“Cool. Thanks. Anything else?” I ask, deepening my voice so that a nervous squeak doesn’t make its way out and betray me.
“I don’t think so.”
Before the words are even out of her mouth, I seize Rafael’s elbow and steer him away, walking us briskly down the hall.
“Hey, so, what the fuck was that?” Rafael asks in my ear.
“No clue. Just keep walking.”
“It was nice to see you again,” Dean Robin’s voice calls as we flit around the corner, away from her.
I expect there to be some sort of backlash from Dean Robin’s appearance, from the note, but things fade away within a couple days. Even Jasper, Heath, and Beck return to their new routine of just ignoring me.
But ignoring isn’t in my nature.
So as much as I know I should just throw it away, I do eventually open the note delivered by the dean.
It’s from Olive, predictably. I can barely stomach the first paragraph of her sweet, perfect handwriting expressing her pleading sentiments before I crumple the paper and toss it into the trash can.
It’s worse than I thought. She’s obsessed. Not necessarily with me, but with the idea of me—or at least, with the idea that she has to somehow make up for what happened.
“What’s the matter?” Rafael asks from his bed, his voice flat.
“Olive,” I mumble.
“Yeah, that was a mistake and a half, wasn’t it?”
I bury my face in my hands. “She just won’t let it go, Rafael.”
“I told you not to go.”
“I know,” I reply angrily, digging my fingers into my hair. “Now … now she’s turning it into something else.”
From what I managed to read before the guilt took over, Olive is heartbroken—or at least she thinks she is. She keeps writing to me, asking me why I won’t contact her, why I’m avoiding
her. She’s been to lacrosse practice a few times looking for me. I suppose you were injured, this last note said, on our date, and I’m so sorry. That’s all my fault. I should have stepped in.
But it’s not her fault.
Not entirely, anyway. I had an idea of what I was getting into.
Not fully, of course, but I went on that date with the intention to hurt someone else. It’s kind of karma that I was the one who ended up getting hurt, I guess. Even if it doesn’t make it right.
I grunt and stand up. “This is too much. I need a smoke.”
Rafael lowers the magazine he’s reading to his chest, raising his eyebrows at me. “Do you?”
I shrug. “What else am I gonna do?”
Rafael sets his magazine aside and sits up. “I’ll come with you, then.”
“No—I’m okay.” I grab my backpack and sling it over my shoulder. “I’ll meet you in class.”
I leave before he can answer.
I don’t know why I want to be alone, or why I feel so restless, but I hustle down the steps as fast as my aching ribs will allow on my way to my smoking spot. Do I even feel like smoking? No. I hate it. But I need my voice to stay deep and hoarse. And nicotine is addictive, after all.
I burst out into my usual spot and breathe a sigh of relief as the door drifts shut behind me. Leaning against the wall, I light a cigarette and inhale, letting the smoke fill my lungs as I shut my eyes. It’s cold, but the sun is on this side of the school, so the wall behind me is warm. The heat of it seeps into the back of my jacket as I breathe out clouds of grey smoke.