Playlist for the Dead(12)

“I’ll hold you to that,” she said, though I wasn’t sure she really meant it until she added, “There’s a party Friday night. Give me your phone.”

“Anyone ever tell you you’re kind of bossy?” I said, but I handed my phone over. Our hands touched as she took it from me, and I could swear I felt a spark. It was probably just static.

She smiled again, and the jewel in her lip ring glittered. “All the time. See you Friday.”

I didn’t want her to leave, though. “So I watched that movie you told me about? Donnie Darko?”

“And? What did you think?” She leaned forward and looked right at me. It seemed like she was actually interested.

Except now I had to say something interesting. I wasn’t sure what, but I’d brought it up, so I had to say something. Still—time travel, giant rabbits? It was kind of hard to follow. I knew the main character ultimately died, but he wasn’t unhappy about it, and I wondered if that’s why she’d suggested it. “It was weird. I think I liked it, but I’m not really sure why.”

Astrid laughed. She had a great laugh—not some stupid giggle, but a real laugh. I bet Eric could always tell when he was really being funny, and I felt jealous again. “It’s a wacky movie. But I figured you like sci-fi stuff, right? And something about the way he accepted what he had to do, it made him seem brave. Like how I thought Hayden was.”

Hayden? Brave? “Really?” I asked. I tried not to sound too skeptical, but I wasn’t sure we were talking about the same person. Especially not after what he’d just done.

She shrugged. “That’s just how I saw him. He took a lot of crap from people, but he always seemed so, I don’t know, stoic about it. I always thought he hadn’t let it get him down. Guess I was wrong, though.”

The thing was, she wasn’t. That had always been my take, too. I just hadn’t thought of that as bravery. It just seemed like he’d put up a wall so he wouldn’t have to deal with what was happening. And, of course, I hadn’t factored in that everyone has a breaking point.

“Did you buy that figurine?” Astrid asked. All these questions she was asking—I’d never had someone take such an interest in my life before. Certainly not a girl.

“Yes.” I was tempted to tell her about the other night, but I didn’t want her to think I was crazy. Not when it seemed like we were on the verge of actually being friends. “It was a good idea. Thanks.”

“No problem,” she said. “Glad to help out.”

I wondered again how she understood things so well, what she’d been through that made her seem to automatically get it. Or was that just her? I desperately wanted to know more. And though there was something that felt kind of disloyal in thinking so much about another person after I’d just lost my best friend, I had to think Hayden would have approved. He’d liked her too, after all. Though I wasn’t sure how much. Why hadn’t he introduced us?

The bell rang, signaling the start of fifth period. Astrid looked at the disgusting remains of my hot dog, post–condiment explosion. “I’m sorry I kept you from eating your lunch. And it looks so . . . appetizing.” Was I crazy, or did she seem not that sorry?

I picked up a damp, cold french fry and made a spectacle of chomping on it, glad to have the distraction. “What a waste of a delicious meal,” I said, then decided to be bold. Maybe it was the sleep deprivation finally getting to me, but the words came out of my mouth before I could overthink it. “Someday I’ll introduce you to the best french fries in Libertyville.” My face felt hot and I prayed I wouldn’t start sweating.

“You’re sure I haven’t met them yet? I consider myself something of a french fry expert.”

“Positive,” I said.

“Someday, then,” she said with a wink, and then she walked away.



USUALLY FIFTH PERIOD WAS MY English class, but I’d gotten a note in homeroom saying I needed to go meet with the school guidance counselor. I’d met Mr. Beaumont at some meetings the school made us have when we were freshmen, to get us thinking about what kinds of electives we’d want to take. I remembered him being a little guy, a lot shorter than me, dressed more casually than the other administrators, in jeans and a sweater. I figured he was trying to make students think he was cool, though it seemed like maybe he was trying too hard.

He was expecting me; the door was open when I got to his office and he was standing near it, hand outstretched. “Hi, Sam,” he said, and waited for me to shake. Weird to have a school official shaking hands, but whatever, so I did it. “Nice to see you again. Have a seat.”

His office didn’t look like any office at school I’d ever seen. There was a desk, but it was pushed over into the corner, and in the middle of the room were two big chairs that actually looked pretty comfortable, with a small coffee table between them, and a candy dish filled with M&M’s. I’d only eaten that one french fry and catastrophic bite of hot dog, so I was starving.

Mr. Beaumont must have seen me notice them. He sat down in one of the chairs and said, “Take as many as you want. Need some water?”

I sat in the chair across from him, stuffed a handful of M&M’s in my mouth, and shook my head. This had the added benefit of saving me from having to say anything right away, since I didn’t really see the point of me being here.