One of Us is Lying(8)
The bell rings and we all get up to leave, but Mrs. Park calls my name before I’ve even collected my backpack. “Bronwyn, can you hold back a moment?”
Yumiko shoots me a sympathetic look as she stands, tucking a strand of her choppy black hair behind her ear. “Kate and I’ll wait for you in the hallway, okay?”
I nod and grab my bag. Mrs. Park is still dangling the announcement from one hand as I approach her desk. “Bronwyn, Principal Gupta wants all of you who were in the room with Simon to receive one-on-one counseling today. She’s asked me to let you know that you’re scheduled for eleven o’clock in Mr. O’Farrell’s office.”
Mr. O’Farrell is my guidance counselor, and I’m very familiar with his office. I’ve spent a lot of time there over the past six months, strategizing college admissions. “Is Mr. O’Farrell doing the counseling?” I ask. I guess that wouldn’t be so bad.
Mrs. Park’s forehead creases. “Oh, no. The school’s bringing in a professional.”
Great. I’d spent half the night trying to convince my parents I didn’t need to see anybody. They’ll be thrilled it was forced on me anyway. “Okay,” I say, and wait in case she has anything else to tell me, but she just pats my arm awkwardly.
As promised, Kate and Yumiko are hovering outside the door. They flank me as we walk to first-period calculus, like they’re shielding me from intrusive paparazzi. Yumiko steps aside, though, when she sees Evan Neiman waiting outside our classroom door.
“Bronwyn, hey.” Evan’s wearing one of his usual monogrammed polo shirts with ewn embroidered in script above his heart. I’ve always wondered what the W stands for. Walter? Wendell? William? I hope for his sake it’s William. “Did you get my text last night?”
I did. Need anything? Want some company? Since that’s the only time Evan Neiman has ever texted me, my cynical side decided he was angling for a front-row seat to the most shocking thing that’s ever happened at Bayview. “I did, thanks. I was really tired, though.”
“Well, if you ever feel like talking, let me know.” Evan glances around the emptying hallway. He’s a stickler for punctuality. “We should probably get inside, huh?”
Yumiko grins at me as we take our seats and whispers, “Evan kept asking where you were at Mathlete practice yesterday.”
I wish I could match her enthusiasm, but at some point between detention and calculus I lost all interest in Evan Neiman. Maybe it’s posttraumatic stress from the Simon situation, but right now I can’t remember what attracted me in the first place. Not that I was ever head over heels. Mostly I thought Evan and I had potential to be a solid couple until graduation, at which point we’d break up amicably and head to our different colleges. Which I realize is pretty uninspiring, but so is high school dating. For me, anyway.
I sit through calculus, my mind far, far away from math, and then suddenly it’s over and I’m walking to AP English with Kate and Yumiko. My head’s still so full of what happened yesterday that when we pass Nate in the hallway it seems perfectly natural to call out, “Hi, Nate.” I stop, surprising us both, and he does too.
“Hey,” he replies. His dark hair is more disheveled than ever, and I’m pretty sure he’s wearing the same T-shirt as yesterday. Somehow, though, it works on him. A little too well. Everything from his tall, rangy build to his angular cheekbones and wide-set, dark-fringed eyes is making me lose my train of thought.
Kate and Yumiko are staring at him too, but in a different way. More like he’s an unpredictable zoo animal in a flimsy cage. Hallway conversations with Nate Macauley aren’t exactly part of our routine. “Have you had your counseling session yet?” I ask.
His face is a total blank. “My what?”
“Grief counseling. Because of Simon. Didn’t your homeroom teacher tell you?”
“I just got here,” he says, and my eyes widen. I never expected Nate to win any attendance awards, but it’s almost ten o’clock.
“Oh. Well, all of us who were there are supposed to have one-on-one sessions. Mine’s at eleven.”
“Jesus Christ,” Nate mutters, raking a hand through his hair.
The gesture pulls my eyes to his arm, where they remain until Kate clears her throat. My face heats as I snap back to attention, too late to register whatever she said. “Anyway. See you around,” I mumble.
Yumiko bends her head toward mine as soon as we’re out of earshot. “He looks like he just rolled out of bed,” she whispers. “And not alone.”
“I hope you doused yourself in Lysol after getting off his motorcycle,” Kate adds. “He’s a total man-whore.”
I glare at her. “You realize it’s sexist to say man-whore, right? If you have to use the term you should at least be gender-neutral about it.”
“Whatever,” Kate says dismissively. “Point is, he’s a walking STD.”
I don’t answer. That’s Nate’s reputation, sure, but we don’t really know anything about him. I almost tell her how carefully he drove me home yesterday, except I’m not sure what point I’d be trying to make.
After English I head for Mr. O’Farrell’s office, and he waves me inside when I knock on his open door. “Have a seat, Bronwyn. Dr. Resnick is running a little late, but she’ll be here shortly.” I sit down across from him and spy my name scrawled across the manila folder placed neatly in the middle of his desk. I move to pick it up, then hesitate, not sure if it’s confidential, but he pushes it toward me. “Your recommendation from the Model UN organizer. In plenty of time for Yale’s early-action deadline.”