Devyn finds me after Spanish. Ian’s hanging on my elbow and Devyn says, “Hey. I need to talk to Zara for a second.”
“Sure,” Ian says, not changing his pace.
“Alone?”
“Oh,” Ian fumbles. “Right. See you later, Zara.”
“Sure,” I say, watching him stride away. “Poor guy.”
“He’s fine,” Devyn says. “I’ve been thinking about the book. Do you have it?”
“Yeah.” I juggle my books around and show him.
“Can I borrow it?”
My heart drops. “Sure, yeah . . .”
“I’ll take care of it, Zara, I promise. I know your dad wrote in it and that makes it special.”
I put the book on his lap while we move down the hall. “I’m that obvious?”
“It would be special to me if I were you,” he says. “I just want to read it whenever I get a chance.”
“Yeah,” I say. “I’ve been thinking about the quote about tigers.”
“And?”
“It seems important.”
“I know.”
Issie stomps toward us. “I am so mad at you!”
I point at myself. “Me?”
She grabs my elbow. “Yes, you. You went running alone at night. You are an idiot.”
“Thanks, Is.” I pull my arm away.
“He could have taken you,” she whispers. She looks to Devyn for help.
“It was dumb,” he agrees. “Nick told us what happened. About how the guy said your name.”
I don’t say anything. Issie softens, puts her arm around my waist. “We know you were just trying to be a martyr.”
“I wasn’t—”
She interrupts, “We don’t want you to be a martyr. We’ll figure this out together. No one gets to be a martyr. Right, Devyn?”
He nods. “Right. At least not alone.”
. . .
“Zara, this is great,” Issie says, bouncing up and down between some desks. “Check out all the people here.”
I look around the classroom that we get to use for our Amnesty International lunch. Nick is not here.
“There are ten people, Issie,” I say, sighing. “Ten is not much. There are thousands of people who need our help.”
Ian waves at me. He has a monster smile on his face, and he swaggers over like he’s responsible for all ten people here, which, to be fair, he probably is.
“Ten’s really good,” Issie says and then points at Ian with her elbow. “Uh-oh, look who’s coming.”
“At least he’s here,” I say, putting down some pens and pre-stamped envelopes. “Unlike other people.”
Something in my stomach drops when I think about Nick not being here.
“At least he cares,” I add as Ian comes closer.
Ian smiles down at me. “Hey, Zara. Good turnout.”
I glance at Issie, who gives me an I told you so look. “It’s only ten people.”
“Ten is good up here. We’re psyched if five people show up for Key Club,” he says, nodding at my Urgent Action reports. “Can I help you pass those out?”
“Yeah.” He is being so nice. “You could.”
It isn’t until I’ve explained all about Amnesty International’s important mission and people start writing letters that Nick decides to show up.
Ian is already sitting next to me. So Nick stands in front of my desk.
“Nice of you to show up, Colt.” Ian sneers. He suddenly looks like a snake. It is not a good look, all scaly and coiled.
Issie puts her hands over her eyes like she’s afraid to see bloodshed.
I stare up at Nick. “You’re late.”
He smiles at me. There’s a piece of spruce branch stuck to his sweater.
“I had things to take care of,” he says, all growly, looking away from me and staring Ian down. They do the whole I’m alpha—No, I’m alpha thing, with the staring and pulling the shoulders back and posturing.
Devyn whispers to Issie, loud enough for us to hear, “They’re so sad sometimes.”
She whispers back, “I know.”
Nick picks the spruce branch off his sweater and says in a normal voice, “We are, aren’t we?”
Then he smiles at me and my heart starts beating harder, which I’m ashamed to admit, but it’s true. Hearts betray you like that. This is why it’s perfectly acceptable to be cardiophobic, afraid of hearts.
“I’m sorry I’m late. Tell me what to do, Zara,” he says, casually rocking back on his heels. I swear Ian almost breaks his pen in half, but I just stand up and get Nick settled in with an Urgent Action appeal and some paper.
During school the sky is bright and blue, the kind of Maine sky that painters always recreate, the kind of sky that makes even a Charleston girl like me relax and smile. The colors crisp on the trees that I stare at during art class. I’m supposed to be working on a paper collage of an eagle, but my thoughts keep drifting off to pixies and political prisoners.
I rip a piece of red brocade paper to create a splash of excitement on the eagle’s left wing. When I’m applying the glue, Nick glides into the room. He sits down at the table next to me.
“Is it okay if I sit here?” he asks.
I nod. My heart pitter-patters a million crazy, happy rhythms. My brain wonders why he’s sitting next to me. There are a million trillion places he could have sat, not to mention where he usually sits. Do not get too excited. Do not make this into something. It’s probably just to talk about pixies.
Nick goes back to the supply closet and grabs his project. He sets it up on the table. It’s a wolf stalking through the forest. He’s done it all with coiled-up paper.
“That’s good,” I say, pointing.
He smiles. “Yours too.”
We sit there without talking for a minute. I wish he’d say something. Anything. Well, not anything, maybe something nice.
“You’re too quiet,” I blurt out.
He laughs. “Like you aren’t?”
“I didn’t sit down with you.”
“True, but last night you asked me to be your friend.” His eyes twinkle.
“Shh. There are some things that should just never be repeated.”
He clutches at his heart, pretending to be hurt. “What? You didn’t ask me?”