walks with me to the office and pauses outside the door. “You’ll figure it out,” she says. “The layout is just two big squares. Numbers go up, clockwise starting here.” Her hair is staticky and I want to touch it. I want her electricity. But she just grins and leaves me there to fend for myself.

I walk up to the desk, where a woman sits with a pen and papers strewn around her, severe black glasses that look kind of artsy, and cropped black hair. A nameplate says her name is Miss Lester.

“Yes?” she says, still writing.

I clear my throat. “I’m . . . Ethan. De Wilde. New student.”

The woman looks up. “Oh. Very good. Welcome home. You’re that lost boy.” It’s not a question.

“Yes, ma’am,” I say.

She takes my paperwork and shuffles through it, then pulls one sheet out and hands it to me. “You’re going to need this—it’s your schedule. There’s a map on the back. Come with me. We’ll put you in classes for now and each teacher will assess you, do some testing, so we know if you’re in the right place.”