What to Say Next(53)

“The thing is, it’s my fault, not David’s,” I repeat. I’m doing this. Barging into the principal’s office and making a case, which isn’t my case at all. This isn’t even about me. I’m a side note to this story. The part you skip over to get to the good bits.

“Kit, this isn’t your fault. But see, we are friends. What Kit just did is the very definition of friendship,” David says, and turns back to the principal. “?‘We’ don’t have to do anything with me.” David puts the we in air quotes. “I’m doing just fine. I’ve made friends. Just like a normal person. And you should value me as a student here as much as you do the football team.”

“We do value you, and no one said you aren’t a ‘normal person,’?” Principal Hoch says, countering with her own air quotes around normal person. If David’s entire life did not depend on this meeting, I’d laugh at their finger talking.

“Actually, that’s exactly what you’ve been saying. You are implying he doesn’t deserve the protections you give every other student and that he doesn’t have the same right to be here,” Mrs. Drucker says, and for the first time I take a good look at her. She looks just like Lauren but older. She’s beautiful, and I wonder if that’s hard for David to have such a beautiful mother, like it is sometimes for me. But then I remember he’s like Lauren, stunning too, and anyway, I imagine it’s different for a guy. Though my mother and Mrs. Drucker are equally attractive, what Justin would call MILFs, they have very different styles. My mom likes glamour and general badassery, tight clothes, and high heels. Mrs. Drucker sports a loose-fitting peasant top, faded cuffed jeans, and gray Converse sneakers. She looks like she could practically be a student. Her hair is even pulled back into a messy ponytail—all jaunty and exuberant. Unlike my mom, Mrs. Drucker doesn’t seem to try; in fact, it’s like she’s actively not trying. “You’ve been suggesting that he go to a special school.”

“David does not need a special school,” I say. I keep my voice calm, but really I feel like screaming. I can’t take it anymore. The whole world is upside down and no one else seems to notice.

The football team threatens to choke David with his own balls and he’s the one who might have to transfer?

My dad is dead.

My mom is alive.

And so am I.

So am I.

Why can’t I shut up?

“Kit, would you excuse us?” Principal Hoch asks. Maybe I should pack a bag and go to Mexico. Mexico is a more logical choice, since they speak Spanish, which I kind of know, though I suspect I might speak it with Se?ora Rubenstein’s same New Jersey whine, and I could drink margaritas there on the regular. I’ve never actually had a margarita, but they definitely seem like something I would like. My dad spent six months living in Oaxaca after college and promised he’d take me there one day. Maybe I should just take myself.

Poof. Disappear. Just like he did. I wonder how long I could get away with using my mother’s credit cards. Would it be long enough for the world to right itself again?

No. I’ve been wrong. Time isn’t the issue. The world will never be right again.

“Can I just say that David is awesome and he shouldn’t get in trouble for this?”

“Please get back to class. Again, no one asked for your opinion—”

“With all due respect, let the girl talk,” David’s dad says. He’s wearing khaki pants and a blue polo shirt, echoes of David’s old uniform. When David wore it he looked like an electronics store stock boy, the person to ask about the best TV. His dad looks like the manager.

Principal Hoch reflexively defends herself and says, “I’m just trying to keep this private,” but then changes her mind. “Kit, go on.”

“Think about it—it’s not David’s fault he got his notebook stolen. It’s mine. I made him a target. And it’s because of the notebook that the whole school hates him. Don’t get me wrong. He is no way normal.” I stop, look at David. Smile a little. “Sorry, it’s true. But who is? And since when is normal a requirement for high school?”

“I like her,” David’s dad says to no one in particular.

“I know, right?” David’s mom says.

—

“I hear you saved the day,” Lauren—aka Miney—says to me as she slides into the booth at McCormick’s. She doesn’t introduce herself. She’s Lauren Drucker. She doesn’t have to. David’s parents are taking us all out for burgers to celebrate, though David and I have to be back to school before the bell for physics.

“Not really,” I say. Lauren looks me up and down. I’m wearing jeans and a flannel shirt and ankle boots, an outfit my mother bought for me, since she’s better at getting dressed than I am. Lauren looks cool even with chipped sunglasses on her head, and messy hair and clothes. I’m too intimidated and embarrassed to ask her how she pulls it off.

“Mom said that because of you, David’s not getting expelled from school.”

“I don’t know. I think David was the one who kicked ass today,” I say.

“Literally and figuratively,” David says.

“I’ve never seen anything like it. He was like a kung fu master.”

“Krav maga, mostly. With a few traditional karate moves,” David says.