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  He shrugged. “I guess. I mean, it’s not like we really know her.”

  “I know her,” I said.

  Logan raised an eyebrow. “Since when?”

  “Since … always,” I said. I didn’t think what had happened this morning was any of his business. But I let myself gloat, just a little bit, that Mr. Miller had asked for my help, not his.

  “Okay,” Logan said. “But what does that have to do with me?”

  I took a deep breath and began to explain the idea I’d been thinking about since I’d gotten out of Kelsi’s car two hours ago. “It has everything to do with you. I thought maybe one day this week we could get Cody Johnson and the three of us could get together with Kelsi after school.”

  Logan and Sydney stared at me like I’d suggested that we eat worms. “Why would we do that?” Logan asked.

  “To show her that she’s not alone.”

  Logan rolled his eyes, and exchanged looks with Sydney. “Lacey,” he said slowly, like he was talking to a child, “just because our dad died doesn’t mean you have to fix everyone else who loses a parent.”

  I stared back. “I’m not doing that. Maybe I just want to help. What’s wrong with that?”

  Logan shook his head. I was surprised to see anger in his eyes. “You know, Lacey, maybe for once you could just let things go, you know? Can’t you just grow up and move on?”

  “What are you talking about?” I demanded, suddenly aware that my voice had risen an octave.

  “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

  I stood up abruptly. “You know, Logan, I’m just asking for a little help,” I said. “But if you can’t do that, forget I ever said anything.”

  • • •

  I was still simmering when Jennica met me at my locker after school. “We still on for studying today?” she asked.

  “Of course,” I said. “Why wouldn’t we be?”

  She cleared her throat. “I don’t know. I heard about Kelsi. I thought maybe you had to go talk to her or something. Is that why Mr. Miller called you in this morning?”

  I averted my eyes.

  “How come you couldn’t tell me that when I asked you?” she said. There was accusation in her voice.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I guess I didn’t feel like it was my business to talk about it.”

  “But I’m your best friend.” She paused. “Is it because you think I wouldn’t understand?”

  “No,” I said too quickly. “Of course not.”

  “You know, Lacey, having someone die isn’t the only way to lose a parent.”

  I just looked at her. Not again, said the voice in my head.

  “It was hard for me when my parents got divorced,” she went on. “But you act like it’s no big deal, just because my dad is still alive.”

  I bit my tongue. Hard. I didn’t want to get into this with her. I knew it bothered Jennica that I didn’t ask her about her parents’ divorce very often. And it wasn’t that I didn’t care. It was just that I couldn’t compare a divorce to a death. She could tell her dad she loved him any time she decided to. My chances, on the other hand, were all gone. Forever.

  “I’m sorry,” I said finally.

  Jennica sighed. “I know.”

  I was just about to say something else when I saw Sam approaching. I began shoving books from my locker into my bag. Jennica furrowed her brow. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Nothing,” I said, just as Sam walked up. Jennica looked at him, then at me, and stepped back.

  “Hey,” he said. He smiled at me. “So, are you two still studying this afternoon?”

  I shrugged.

  “Can I still study with you?” Sam tried again.

  I took a deep breath. I didn’t want to care. But I did. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “I don’t even know what I said to make you upset,” Sam said. He was standing so close that I could feel his breath on my hair. It gave me goose bumps. “Look, can I talk to you for a minute? There’s something I really need to tell you.”

  I looked away. “Maybe later,” I said, trying to sound casual. “Jennica and I are in a rush now. We’ve got to catch a ride with my brother and his girlfriend before they leave without us.”

  I slammed my locker door shut, grabbed Jennica’s arm, and walked away before Sam could say anything else.

  • • •

  Jennica waited to bring Sam up until we were sitting at my kitchen table forty-five minutes later with two Diet Cokes, a bag of microwave popcorn, some Twizzlers Jennica had brought, and our trig books open in front of us.

  “So, are you going to explain what that was all about?” she asked.

  I fiddled with the edge of the popcorn bag and then popped a few pieces in my mouth. “It’s nothing.”

  Jennica chomped on a piece of licorice. “Try again.”

  I sighed. “Fine. He drove me home yesterday, and I actually thought for, like, a minute that maybe he liked me. Then he said he’d heard about my dad and that he knew how I felt.” I made a face.

  “Okay,” Jennica said, waiting for me to go on. “And?”

  I shrugged. “That’s it.”

  “Let me get this straight,” she said. “The hot new guy, who every girl at school—including Summer Andrews—is into, offers you a ride, has clearly been asking around about you, and says something thoughtful. And this is a problem why?”

  “Jennica, there’s a difference between liking someone and feeling sorry for them,” I said. “Don’t you understand that? The last thing I need is some guy’s pity.”

  “Okay,” Jennica said slowly. “Only, what if he doesn’t pity you? What if he’s just trying to be nice? Because he likes you?”

  “Well, I don’t need someone telling me he knows how I feel,” I grumbled. “You know how much I hate that.”

  “Yeah, well, sometimes you don’t give people a chance,” Jennica said.

  I resisted the urge to snap at her that the only person she gave a chance to anymore was her boyfriend. I didn’t want to sound jealous. “Jennica,” I began. I paused, unsure of what I wanted to say. I wanted to tell her that I missed her, that I missed this, that I missed us. I wanted to tell her that there was a huge gulf between us, and I didn’t know how to cross it anymore. But before I had a chance to say anything, the doorbell rang.

  I swung the door open to find Jay Cash, Tanner’s friend from down the street, standing there. “Hi, Jay,” I said, surprised to see him. His visits had been getting less and less frequent.

  “Hey,” he said. He had hit a growth spurt over the summer, but he still had the same goofy grin and wore the faded, dingy Red Sox cap he’d been wearing every day for the past three years. He was holding a baseball glove. “Is Tanner home? I was wondering if he wanted to play catch or something.”

  “Yeah, hang on,” I said. “He’s in his room.”

  “My mom sent me down,” Jay added, shifting his weight uneasily from one foot to the other. He looked a little guilty. That explains it, I thought.

  I invited Jay in and went upstairs to get my brother. I knocked, and when there was no reply, I pushed the door open.

  Tanner was squatting in the corner of his room near the window, peering into the cage where his hamster, McGee, lived. Dad had always talked about letting us get a dog, but we’d never gotten around to it. After the accident, Tanner, who had vowed he’d become a vet one day to help save all the sick animals he could, had begged for a puppy. Mom had been firm on saying no; she said we had enough to worry about. But as Tanner’s silence deepened, she finally broke down and agreed to get him a hamster, as long as it stayed in his room. He’d had McGee, a chubby puff of brown and white fur, since May.

  “Hey, Tanner,” I said as I walked in. “Jay’s here. He wants you to come out and play catch with him.”

  Tanner was silent for a minute. “Why?”

  “Because you’re friends,” I said gently. “Right?”

  Tanner glanced back at
McGee, who was curled up in the corner of his cage, his little hamster chest rising and falling in sleep. “I’m busy.”

  “Tanner,” I said, “you’re not really that busy. McGee’s just sleeping. Why don’t you go play with Jay for a while? You guys haven’t hung out in ages.”

  Tanner shrugged.

  “Don’t you hang out with him at school?” Tanner shook his head.

  “Why?” I asked. “Have you made other friends?” These were the questions a parent should be asking, I knew. But Mom didn’t seem to know how to talk to us anymore.

  “Why not?” I asked when he shook his head.

  No reply.

  “Is it because you feel sad? About Dad?” He shook his head.

  “Because the other kids at school tease you?” I tried again.

  More head shaking.

  “Because you feel left out when people talk about their dads?” I guessed again. I didn’t know what else to say. “Buddy,” I said finally, “I think you should go outside with Jay. Just for a little while.” I paused, trying to think of what Dad would do. But then again, Tanner had never had this problem when Dad was around. Maybe Dad wouldn’t understand it any better than I did. “You can come home whenever you want to,” I said.

  To my surprise, Tanner slowly stood up. “Okay,” he said. He grabbed his baseball glove off the corner of his bookshelf.

  My heart lurched a little. I put my hand on his shoulder as we walked out of the room and started down the stairs. “Good,” I said. “It’ll be fun.”

  Tanner stopped and looked up at me. “It’s not fair,” he said.

  “What’s not fair?”

  “I’m not supposed to have fun,” he said after a long pause. “Dad doesn’t get to.” He was gone before I had a chance to open my mouth.

  chapter 6

  The whole next week, I avoided Sam’s eyes, ignored his notes in class, and tried not to feel guilty when I noticed the C+ on his trig test. I knew that if I’d helped him study, he could have gotten a higher grade. But I couldn’t take care of everyone. And there was someone far more important to pay attention to: Kelsi Hamilton. Knowing that I was the only one who knew how she felt and cared about helping her weighed on me. I watched her walk through the hallways like a zombie, floating from one class to the next.

  The whispers were what bothered me the most.

  “Did you hear about Kelsi?” was the most common refrain. Some people didn’t even bother to whisper. But the worst, by far, were the students who tried to capitalize on her grief to win extra popularity points. People who wouldn’t have given her a second look before her tragedy now wanted to be all buddy-buddy with her so that they could be at the center of attention when anyone asked about her.

  “Why can’t people just be normal to Kelsi?” I exploded to Jennica in the cafeteria on Thursday. A hush had fallen over the room as Kelsi walked in. Dozens of pairs of eyes followed her as she sat down at a table by herself and pulled a brown bag out of her backpack without looking up. “We should invite her to sit with us,” I added.

  Jennica looked at me. “Then you’re just acting like everyone else, aren’t you?” she asked. “Trying to get a piece of her?”

  I glared. Jennica knew very well that wasn’t what I was doing. But she was grumpy today because Brian was home sick. Jennica had already asked several times whether I thought she should skip school and bring him chicken noodle soup. I had responded that I thought he was capable of opening a can of Campbell’s on his own. She just gave me a look and began mumbling about how when you really loved someone, you shared everything, even germs.

  Personally, I thought that was kind of gross.

  “I’m not trying to get a piece of her,” I said through gritted teeth. Jennica shrugged and took a bite of her tofu sandwich on whole wheat. She was still on her weight-loss kick, but I saw her staring lustily at the fries on my tray each day while she munched on carrot sticks.

  Just then, I noticed two of my least favorite people in the school, Tali Bonner and Tatiana Roseberg, approaching Kelsi’s table, their matching raven-colored hair swinging behind them like pendulums. I stiffened. Tali and Tatiana, known collectively as the TaTas—and not just because of the first letters of their names—were senior cheerleaders and two of the most popular girls at Plymouth East, right beneath Summer on the social scale. Tatiana’s romantic exploits with underclassmen were legendary, while Tali was rumored to only go for college guys.

  Of course, they were also the worst when it came to situations that might increase their popularity. In fact, it was because of them that I’d first realized that I was no longer just plain old Lacey Mann. I was Lacey Whose Dad Died. I had been eating in the cafeteria with Jennica on my third day back to school when they had sauntered up, arm in arm, smiling at me.

  “Oh my God, you must be so depressed!” Tali had started off without even a hello.

  “So depressed,” Tatiana had chimed in. I looked around to make sure they were actually talking to me. They confirmed it by settling into two of the empty seats at our table.

  “I mean, you must feel so guilty,” Tali had continued in the same tone of voice you’d use to compliment someone’s outfit.

  I just looked at her. Fortunately, Tatiana jumped in to explain. “Because you were with your dad in the car,” she said.

  “And you didn’t save him,” Tali added helpfully, a big smile plastered across her heavily made-up face.

  Suddenly, the tears that I’d been holding back so successfully were running down my face in rivers. Tatiana looked disgusted; Tali looked delighted. As I jumped up from the table, it felt like the whole cafeteria was watching me.

  It was the last time I’d cried. Since then, the tears wouldn’t come.

  The TaTas never spoke to me or acknowledged me again, but I’d heard them telling people that their friend Lacey was still really depressed, and they were doing everything they could to help, because they cared so much. More than once, I’d heard people ask them how I was doing—instead of asking me. The whole thing had made my blood boil.

  And now they were zeroing in on Kelsi.

  “I gotta go,” I said to Jennica. I jumped up, dropped my trash in the garbage, and slid into an empty seat at Kelsi’s table just as the TaTas were getting started.

  I hadn’t heard the opening of their conversation, but Kelsi was staring blankly at them. I wasn’t sure if it was the blankness of someone who couldn’t understand why two of the most popular cheerleaders in school were standing at her table, or the blankness of someone who didn’t care about anything anymore, because nothing else mattered when one of your parents had just died.

  “Hi, Kelsi!” I chirped in my brightest voice, forcing a megawatt smile that could trump any cheerleader’s. The TaTas turned to me, matching blank expressions on their faces.

  Kelsi looked at me. Her eyes were bleary. “Hi?” she said. The TaTas were still staring at me, but their blankness had turned to annoyance.

  “Kelsi, did you forget?” I bubbled, making it up as I went. “You told me you’d help me with my history homework. I’m so nervous about the test I have today.”

  “Homework?” she repeated.

  “Yeah, you know, the assignment you promised to help me with? But I, uh, get distracted with people around. No offense.” I smiled fakely at the TaTas. “Let’s go outside so I can concentrate.”

  Kelsi glanced at the TaTas. “Yeah, okay.”

  “What was that all about?” Kelsi asked as we walked outside.

  “Didn’t you see the way they were looking at you?” I asked, incredulous. “It was like you were some kind of prize.”

  Kelsi shrugged. “I didn’t notice.”

  We were walking toward the parking lot now, and I wondered if we were going to have another bizarre rap session in Kelsi’s car.

  Suddenly, Kelsi pulled a pack of cigarettes from her backpack and shook the box a little until one fell out. I watched, wide-eyed, as she lit up as if she’d done it a thousand times be
fore.

  “You smoke?” I asked, so surprised that I actually stopped in my tracks.

  Kelsi took a long drag on the cigarette and then exhaled, the smoke forming a lingering cloud as it exited her mouth. “So?”

  I paused. “But your mom died of lung cancer.”

  The words hung in the air between us, big and ugly.

  When Kelsi finally spoke, she didn’t look at me, but there was something in her voice that hadn’t been there before.

  “The doctors lie,” she said. The words were clipped, cold, and filled with something ugly that felt familiar to me. “What do you mean?”

  Kelsi stared out toward the parking lot. “My mom never smoked a cigarette in her life. So how does a person who hasn’t smoked, and has hardly ever been around smokers, die of lung cancer?”

  I looked at her, surprised. “She never smoked?”

  “No.” She took another drag off her cigarette. “So what’s the point anyhow? I mean, if you can do everything right and then still die of lung cancer, why bother?”

  I wanted to tell her not to smoke, that it was bad for her, and stupid, too, but this hardly seemed like the time.

  “And you know what the best part is?” Kelsi continued. “It could be hereditary. So yeah, there’s a higher chance that I’ll get it, because my mom had it. So what the hell?”

  “Yeah, but smoking doesn’t seem like the answer,” I said. I eyed her cigarette warily, trying to understand her mixed-up feelings. It was probably a little similar to having a dad who always buckled up and always drove the speed limit and then got killed in a car accident that never should have happened. “Life just isn’t fair sometimes,” I added, more to myself than to her.

  “Yeah, thanks for telling me,” she said sarcastically. “I hadn’t noticed.” She dropped her cigarette on the ground and stubbed it out with the toe of her sneaker. “So,” she said, “you wanna skip or what?”

  I stared at her. “You mean, like, now?”

  Kelsi rolled her eyes. “You can’t be perfect all the time,” she said. “Besides, do you really think we’re going to get in trouble? Seriously. We’re the kids all the teachers feel sorry for.”