Made You Up(101)

“Oh. Yeah. We switched to her name when we went to Germany.”

“Ah.” He didn’t need to give more explanation than that. I flipped through a few more pages of his notebook and said, “I have a confession—I’ve read this.”

“What? When?”

“Um . . . when Erwin died and you gave me a ride home. You went in the building to turn in those papers, and I peeked.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, but he didn’t swipe the notebook away from me. I shrugged. Pain spiked my collarbone.

“Well, obviously I didn’t want you to know that I looked. You didn’t exactly seem like the most forgiving person.” I flipped through a few more pages. “What are these German parts?”

“Journal entries,” he said. “I didn’t want other people to read them.”

“Well, good job,” I said. “I did see my name a few times in that other notebook, though.”

“Ah, yeah,” he said, laughing again. “Yeah, I was a little upset on the first day of school. I didn’t think you were the right person. It was stupid, but I guess I didn’t think it was you at first because you didn’t act at all like I’d imagined you would.”

“Hah, sorry. I thought that about you, too.”

I turned to the last pages.

What you loved as a child, you will love forever.

“I think you’re an improvement on my imagination,” I said, flipping back through the pages.

“You, too,” he said. “My imagination—well, what little imagination I have—doesn’t quite live up to the real thing.”

“Agreed,” I said. “The real thing is much better.”





Chapter Sixty-three




I got to come back one more time. Maybe they thought I’d gotten all the crazy out of my system for now. Maybe they pitied me. Maybe I actually had more sway than I thought, since I’d agreed to go to Woodlands. Whatever the reason, they let me into the school for graduation.

There were a few stipulations, of course. The first: I wasn’t allowed into the ceremony, but I got to stand by the auditorium doors and watch. The second: I had to have a pair of Woodlands orderlies (read: thugs in scrubs) flanking me at all times. Sure, they were driving me up to Woodlands as soon as the ceremony was over, but did they have to look so menacing while they did it? The third was the worst: Because of the McCoy ordeal and the school board looking to avoid any further mishaps, I wasn’t allowed out of the car without wrist restraints. At least they’d agreed to let me wear a sweatshirt to partially cover up the cuffs. The only reason I was going to the damn hospital was because I’d decided to—you’d think they’d be a little more lenient.

By the time we reached the auditorium, everyone else was already seated. Parents and other relatives took up the right and left sides of the auditorium stage. I noticed June because of the golden halo in her sandy hair. My classmates sat in the middle section. They all wore East Shoal graduation green.

The stage was bathed in bright light. It was Mr. Gunthrie who filled Mr. McCoy’s vacated principal’s seat; his gray suit made him look like a golem. I could definitely believe Mr. Gunthrie was animated by magic.

Next to him were the four senior student officers, most of them fidgeting. Tucker sat next to the class treasurer, glasses flashing in the light, wringing his speech mercilessly between his hands.

Miles was there, the valedictorian’s golden cord slung over his shoulders. His hands were clasped in his lap, his eyes focused somewhere around the edge of the stage.

Mr. Gunthrie started the ceremony with his usual thunderous yell. The lights dimmed until I could no longer distinguish individual people in the auditorium.

The class president stood and gave his speech. The vice president said a few short words, the band played the school song, and then Mr. Gunthrie began announcing names. The honors students went up first. I had to grind my teeth to keep from laughing when Miles shook Mr. Gunthrie’s hand—even from where I stood, I could see the Cheshire cat grin that spread across Miles’s face, and the stony frown Mr. Gunthrie gave him in return.

When my name should have been called, I rocked forward onto the balls of my feet, my insides aching. I’d worked so hard for that diploma . . . .

One of the orderlies grabbed my sweatshirt hood and gently tugged me back. I grunted, sitting back on my heels, and stood still while the rest of my classmates graduated. Evan and Ian pretended to get their diplomas mixed up, then tried to shake Mr. Gunthrie’s hand at the same time. Theo looked like she was ready to go and pull the both of them offstage. Art made Mr. Gunthrie look like a large pebble when they stood next to each other. Then everyone took their seats except for Mr. Gunthrie.