Please Don't Tell Part 5

Eastman's nodding calmly and I have naked photos of him with a freshman in my bag and Levi's chattering all eager in the doorway and someone says I pushed his half brother into the quarry. I'm losing my mind.

"She stood up for the school's principles," Levi finishes. "So I think the school's princ.i.p.al should stand up for her."

I wasn't standing up for anything. I snapped. If that's what I do when I snap- What if I snapped at the quarry?

Eastman adjusts his mug that says PRINCI PAL. "I'm going to use that for the website. 'Stand up for Stanwick High's principles, and Stanwick High's princ.i.p.al will stand up for you.' You're a smart young man. Just like your half brother."

Levi lights up.

"You ought to meet Joy's sister sometime. She's working from home this semester on a special independent research project. We allow our students to spread their wings here, if they prove themselves." Eastman quits smiling, turns to me. "Though we still need to address your American History grade, Joy. There will be a need for consequences if you can't pull it up."

His words fizz in my ears.

"I can tutor her," Levi offers.

My vision goes even weirder. There are two of him now. Twins, like me and Grace.

"Excellent!" Eastman actually hits the table. "The more capable leading the less capable, that's what Stanwick High stands for."

I'm not breathing normal, my body isn't normal.

"Joy, you're in for detention this week, but you're off the hook for suspension. On the condition that Levi does, in fact, tutor you in American History. And you raise your grade to at least a C."

I gasp out, "I have to go to the bathroom."

I run down the hall, ignoring everything and everyone around me. I find my way upstairs and into the girls' bathroom. Everything I look at bounces slightly, like there's an earthquake. The toilet water jumps in the bowl, shaking along with my hands and the walls and the air. I manage to unzip my backpack and pull out a tiny bottle, swallow twice, and cough, hard. This is the upstairs bathroom, people will hear these sounds.

The bathroom door swings open. "Joy?" Levi's voice.

Go away, please, I'm dying.

His shoes stop in front of my stall. "Are you okay?"

"This. Is the. Girl's bathroom," I wheeze.

"That didn't stop you yesterday when it was the men's room."

I didn't lock the door, and he opens it, and then he's crouching in front of me, holding something up. "Breathe with this.You'll be okay."

There's a GIF on his phone, a trapezoid unfolding, inflating, collapsing again. I squeeze carbon dioxide out of my lungs as it shrinks, suck oxygen back in as it expands. My fingertips quit tingling. It's my head and I'm in control of it. They're my lungs.

"Am I dying," I choke.

"No." The sunlight from the bathroom window glints off his earring. "Panic attacks suck."

I sit on the floor for a minute before I say, "Why'd you follow me?" I have enough air for words now.

"You started hyperventilating halfway out the door. Your douche princ.i.p.al didn't notice."

I need to talk to Preston, I need to figure out what to do about the note. Levi-Adam's half brother-is the enemy. "You should be in cla.s.s."

"Two seconds ago you asked if you were dying. I'm not leaving you here by yourself."

"I'll go to the nurse's later."

"Do you want me to get a friend for you? That redheaded guy? The girl you were at the funeral with?"

"Pres'd freak, and Nov-" My stomach disintegrates. "Don't tell November. Okay? Don't say anything to her."

"I promise." He reaches for my wrist, s.n.a.t.c.hes his hand back. "Right. You don't like that."

I'm shivering. He shucks his sweatshirt and drapes it over my shoulders.

If he knew what the note said, he'd be calling the cops. I need to call the cops. Those photos are sick. It's sick of me not to bring them to the police right now just because I'm scared that this person is telling the truth. That I killed-no, enough. I grab Levi's phone and stare at the trapezoid again.

"I know I've apparently inherited your hate for my half bro," he's saying, "and that's fine, and you are within your const.i.tutional rights to tell me to get the f.u.c.k out of the girl's bathroom, but . . . what's going on?"

I can't remember that night. I can't prove anything.

"Joy? You don't look . . ." He falters. "Is someone at your house who could pick you up? Your parents? Your sister?"

If the cops got involved, what Adam did would come out. And then Grace'd hate me forever. She said she'd hate me forever if I told.

I make words. "I'm okay."

"I am very sorry this s.h.i.t is happening to you."

I want him to know I'm a bad person so he'll stop being so nice to me. "When I was eight years old I was mad at my sister, so I filled her ant farm with water. They all drowned. But she didn't get mad at me."

"Okay," he says like I'm not croaking nonsensically. He waves a hand. "I hereby absolve you of that."

"That's what murderers do when they're kids, right? Kill bugs and animals?"

"Everyone does stuff when they're little." He doesn't take his eyes off me. "I also think people generally believe they're capable of a lot worse than they actually are."

Maybe he doesn't have any Adam parts. "Why are you helping me?"

"You gave me a ride home after a s.h.i.tty couple of hours of my life." He shrugs shyly. "And you helped me in a bathroom. Now it's my turn."

"You lied to the princ.i.p.al for me."

"I didn't lie. I was here early this morning, signing up for cla.s.ses. I was on the stairs and I did see you. You looked exhausted, but the second that a.s.shole opened his mouth, you were on him. Like sticking up for your friend was more important than whatever else."

My friend. Preston. I remind myself that Pres will know what to do about the note, once I tell him. The knot in my throat loosens slightly.

Levi's smiling at me again.

"You can't tutor me," I say. "I'm not smart. I don't understand things, you'd get frustrated. I'm just going to fail no matter what and I've accepted that."

"I'm-"

"Thank you for helping me with Eastman. I know I'm being an a.s.shole, but I can't be-friends with you. I can't tell you why. So you and me alone in a room, it wouldn't work."

"I get it," he says. "I'm not gonna tutor you."

Duh. He was lying and I gave him a speech.

"I'm going to help you cheat. You can copy my homework, and I'll sit next to you on quiz days so you can look at my answers."

He says it like I'd be doing him a favor by saying yes.

"What?" He rotates his earring. "What's the look for?"

"I'm just surprised. You didn't seem like the type to condone cheating."

"Seriously? The earring, the hair? The whole point is to look like the type. Girls love the type."

I start to smile, but the bell for second period rings out in the hall. In seconds, everyone'll swarm the bathroom.

"Sometimes there's stuff going on that makes grades impossible. That doesn't mean you should be screwed," he says. "I would suck at tutoring anyway. I think your princ.i.p.al's a.s.suming I'm gonna be this straight-A Asian stereotype. Plus I owe you. I was weird to you at the funeral."

"You weren't weird. I was weird."

"Look, I'm gonna go before I make my big first day impression as the guy who chills in the girl's bathroom. But, real quick. My first day impression of you is that you're a bada.s.s. You picked up my dad, you punched an a.s.shole. Whatever's going on, you got this."

He picks up my backpack, pa.s.ses it to me. The side pocket's all unzipped and my heart stops-the photos are half sticking out. For a millisecond, I swear he looks. I grab the bag, hold it close.

But he doesn't say anything else. Just gives a little wave and leaves.

It's not until he's gone that I realize I'm still wearing his sweatshirt. I reach into the front pocket and there's his old baseball cap, folded in on itself.

Preston's not at lunch. He has Chem Club meetings every day. And he's not by his locker when school finishes.

When I get home, there's mac 'n' cheese powder on the kitchen counter, a pot and two plates in the sink, cereal flecking a bowl by the toaster. Grace does this sometimes. Hits the kitchen and eats everything in sight and vanishes five minutes later. The beat of the treadmill pulses through the house. She'll be on it all night.

I reach for chips and know immediately that food's not going to work out. So I go to my room. Nothing on my windowsill.

I text Preston, praying he's around and not at another nerdy club meeting.

hey I know this is hypocritical since I was all flakey the other day but I rly need to talk to u. come over?

I lie in bed and stare at the screen until my room darkens, my eyes burning. My mind's stuck on him: Preston. Preston will fix this.

An hour later, there's a tap on my window. I bite my tongue so hard I taste blood, but-it's only him, one leg swung over the oak tree branch, twigs in his hair. He raps on the gla.s.s again. I let him in.

"I am not aerodynamic enough for this." He brushes leaves onto my carpet.

He's here, he came, he'll fix it. I turn on the light. "You could have used the front door."

"I will literally scale oak trees to avoid uncomfortable and undesired familial social interaction. What did you need to talk to me about?"

I reach for the letter and envelope. I hear him sigh through his front teeth.

"Are you mad at me?" I ask, turning around.

"Mildly." He picks at a chin zit. "I want you to stop hitting people who make fun of me, because then everyone hears about it. It's like putting a big spotlight on the fact that I'm a freak."

"You're not-"

"I don't like the way it makes me feel, either." His words are practiced. He rehea.r.s.ed this. "Like you think I'm helpless."

"You're right. It's bad, I'm trash-"

"You're not trash! You make it very difficult to talk to you sometimes."

I sit on my bed. How can I ask him for help now?

"Mom told me I should be honest with you about this." He sucks in his bottom lip. "Please don't decide to stop being my friend. I'm not that mad. Not end-of-relationship mad."

"I dunno why you always expect me to stop liking you."

"I don't know why, either." He rubs his forehead violently, sits next to me on the bed. "I'm sorry for being this way."

I take a deep breath. "When I was a kid, my parents were always like you're the big sis, you gotta look out for the small sis even though I'm only eighteen minutes older than Grace. But then she stopped needing me."

"So what, I was your replacement protectee?"

"At first," I admit. "But that's not the only reason I became your friend! You're fun to talk to and we like the same stupid s.h.i.t and you're really helpful with figuring things out."

He tries to hide a smile. "What did you need help figuring out?"

Right. Okay. Back to this. I take the envelope out, slide the photos and the note onto his lap.

"Oh my G.o.d." He blanches. "That's Princ.i.p.al Eastman."

I dig my nails into my wrist as he reads the note. When he's done, his eyes glaze over, his mouth slightly open. Then he shakes himself, lightly hits his own cheek. "We are not going to panic."

"Okay," I whisper.

"We are definitely not going to do that."

"Right."

"Say it again, slower."

I breathe out. "Right."

"Obviously we need to find out who this is." He crumples the edge of the envelope. His eyes are still gla.s.sy. "It must be someone who was at the party. You must've been drunk enough where they knew you wouldn't remember it. And they must know why you hated him so much you might believe someone who said that you were the one who killed him."