Made You Up(103)

“For anyone I’ve wronged—I’m sorry. Whatever I did and for whatever reason I did it, I’m sorry. Meine Mutter”—I pictured Cliff squirming in his seat—“always taught me that apologizing is the polite thing to do.”

I could imagine the radiant smile stretching across June’s face.

“I want to say a few more things. The first is to our wonderful salutatorian.” He turned and addressed Tucker. “I didn’t mean what I said to you. You were my best friend, and I screwed that up. You deserved better.

“The second is to the East Shoal High School Recreational Athletics Support Club. I think if it hadn’t been for you, I would have killed myself a long time ago.”

We were probably the only ones who realized how serious he was.

“The third is to all of you. I used to be scared of you all. It’s true. I used to care what you thought and I used to care that you might try to hurt me. Well, not anymore. So, to the latter, see how far you get in a fistfight. And to the former, try this on for size—I am in love with Alexandra Ridgemont, and I don’t care what you think about it.”

He looked up at me again, and the world solidified under my feet.

“I feel like there’s something else, but I can’t quite remember. . . .” His fingers tapped against the podium. He shrugged and began to walk back to his seat . . . then he clapped his hands together with an “Oh, right!” and whipped back around, yanking the microphone to his face in time to say, “Fickt euch!”

From somewhere in the middle of the sea of students, Jetta’s hands shot into the air and she cried out a triumphant, “Mein Chef!”

I couldn’t tell why everyone else began cheering—the realization that what Miles had said was probably very vulgar?—but their voices shook the floor.

Mr. Gunthrie stood, perhaps to haul Miles off the stage, but Miles slipped away at the last second and made his way down the aisle. My orderlies pulled me back, into the hallway. I heard the auditorium doors swing open again, but we were outside, standing in the crisp night air, before Miles caught up with us.

“Wait!”

“I just want to talk to him!” I said, glancing over my shoulder at Miles. “Please. I won’t try anything.”

The orderlies looked at each other, then at me. “Two minutes,” one of them said. “We have to leave before everyone else gets out here.”

“Fine. Got it.”

They let go of my arms. I turned and jogged the short distance back to Miles.

“I didn’t think they’d let you come back,” he said.

“I’m very persuasive.”

He laughed, but the sound was hollow. “I’ve taught you well.”

“Are you kidding? If I did things the way you do them, I would’ve been locked up a long time ago.”

Miles didn’t say anything to that, but reached up to touch my face—the raw, still mutilated side of my face. I grabbed his hand.

“When did you get so touchy-feely?” I asked. He wasn’t listening. He stared at the soft cuffs, at the metal clasp that jangled between them. “They’re a precaution,” I said before he could ask. “I had to wear them so I could come here. Apparently the school was feeling sentimental enough to let me back, but not sentimental enough to risk a lawsuit.”

“I don’t like this,” he said.

“Yeah, well, join the club.”

“When are you going?”

“Tonight. Right now, actually. It was supposed to be this morning, but since the school agreed to let me come here, they pushed it back . . .”

His frown deepened.

“It’s not like I have anything to wait for.”

“Fine. I’ll come visit you tomorrow.”

“At—at Woodlands?”

His eyebrow shot up. “What, did you think you were going to get rid of me that easily? You should know by now—I’ve got the tenacity of a cockroach.”

I blinked at him. “Surely you’ve got better things to do.”

He shrugged. “I’ve got a few pretty good ideas, but they can wait.”

“We need to go!” one of the orderlies called. I waved my hands to show I understood, then turned back to Miles.

“So . . . I guess . . .” I took a quick step forward, hiding my face in his graduation robe. “Stop looking at me like that!”