Underwater(62)

When I pull back, he sits there looking at me so gently with his big brown eyes. There’s a rip at the hem of his T-shirt and another one on the knee of his jeans. There’s stubble on his chin and a pimple on his forehead. There’s a scar on his right arm where he told me he got nailed by the skeg of his surfboard when he was in middle school. He isn’t perfect. There’s the pain of loss underneath the surface of him, but he’s managed to let people in despite it.

“You’re a good person,” I say.

“So are you.”





chapter forty-two

The next day, Evan’s finals are on a block schedule, so he’s done at noon. He comes home to get me for my afternoon exams, essentially grabbing a quick snack then turning right around to drive me straight back to Ocean High, where he’ll wait for me in the hallway. Three of my junior year curriculum classes required final papers instead of exams, but three more—US history, calculus, and English—have written tests that will be one hour each. Since my online school serves students throughout California, they’ve had multiple testing days and sites all week long based on subject. I could’ve spaced my finals out. I could’ve gone to three different locations on three different days this week, some of them hours away, but I decided once would be easier. For me.

However, the second my feet hit the concrete steps of the campus, I’m not sure I can stay.

“I shouldn’t be here,” I say.

“Just tell yourself you’ll take the first one,” Evan says. “And if worse comes to worst, you leave. But you have to at least try.”

“You sound like Brenda.”

He grins. “I sound like a psychologist with dreadlocks and tats? Cool.”

I elbow his side. “No. You sound smart.”

“I am smart.”

I laugh. “Now you sound like Ben.”

“Ben’s smart, too.”

“I know. I should have him take my finals for me.”

Ocean High School is officially out for the summer, so the campus is empty. The whole time we’re walking the hallways, Evan points stuff out to me. “That’s the door to my science class.” “Here’s where I hang out at lunch.” “A pregnant teacher fainted there.”

By the time we arrive at the library, I realize he managed to keep me distracted the whole time we were walking through the school. We passed his dented locker and the musty gym. We passed the cafeteria, where the stench of day-old tater tots seeped through the doors and stuck to the nearby walls. And, because of Evan’s constant play-by-play, not once did I picture Aaron Tiratore lurking around a corner.

In the hallway outside the library, Evan turns me to face him and rubs my shoulders like I’m a boxer about to enter the ring and he’s loosening me up to fight. “You’ve got this,” he says. I close my eyes and roll my neck back against his knuckles, trying to relax.

We stay like that for a few minutes until I pull away and nod my head at him like I’m ready. He fist-bumps me, then kisses my forehead. I leave him leaning against the wall with his thumbs hooked into the front pockets of his jeans. “I’ll be right here when you’re done.”

I nod again and go inside.

Apparently I’m the first one to arrive, because the only other person here besides me is a portly but serious-looking man who must be the exam proctor. He’s sitting on a stool at the counter where students go to check out books.

“Name?” he asks. His deep voice bounces off the empty walls of the library and settles in my stomach.

“Morgan Grant.”

He checks a clipboard in front of him. “Got you. You can sign in here.”

I walk over and scrawl my signature on a line next to my name. I notice there are only two other people on the list. And one of them has a first name I recognize from my live sessions. Blue. I guess his last name is Armstrong, because that’s what’s typed out next to Blue.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” I mutter.

“What’s that?”

“Nothing. Sorry.” Of course there could be someone else named Blue, but what are the chances?

“Very well. The exams are closed notes, so you’ll have to leave your bag up front with me.”

“I don’t have one.” I hold my two pencils and two pens up. “Just this.”

“Great, because that’s all you’ll need. Go ahead and grab a study carrel up front.”

I take a seat in the one on the far right. I spread my pencils and pens out in front of me and stare at the chipping green paint and penis drawings graffitied onto the study carrel wall. I knot my fingers together and rest them on the edge of the table, rocking them back and forth.

Tick, tick, tick goes the clock on the wall behind me.

Let’s get this over with.

The proctor coughs. It’s ripe and phlegm-filled. He unwraps a cough drop and pops it into his mouth. I hear the click of it against his teeth.

It’s too quiet in here.

I can detect everything.

The door to the library bangs open and I jump. A guy swaggers in. He has a blue-stained fauxhawk and cobalt Dr. Martens boots with loose laces, like he came here to see his favorite band. Not to take an exam.

“M’name’s Blue. Where do you need me?”