“Don’t thank her. Just try asking her why she did it.”
“That’s easy. She hates me because my parents made me her personal policeman.”
“Find some common ground, Ryder. Make her see you don’t relish the role your parents gave you to play.”
“I should be afraid of you,” he said after a long moment.
“Why?”
“You give me hope.”
“So? That’s good, isn’t it?”
“Not if what’s usually been true comes true again. It’s a longer, harder fall when you raise yourself higher only to be disappointed.”
“You won’t be,” I said.
He took my hand. “What do you feel? More hate or more love?”
I smiled. “I’m not a psychic because I lived out here, Ryder.”
“Exactly,” he said. He held me a moment and then walked off. I watched him. He never turned to look back at me.
I wanted to believe I had helped him, but he seemed to be walking into the darkness from which I had been rescued.
13
Bad News
I remembered promising Donald that I would go to his office after school to see his advertisement campaign for the High Rollers, the rock group, but I was too upset to go. I thought I would simply say that I wasn’t feeling well if he called the house. I should have known none of it would matter.
I knew my friend Jessica had a big mouth. Sometimes, when I asked her to keep something to herself, as I had done with the information she had dug up about Summer Garfield, I felt as if I was trying to plug up a leaky faucet with a piece of cotton. Good luck, I would tell myself. I already knew what her mother was like, and as Mr. Denacio was fond of saying every time a sister or brother did something wrong or right, “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”
I suppose the Garfields were a big topic for discussion at the homes of most of the Pacifica students, anyway. It hadn’t taken long for me to see that parents of students at Pacifica took pride in whose children were sent to attend school alongside theirs. Their bragging rights were boosted with the news that a popular actor and model had entered their son and daughter at the same school. Maybe they thought this validated their own decision to choose Pacifica for their kids and pay the very high tuition.
Bad news always has a way of being sent special delivery, but bad news involving Ryder Garfield had e-mail speed. It arrived at the March home before I did, which probably shouldn’t have astonished me, but what especially amazed me was how quickly the information had been shared with Donald. After I spoke with Jordan, I had the distinct impression that they had already had considerable discussion about my budding relationship with Ryder Garfield since I had brought him home with me. The intensity of this new concern about whom I associated with surprised me, especially because it seemed to originate more with Donald than with Jordan.
Jordan came hurrying down the corridor and called to me as I was opening the front door. I had the impression that she had been watching one of the video feeds of the gate, just sitting there and waiting for me, and therefore knew exactly when I had arrived.
“I heard about the terrible event at school,” she began. “Apparently, the Peters boy had to be taken to the hospital to check for a concussion.”
“No, probably to check for brains,” I said. I even sounded like Kiera. My comeback startled Jordan, and for a moment, she stood there speechless. “I always thought I could look through one of his ears and out the other.”
“This isn’t at all funny, Sasha. Donald is very upset,” she said. “He’s very, very worried about you.”
“Me? Why?”
“Why? Well, this boy . . . whom you’re now seeing . . . he’s the son of famous people, but obviously, he’s unstable. We saw some of that when he was here, but this terrible event at the school makes it all so much worse.”
“Don’t say that. You don’t even know what happened and why,” I said.
“You don’t condone such behavior, do you?” she snapped back at me. “You, of all people should know what violence can do to everyone involved.”
“Yes, I do. That’s why I feel sorrier for Ryder, Jordan. There are all sorts of violence. Saying and spreading hateful things can be just as devastating as a blow to the face. You, of all people, should know that,” I countered.
It was a poorly veiled reference to the stories about Donald having affairs. Her face reddened, and she bristled. I had never been disrespectful or combative with either her or Donald, even when I had been accused of doing all sorts of things to Kiera. I was younger when that all happened, of course, and far more fragile than I was now, but I didn’t feel I was defending myself as much as I was defending Ryder, who, despite what everyone thought about him and his rich and famous family, needed defending.
“Well, we’ll talk about this later,” she said.