Chapter Four
I waited for what seemed like forever in the hallway for Amanda later that morning. She had French that period and we always met up where the big hallway met up with the smaller side corridor, which was halfway between our two classes. She was nowhere to be seen, and I wondered if she'd been abducted by aliens or something. Probably not-that was too cliché. I only had a few minutes before I had to go meet up with Colby and the other students on the newspaper staff to proofread the edition before it went to press, and I couldn't wait much longer.
"Victory!" Dylan called out, walking toward me with both arms up in the air like he'd just scored a touchdown or something. That was an odd visual because I couldn't imagine him playing football at all, let alone being good at it. "I did my hard thing."
"You did? Already?"
"Yep! I walked right up to Mrs. Gillis and said, 'Hi, I'm Dylan. I'm a fantastic actor, and I'd like to audition for the lead in your next play.'"
I wanted to tell him I'd already done something hard too, but I couldn't tell him about turning in the mysterious note. "And what did she say?"
"Well, it could have gone better, to be honest. Turns out the next play is 'Anne of Green Gables,' and it would appear that I'm not quite suited for the role of a little redheaded orphan girl. But she gave me a script and said I'd be perfect to play Gilbert."
I tilted my head to the side, considering him. You know, I could see that. He had just enough nerve to pull it off, too. "When are tryouts?"
"Not for another three weeks, so I'll have a lot of time to prepare. This is definitely going to be the best year ever."
"I sure hope so-I mean, it's our senior year, and if we mess it up, it's not like we get another chance."
"Sure we do-don't forget about college. We get freshman year, sophomore year . . ."
I sighed. "Are you always this happy?" I didn't have it in for happy people, but I had so much going on inside me, threatening to squeeze me until I turned blue, that I couldn't handle all this sunshine-and-fluffy-bunnies stuff.
Dylan surprised me by dropping the smile and leaning up against the wall, folding his arms across his chest. "No, not always. In fact, I used to think I had to be in control all the time, take care of everything going on around me. See, my dad's an alcoholic and he left us a long time ago. I thought if I stepped it up, became the man of the house, I could protect my mom and stop other bad things from happening. And then I learned I was wrong."
"So how did you get over it-wanting to control everything?" Not that I needed his advice, but I thought it was polite to ask.
"I realized that my mom was actually a lot tougher than I thought and she was handling it pretty well. Oh, and the long lecture she gave me about just being a kid really helped."
"And so now you're all happy and cheerful?"
"I choose to be happy and cheerful. There's a big difference."
I groaned. "Oh, no-don't tell me you're one of those 'happiness is a choice' people."
He grinned. "Is there something wrong with that? It's true, you know."
"It might be true, but it's a great way to end up eating lunch alone every day."
I was just about to give up on Amanda when I finally saw her weaving her way through the throng of students.
"I did it!" she said breathlessly. "I sat down next to Mario in class, and I said hi to him. And then later, about halfway through conjugating French verbs, I smiled at him."
"You are the queen of awesome!" Dylan gave her a high-five, and she blushed.
"I was pretty awesome. I mean, he didn't ask me out or anything, but now he knows I exist, right?"
"Exactly. And knowing someone exists is sort of helpful when it comes to asking them out." Dylan nudged her with his elbow.
"Who's Mario?" I felt distinctly left out of this conversation.
Amanda turned to me and rolled her eyes. "Mario? From French class?"
"Yeah, you just said that. I still don't know who he is."
"I've been talking about him almost nonstop for a month now."
I paused to think. "Are you sure? I don't remember that."
"That's because you're always so busy talking about your own stuff that you don't listen to mine."
The bell rang before I could form a reply. What did she mean by that? Of course I listened to her. That's what I did, after all. That's why people came to me. Speaking of that . . .
My mind flitted back to my mysterious letter. That's what I was going to call it from now on because I needed to call it something to tell it apart from all the other letters I got. What had Dylan just said, that his father was an alcoholic? Could he have sent me that note?
I didn't think so. In the first place, it sounded like his dad was no longer in the picture, and the note-sender had definitely said that his situation was current. In the second place, Dylan wasn't acting like he was in pain. He'd crossed his arms over his chest and everything, and from my understanding of anatomy, if he had a broken rib, he'd be moving a lot more gingerly.
No, it couldn't be him. I hoped Ms. Young and Mr. Leffert would figure it out soon-I needed to know so I could get rid of this pit in my stomach.
***
"Hey, Dr. Jill!" Bruce called out as soon as I entered the lunchroom. I was in no mood for this-proofreading the newspaper always wiped out my blood sugar. Not as badly as Mr. Kramer did-that guy had a special talent all his own-but I needed my lunch, and fast. "Shrunk any heads lately?"
He sat at his usual table, surrounded by his usual cronies. For once he wasn't arm-wrestling with his buddies or doing something else to show off his manly prowess-instead, he was holding hands with a girl. A girl? I did a double-take. Huh. It was Gina-I knew her from history. And they looked somewhat happy together. I never would have guessed.
I waved my hand in acknowledgement of his unconventional greeting and grabbed a tray. I was still smarting from Amanda's little comment earlier and knew that only Mrs. Hansen's baked macaroni and cheese could save me now. I sat and started to eat, wondering where Amanda was. She hadn't decided to go sulk somewhere, had she?
Dylan plunked down next to me, his tray piled high with just about everything imaginable. "Hey."
"Hey," I grunted. Hadn't he learned anything from yesterday, like, don't talk to me while I'm eating?
"Where's Amanda?" he asked.
I glanced around, even though I knew she wasn't there.
"She seemed a little upset earlier," he continued.
Amanda had been upset? What about me? I'm the one she practically attacked right there in the hallway. I shrugged, deciding not to get into it. Dylan would probably tell me that I should choose to be happy about it, and I definitely didn't need that brand of advice.
A few minutes later, after much chewing and swallowing and not a lot of talking at my table, I got a note from the office. I took care of my garbage and left the lunchroom, noticing as I did that Bruce was right behind me. I figured he'd peel off and go into one of the side classrooms, but he didn't-he followed me all the way down the hall. Just before we reached the office, I turned around.
"Listen, I'm sure you have better things to do than playing my shadow. What gives?"
"What are you talking about? I got a note to come to the office." He held up a scrap of paper very similar to mine.
"Oh." I felt a little stupid. Why had we both been asked to come in? We weren't getting in trouble for our little daily lunchroom banter, were we? He didn't mean anything by it, and neither did I. We just mutually disliked each other and chose to express our true feelings rather than pushing them down, where they might fester and turn into some kind of flesh-eating disease. That was the healthiest way to deal with our emotions, after all. We should never be afraid to share how we feel.
Ms. Young and Mr. Leffert were both waiting for us in the office, and they looked back and forth between us with a bit of alarm. Ms. Young took me by the elbow and guided me off to the left, while Mr. Leffert asked Bruce to join him in his office.
"What's going on?" I asked Ms. Young. "If this is about that ketchup I put in Bruce's notebook last week, it was just a silly prank and I already apologized. Sort of."
She took a deep breath. "You and Bruce weren't supposed to be summoned at the same time-the office must have misunderstood. I need you to do something for me, Jill. Forget you saw him in here, all right?"
"Forget . . ." All of a sudden, I realized what she was trying to tell me. Bruce had sent me the mysterious letter-he had a notebook with the same kind of paper (although to be honest, notebook paper does pretty much all look the same) and he did seem to be walking a little carefully. That whole not-palling-around-with-his-pals thing at lunch-that was probably because he was in too much pain to arm wrestle.
"I won't say anything," I promised. "That's his business, not mine."
Ms. Young let out her breath in a whoosh. "Thanks, Jill. You really are a professional. And a good friend."
I felt a stab of guilt thinking about Amanda, even though I knew that wasn't what she meant. "Bruce and I aren't friends. We're kind of the opposite."
"Regardless, I appreciate what you're doing."
I shifted a little in my seat. "What did you need to see me about?"
"Oh, that. I just wanted to let you know that we'd figured out who sent you the letter. I thought you'd be worried."
"I was. Thanks for telling me."
We chatted for another minute or two about newspaper stuff, and then I rose to leave. I was just about to step into the hallway when Bruce came charging out of Mr. Leffert's office, anger roiling off him in waves of steam. He grabbed my arm, his teeth clenched. "We need to talk."
"And you need to take your hands off me." I glared up into his face until he let go.
"Fine. But come here."
I followed him into the hall and down a quiet corridor. Classes were in session all around us and the place looked deserted.
"I can't believe you turned in my letter. I thought you could help me in private. Why'd you have to drag them into it?"
"Bruce, I'm not allowed to answer questions about abuse and stuff like that. This is serious. You're getting hurt." I had noticed the way he winced when he grabbed me-he was obviously still in pain. "You need to get checked out-I bet that rib is broken."
"Shh!" He glanced around and then brought his gaze back to me. "Coach is already mad that I sat out practice yesterday. What do you think he'd do if he found out I had a broken rib?"
"You can't keep it quiet forever."
"Well, I'm going to try. And you had no right to sic Mr. Leffert on me. He asked me all kinds of questions, if I wanted to press charges against my dad . . . and he said he had to call the cops."
"He does. It's the law. If he finds out there's been abuse, or if he even suspects it, he has to report it. It's to keep you safe."
"No, it's to ruin my life." Bruce brought his face within inches of mine, and I could smell the onions he'd eaten for lunch. "You don't get it. You have the perfect life, everyone likes you, not a care in the world. And then there are people like me who have to fight for what we get, carve it out of the mud. We don't have it so easy. We don't have all the answers."
"I don't have all the answers either, Bruce." I didn't know what was happening to me-I was usually so sure about myself, that what I was saying and doing was right, but here was a guy in real need and I had no idea how to help him.
"Yeah, I can see that now. Coming to you was a mistake-I bet you've never had a serious problem in your entire life."
My parents' faces flashed through my mind. "Now, that's not true. I've had a lot of bad stuff happen to me-"
"Save it. I don't want to hear about the day you got a stain on your favorite skirt."
Bruce strode off down the hall, his arm tucked in against his side. I knew I'd done the right thing by turning in the note, but it also felt like the worst decision I'd ever made.