Especial y since he and I were the same.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Michael was waiting for me at school the next morning.
“Where were you last night? I was so worried about you,” he said before I could even get my locker door open.
I quickly scanned the hal to make sure no one was listening. Fortunately everyone looked just as rushed as I was; I was seriously late for Miss Taunton’s class. “My parents caught me,” I whispered.
“Caught you?” Inexplicably, he seemed confused.
“Caught me trying to sneak out.”
A look of horror crossed his face. “They didn’t see you—”
I knew he was about to say “flying,” so I cut him off. “No, they didn’t see me do that.” The words were technical y true—if not accurate. My parents knew about my flying; they just didn’t witness it last night. Why didn’t I tel him?
I wondered why I felt uncertain. I’d woken up confused about what my parents had told me, and mad that they’d kept such secrets from me. But at the same time, I retained that sense of lightness I first experienced when they told me, at the thought I might be part of something better and bigger than myself. That hopeful sensation stayed with me as I got ready for school and drove in with my mom—even when she fended off my relentless questions with assurances that we’d talk later and even when I started to get angry at her withholding explanations. Al morning, I could barely contain my excitement to tel Michael what I’d learned about my identity, our identities. Despite my promises to my parents to the contrary.
Yet now that the opportunity was at hand, I wavered. There was something different, even off-putting, in Michael’s manner—something I couldn’t quite describe—that made me hesitate. And I hadn’t hesitated with him for a long time.
“Thank God for that,” he said.
“Thank God.” I smiled a little; the phrase had taken on new meaning.
He took me by the hand and asked, “Do you think you’d be able to get away after school today? I know it’s tough with your grounding and al , but something happened last night. I want to tel you about it.”
“I don’t know, Michael. The grounding isn’t my only problem. After my parents caught me trying to sneak out last night, they specifical y told me I couldn’t see you anymore.”
He withdrew his hand. “Me? Why?”
“They guessed that I was going to meet you. Not that I admitted it.”
“Great,” he said sarcastical y. “Now we’l only be able to see each other during the supervised school hours of eight thirty to three thirty and after midnight. Assuming your parents don’t camp out in your bedroom.”
“Assuming they don’t camp out in my bedroom,” I repeated, sadly. Although, given what I knew they knew, I was pretty certain that’s just about what they’d be doing.
Michael grabbed my hand again and pul ed me away from the throngs of students racing to class. He led me down a dark corridor that led to the empty auditorium. Backing me up into a niche holding a set of double doors, he breathed into my neck. “El ie, I won’t be able to stay away from you at night. One night was hard enough. Say you’l meet me at Ransom Beach after school.”
Al morning, I’d experienced a sense of lightness, like the black fog in which I’d been living had lifted. But now, with Michael so close, I felt the bloodlust again, along with the intoxication of the darkness. And I knew I’d find a way to meet him after school.
I made it into Miss Taunton’s classroom just before the bel finished ringing. Weaving down the crowded aisle to my seat in the back, I tried to ignore the hateful stares of my classmates. In fact, I tried so hard to ignore them that I tripped on a foot that had been outstretched for that very purpose. I pretended not to hear to delighted giggles—among them, Miss Taunton’s—as I picked myself off the floor and dusted off my pants.
Settling into my seat, I rifled through my bag for the paper due on Edith Wharton. The text icon on my cel flashed, a rarity. With my hands stil in my bag, I clicked on it. To my surprise, it was from Ruth. Are u ok? she asked.
That text was the first time she’d communicated with me since the night of the dance. Immediately, I texted back. Fine. Used to it. Thx for asking.
Want to meet for coffee after school? she responded.
I raced to answer her. Yes! Just yesterday, if she’d asked me to coffee, I wouldn’t have cared. The darkness’s hold had been that firm. But now that a sliver of light had poked through the clouds, I felt excitement at reconnecting with Ruth. Plus, I had another reason to be thril ed: I had my way to meet Michael.
I negotiated with my mom for a limited—very limited—exemption from my grounding, a negotiation that required I pass my cel to Ruth for her confirmation that we would be making a quick stop for coffee and that she’d bring me directly home. On the car ride to the Daily Grind, we didn’t broach the rift between us. Instead, we talked about our classes and the heaping piles of homework. I waited until we sat side by side in our two favorite club chairs, with steaming coffees in our hands.
“Ruth, I’m real y sorry about ruining the dance for you and Jamie.”
“It’s al right, El ie. I was furious when it first happened. I mean, I knew that you hadn’t actual y set up that Facebook page. I knew that Piper and Missy must have done that. But why on earth did you race up to that stage and take credit for such a hateful thing? It seemed so pointless and . . .
out of character. And, of course, it total y ruined our night. But I’m not mad about it anymore. I haven’t been mad about that for a while.”
I didn’t want to ask the logical next question, but I had no choice. “What have you been mad about?”
“The way you’ve changed.”
“What do you mean?” Again, the question had to be asked.
“Since the night of the dance, you’ve become distant and cold. You’ve been walking around like you’re in a different world. I understand that you had to put up some kind of barrier to deal with the anger of the other kids, but with me? Especial y when I tried so hard to break through to you.”
Now that perplexed me. I knew that I hadn’t much cared about anyone but Michael, but I honestly didn’t recal any special efforts on Ruth’s part to break through my barrier. “I’m sorry, Ruth. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You real y don’t remember me trying to talk to you after English? Or walking with you to the school assembly?” She sounded baffled.
I shook my head; I had no recol ection of such things. Then, for the first time since al the madness, I touched her hand. In a rush, I watched the past few weeks through Ruth’s eyes. I witnessed my rejection of her overtures, felt the sadness and loneliness that overcame her with each rebuffed approach, and experienced her nightly tears. I could tel that there was more, but Ruth quickly withdrew her hand.
I started sobbing. “Ruth, I am so sorry. I—”
She interrupted with a hug. “El ie, I know you’re going through something difficult, something obviously I can’t understand. Let’s talk about it when you’ve calmed down, okay?”
Squeezing me tighter, she said excitedly, “Can I tel you al about me and Jamie instead?”
We spent the next half hour chatting like nothing bad had transpired between us. I heard al about her budding romance, and I loved watching the happiness in her face. It made me wish that I was normal, that Michael and I could hang out with my best friend and her new boyfriend like ordinary teenagers.
Ruth glanced at her watch and jumped up. She’d made plans to meet Jamie at the library, but would drive me home first.
“Ruth, I have a favor to ask, but I’m hesitant after everything I’ve put you through.”