The Queen of Bright and Shiny Things(81)

Ryan and Lila stay close, as if I might flip out without their supervision. That almost makes me laugh. Almost. I listen to them talk at lunch, the words washing over me. I’m a rock in the river; it will take years but the current might wear me smooth someday.

“Okay, I’m just gonna come out with it,” Lila finally says. “Shane’s gone and it sucks, but he wouldn’t approve of the android version of you.”

Ryan frowns. “Leave her alone, Tremaine. It’s only been a day. She’s probably still in shock.”

I get up and leave when they start arguing. I finish the lunch hour in the girls’ bathroom, and I only come out after the warning bell. I don’t care if I’m late to class, but I manage to slip in as the last one rings. I sit down and look out the window. The snow is melting, leaving a gray and slushy mess in the parking lot. Beyond, the fields are bleak.

When I get to my locker after school, I stop, staring at it in astonishment. The entire surface is covered in Post-it notes. They’re lined up neatly in a rainbow of hues and ink colors, different handwritings that tell me this show of support comes from a vast array of people. I read them with dawning wonder, and the ice cracks a fraction in my heart.

You made me not want to kill myself.

I took a college art class because of you.

Your kindness gave me hope.

I thought I was invisible until you saw me.

You reminded me that I matter.

I’m not scared anymore.

You proved one person can make a difference.

I’m happier since you moved here.

As I read them all, I’m on the verge of tears. Some of the messages are so personal that I can’t believe someone had the nerve to write it and post it on my locker. I wonder who started it and how it became an outpouring. My locker looks like every person I’ve ever tried to cheer up has now done the same for me. The final message is the one that truly brightens my mood.

Have faith, Shane will come back.

“I hope so,” I whisper.

It takes me a while to remove all the messages, mostly because I’m afraid people will steal them. I stick them inside my locker instead, on top of the pictures I’ve posted. They fill the inside of the doors and the back of my locker, along the sides. The one about Shane, I keep with me, and I stick it next to the Post-it he wrote, so now my binder says, You are the silver lining, and Have faith, Shane will come back.

I’m feeling slightly better, so I go to the Coffee Shop because someone needs to tell them that Shane won’t be showing up for his Sunday showcase in the foreseeable future. The barista actually seems sad to hear it. “I hope everything’s okay?”

I don’t answer her because it’s not, but I don’t want to go into it. I order a chai latte, realizing that I never bought Shane his hot chocolate, and it’s all I can do not to burst into tears. Taking my drink, I head to the Curly Q to offer help for a couple of hours since I missed my shift on Thursday. My boss accepts with the usual amount of complaining. Because Grace is busy and Mildred is cranky, neither of them notice my mood. For my usual four hours, I sweep up hair, shampoo a few clients, make appointments, and handle the register.

On automatic, I put on my reflective tape and pedal home. By seven, Aunt Gabby’s waiting with seitan tacos. I pick at them as she says, “I have good news and bad news.”

“Bad first. Get it over with.”

“Shane’s been sent to Ingram, as we expected. They permit only parental visitation.”

I mutter a bad word and she doesn’t chide me. “So I can’t see him.”

“I’m afraid not.”

“What’s the good news?”

“He can receive unlimited letters. I got the address for you.”

“Wow. That’s old-school. No Internet?”

“From what I’ve gathered, no. But it gets a little better. Once a week—on Saturdays—he’s allowed to make one collect call.”

I’m not even sure if Shane has our home number. He has my cell, but I don’t know if he memorized it, and I have no idea if you can accept collect calls on a cell phone. I suspect not. While I’m thinking of the logistical problems, my aunt hands me a packet of fine stationery, a gel pen, a Post-it with an address on it, and a pack of stamps.

“This will get you started.”

“I’m surprised you’re not telling me I’m better off without him … that he’s trouble.”

“Everyone deserves a second chance,” my aunt says softly.

“Thank you.”

“Anytime. Let me do the dishes tonight. You write to Shane.”


My instinctive reaction is to refuse; I always clean up. But … I want to do this more than I want to be perfect. So I take a deep breath and nod. Oddly, my neck and shoulders feel a little looser as I take everything to my room and shut the door. I don’t think I’ve ever written anyone a letter on actual paper before. I put the date and the time at the top; that might be more journal etiquette than proper letter writing, but Shane won’t care.

Shane,

I wish you hadn’t done that. Dylan Smith isn’t worth your future. It meant more to have you next to me. I felt like I could handle anything then. I really miss you. I have no idea what it’s like for you there. Tell me?

The words come easier after that, and pretty soon I’ve filled a page. Before I can think better of it, I fold the paper and put it in the envelope, then lick the stamp. Gross. I’ll mail this tomorrow.