Part 35 (1/2)

The reporter's face on the screen is full of concern. ”How do you feel about the school board's voluntary retesting invitation?”

I bite my lip. I wish I hadn't. It's not pretty in person, but with my head filling up the entire television screen-remind me to thank the cameraman for that one-I look like a nervous wreck. But, then again, I was a nervous wreck.

”I haven't thought much about it.”

”So you haven't made a decision on how you'll proceed?”

”Oh, no. I've decided. I'm retaking the test.”

The reporter tips her head in that way reporters do when the answer they receive isn't quite what they expect. ”Like many of the other students involved in this scandal, your SAT scores were exceptional, correct? Some have suggested it might be the one benefit to your suffering.”

On screen, I shake my head. I look revolted. ”I guess I don't think there were any benefits. There's really no silver lining here. Not for me.”

”Do you find some satisfaction in being the one to bring him to justice? Your courage to come forward with this story has given other victims the strength to speak out as well.”

She lays eight pictures on the table between us. It's all a concoction for the segment-a news trick to visualize the magnitude of Daniel's impact. As if somehow the number of pictures on that table is directly proportionate to how big a hero I am.

But I'm not a hero at all.

”You gave these students a voice. That's something.”

They were my friends then. And we are something different than friends now, tied together in a way we can never unravel.

On the screen, I close my eyes and take a breath. In the here and now, I feel Adam's hand reach across the couch for mine, his fingers lending me strength.

”It isn't nearly enough. But it's all I could do.”

The reporter closes with a reminder of the upcoming trial for Daniel and the investigation that's still underway on two unnamed, involved minors. The minors have names: Blake Tanner and Adam Reed.

I still don't know what will happen to them.

”Don't start worrying about that,” Adam says, reading my mind.

Maggie, who's curled up on the other side of me, turns off the television. ”She's n-not the only one who's worried about it.”

”Coming from my fan club, I'll take that as a compliment,” Adam says, but he's mostly teasing. The two of them probably aren't going to start trading secrets or braiding each other's hair. But they love me. And that seems to be enough for both of them.

”Well, I, for one, am proud of you,” my mom says from the love seat. Her smile wavers a little, which tells me that's not all she wants to say. ”I still wish you'd reconsider the test. There's no harm in you keeping that score-”

I roll my eyes. ”Mom. We've been over this.”

She relents with a sigh. It's almost like she's letting it go, but we both know better than that. Beside her, my dad makes a cuckoo sign with his hand. ”Don't listen to her. You'll probably get even better scores.”

”I doubt that,” I say.

”I don't,” my dad says. ”And, as you know, I'm always right.”

I laugh. ”Well, brace yourself for reality.”

”One of these days you're going to figure out how smart you actually are,” Adam says quietly. ”Then you'll be the one bracing.”

My dad notices. He's been doing that with Adam. Noticing things.

It's kind of weird, still, me dating this guy with a record. Not exactly everything they'd dreamed, and I get that. h.e.l.l, Adam's worse than them. He wouldn't even come in the house at first. But one day, Maggie and I dragged him inside, and we forced the elephant out from under the carpet.

Awkward does not begin to cover it. But here we are. And it's okay.

Good even.

”When's your next meeting with the detective?” my dad asks.

Maggie looks right at me, her brows arched. I force myself to close my mouth and watch as Adam looks down. He takes a breath before he answers.

”Friday.”

”Will your grandmother be there?”

”She's not...well,” he says, and I squeeze his hand. He's barely comfortable having a soda from the fridge. Dragging his senile, alcoholic grandmother into the mix is probably somewhere he doesn't want to go.

”If it's all right with you, I might give him a call,” Dad says.

Maggie and I both whip our heads to stare at him. Mom's gaping too.

”What?” he says, looking at us like we're crazy. ”Is it so strange that I want to put in a good word for the guy?”

Um, yes, it's strange. My dad defending a boy I'm making out with on a regular basis is pretty much a portent of impending apocalypse.

”You don't have-” I cut Adam off with a hard squeeze to his fingers and a very pointed look. His eyes soften and he tries again. ”If you'd like, that would be great. Thank you.”

Mom claps her hands together and offers pizza, and my dad joins her as she heads into the kitchen talking toppings and pickup versus delivery.

Maggie pulls out at least four stacks of flash cards, thumping them on the table in a line. ”Now that that's out of the way, we need t-to get down to business. Where are your highlighters?”

I stare at the mountain of work on the coffee table with a frown. ”They're in my backpack. Tucked in beside the last shred of hope for a fun weekend.”

Adam laughs.

His laugh was the first thing I remembered all those months ago. It's still one of my favorite sounds on earth.