The Last Place

The teacher gave us the option to go to the library for research purposes, and I took it. If I was going to do this the right way, without shortcuts, I knew I was going to end up in tears as often as not working on this. I wanted fewer people there to witness it.

Besides, I needed to grab some articles from my room. They were in my photo album, mementos of the worst thing to ever happen in my life. Articles about Fallon’s accident. After it had happened, I’d collected them obsessively. Now, I couldn’t bear to throw them away. Maybe Shea was on to something; I had been defining myself by my grief.

Speaking of Shea, guess whose blonde head I spotted at a computer on the other side of the library?

What was it with this guy? Why did he always pop up wherever I was?

I turned the other way, determined to ignore him. I had to get on with my research, and I refused to stand up and move, drawing attention to myself. No, I had to be alone for this. Everything made more sense when I was alone.

I tortured myself with statistics. It was only too easy. On average, thirty-eight people die annually in a snowboarding accident. Forty-two people are injured. The chances of any one person dying were very, very low.

Why Fallon? I wondered, putting my head in my hands and doing my best to keep my composure. Why? It was a question I’d asked myself countless times already, and I was no closer to finding an answer.

In my next class, I kept my head down so that my hair covered most of my face. I didn’t want anyone to see the signs of crying I was sure were there. My eyes still burned, and I knew my face must be an unflattering red.

Not that I was trying to impress anyone, I assured myself. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t duck past Shea as quickly as I could, turning my head away completely from him. I took my normal seat in the back of the row that was near the windows. I heard someone take a seat next to me, in a desk that usually remained vacant. I looked out the windows, assuming that, whoever it was, they had no interest in me.

“Aislin?” Shea’s voice sounded tentative, diffident.

Shoot. Now what? I wondered. I tried ignoring him, but he only said my name again, this time without the same softness. It was actually comforting, hearing his tone harden. I knew how to deal with it. “What?” I snapped, and inwardly celebrated. My voice hadn’t cracked.

“Nothing,” he muttered and I heard his chair squeal, then his angry footsteps started going away from me.

“Wait!” I called, looking in his direction without thinking. He paused, didn’t move for a second, and finally turned back to me. His anger melted, and the expression left on his face had me quivering.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, rushing back to my side. He reached out and tucked my hair behind my ear, studying my face.

“Nothing,” I lied.

Shea took the seat next to mine again, watching me carefully, like I was some wild animal that could strike at any time. “You don’t have to tell me. But don’t lie to me.” There was not-quite masked anger in his voice.

“Oh, and why do you care?” I found myself snapping.

“I don’t know,” he muttered, more to himself than to me. Just then, class started. Though I did my best not to wallow, I didn’t hear a word of that day’s lecture.

Later that day in French, Shea didn’t speak to me, and he didn’t look at me. When it was the end of the class and everyone was supposed to be talking to their partners, he stood up without a word and walked over to the teacher. I don’t know what he said to her, but she nodded and he walked out of the classroom without a backward glance.

So I was sitting on my bed, talking to Carmen. I told her about how strange he was acting, and I told her about last night, even though I felt like I was betraying confidences somehow. I felt like my walk with him should be kept private, between him and me and no one else. But I was confused and off-balance.

“It’s obvious. You hurt his feelings, so now he’s shutting you out,” Carmen said after I was done explaining.

“What? No. In order for me to hurt his feelings, he has to care what I have to say. To care about me. And he doesn’t.”

Carmen looked doubtful. “Then maybe he’s having an off day?” I could tell she didn’t believe that, but I appreciated her effort.

“What should I do?” I asked almost desperately. I didn’t know how to handle situations like this.

“Apologize,” Carmen told me as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Apologize? To Shea?” I was stupefied. It was still weird not to be calling him Silva, though I’d secretly always referred to him as Shea in the privacy of my own head.

“Yes. Do it now, before you have time to think about it. Basketball practice is letting out in five minutes. If you hurry, you can corner him.” Carmen walked over to my bed, pulled me up, and pushed me out the door, slamming it shut behind me.

“Carmen, my key’s in there!” I protested.

“I know.” She sounded amused.

“And I don’t want to do this.”

“Sure you do. Now hurry up. I’ll let you back in after you’ve apologized.”

“I should just go to the superintendent about you,” I said grumpily as I stalked toward the gym.