Aftermath(14)

I brace. I’ve had this lesson often enough to learn it – some guy or girl comes over, acting cool, like they just want to say hello, and then they hit me with a zinger that makes everyone nearby laugh. This guy seems the type. A little too cute. A little too confident.

“You don’t remember me, do you?”

“Uh…” I search his face, still knowing this could be a trick.

You don’t know me, but I knew your brother. And I’m glad he’s dead. I hope he’s rotting in hell.

“Chris Landry,” he says.

“Chris…” I blink. Then I see it, mostly in the freckles. Chris Landry – a boy I asked to dance a couple of times in middle school, mainly because no one else did, and he deserved better. Quiet and gangly, with freckles and crooked teeth and glasses and…

“I’ve changed that much?” he says, grin widening, orthodontically straightened teeth flashing. “Well, that’s not a bad thing, huh?”

“I didn’t recognize you. How are you doing? I…” I trail off as I remember exactly who he is.

Chris Landry. Cousin of Nella Landry. One of the victims. One of the dead.

“Oh,” I say, and I want to flee before that grin changes to something ugly, something accusatory.

I lock my knees and say sincerely, “I’m sorry about your cousin.”

“Yeah.” He shrugs. “That makes this kinda awkward. But what happened doesn’t have anything to do with you, which is why I wanted to say hi. Can I walk you out?” He smiles. “I know a shortcut.”

“Uh, sure.” I pack my books, and we set off, and yes, I’m still braced for trouble. After Jesse, I’m not letting my guard down.

When someone calls, “Hey, Christopher!” I tense. But I swear he does, too, and I flash back to middle school, the older boys taunting him.

When he turns, though, he relaxes and calls, “Hey. I’ll be there in five.” Then he says to me, “Yearbook committee.”

“Is that the secret exit up there?” I say, pointing.

“It is.”

“Then I can take it from here. Thanks. This is a faster way.”

“Okay, then. I’ll see you in English tomorrow.”

“You’re in my class?”

“Yep, hiding at the rear, where I won’t be asked to answer any questions. Oh, and…” He lowers his voice. “Don’t let the assholes get you down. What happened at North Hampton had nothing to do with you, and most of us know that. So ignore them.”

“Thanks.”

“Hey, you helped me, back when I needed it. And I mighta kinda had a crush on you. You were cool.” He makes a face. “That sounded lame. I’m sure you still are. Anyway, English. Tomorrow. Take care.”

I say goodbye, and he’s gone, weaving through kids, hightailing it to his meeting. I’m motoring down the hall, zipping around clusters of students, when Lana Brighton steps into my path.

“Was it you?” she says.

“Was what me?” I say.

“Tattling to Vaughn. Telling him I started a petition.”

A hand grabs my arm. “Skye. I’ve been looking for you all day. We need to talk about the newspaper club.”

It’s Tiffany. She looks at Lana. “Oh, Lana. I’m sorry. Were you talking —?”

“Figures,” Lana says. “You two better be careful. Someone might think you’re plotting to carry on Luka and Isaac’s work.”

Tiffany holds up a middle finger. Just holds it, silently, and waits. Lana mutters something and stalks off.

“Newspaper club?” I say when Lana’s gone.

“That was just an excuse. I heard she’s being a bitch to you.” We start walking and she says, “But we would love to have you on the paper. I remember Luka used to brag about your stories.”

I tense at that, and she says, “Sorry. I wasn’t sure…” She pushes her hands into her pockets. “I wasn’t sure how you are about that. Remembering him. So, uh, the newspaper?”

“I don’t write these days. But thank you for the invitation.”

“Well, it’s an open one, so keep it in mind. Oh, and did I see you walking with Neville?”

“Neville?”

“Chris Landry. Neville’s a nickname, and not one most people use to his face, though I’m sure he’s heard it. Did you see the Harry Potter movies?”

I nod.

“Then you might remember the guy who played Neville. In the first films, he’s what my gram would call unfortunate-looking. By the last ones, though? Totally hot. Amazing what contacts, braces and overcoming puberty can do for a guy. But, uh, a word of warning…” She lowers her voice. “Chris is a player.”

“Okay.”

“I know you guys went to school together. I’d like to think he’d never take advantage of that, but I don’t know him by much more than his rep.”

“Got it. Thanks. I appreciate the warning.”

“Anytime.”

She seems ready to go when I blurt, “What can you tell me about Jesse?”

Tiffany slows, glancing around.

“Sorry, I —” I begin.

“No, it’s cool. I’m just… I don’t mind being overheard talking about Chris. He’s earned his rep. Jesse? Jesse’s…” She exhales. “Most times, when I meet the survivors – the families of the victims – I feel sorry for their loss. That’s all I owe them. Jesse?”