Nick’s legs. His hand is twined in my hair, his fingers rubbing the base of my neck. Every once in a while, he pulls my head back and leans down to give me a kiss, as if saying, See, she’s mine. It’s been a couple of weeks since we almost got caught by the cops, and if anything Nick has gotten even more reckless. More and more lately, I’vewanted to call Emi, or Teeny, or Myra, and say: Help. I’m in too deep . But it’s too late. I made my choice and now I’m on my own.
Even with Nick’s fingers warm on the back of my neck, I find my thoughts wandering a well-worn path to Adam. I’ve seen him a couple of times in the halls—a nod, a flicker of dimple—but we haven’t talked again. I’ve been thinking a lot about the way I felt when I was on the mountain with him.
“See, she’s putting up another one,” Dave is saying as the pep rally roars around us. Hailey is all over him, her hands under his army jacket. They’d started going out soon after Nick and I hooked up. I think she did it to make Nick jealous, not that he seemed to notice.
I finally look around to see what Dave is talking about. Jade Grimsky and Hal Jones are busy putting up fliers. Jade and Hal are big into good works, and I assume it’s another bake sale to raise money for some cause or another. Why does Dave care so much about two-dollar brownies?
The pep rally finishes, and we get up, everyone jostling and yelling as we stream toward the doors. Nick has his arm wrapped around my shoulders, and even then, with my boyfriend’s arm encircling me, I find myself looking for Adam. Dave is in front of us, and slows as we near the blue flier that Jade and Hal were putting up. It says: Islam Peace Center, and there is a date for a grand opening this Saturday, and an address in town.
My stomach turns, and before I can help myself, I think: It was Muslims who hijacked those planes and drove them intothe towers of the World Trade Center and killed all those people. It was Muslims who killed my brother.
“See?” Dave says. “Can you believe this crap? My brother got his leg blown off over there, and they want to open up a freaking peace center ?”
Nick reaches out and rips the flier off the wall. Dave follows suit and rips down another sign nearby. As we head down the hall, they tear down every blue sign they see.
The four of us walk a long, circuitous route home. We usually take Nick’s car, but it’s in the shop, so we’re walking today. I’m not paying much attention where we are going, because my thoughts are spinning like car tires caught in the snow. My dad has gotten worse, and, as promised, Grill has quit, leaving me and a few newbies to run the store. Mom has never had much to do with the shop—as far as I know, she’s only climbed once in her life, right after my parents moved here, and she swore she’d never do it again—so she keeps zipping along like a deranged bumblebee pretending everything is peachy, while I try to keep things together.
We’ve stopped on the sidewalk, and Nick, Dave, and Hailey are staring up at a building. We’re at the bottom of a stretch of antique shops just off Main Street, and the last building in the row, which used to be a chocolate shop, has a new sign reading: Islam Peace Center.
“You’d have to tag it up high,” Nick is saying, and I finallytune into the conversation. “If you didn’t get up there”—he gestures to the top of the wall of the brick building, up on the second floor—“no one would see it.”
It takes me a minute to figure out what they are talking about: tagging the Peace Center. But there’s a fence running along the side of the building on the corner, and unless you got up high, the tag wouldn’t really be noticeable.
“A ladder?” Hailey suggests.
“Nah,” Nick says. “You’d have to move it every letter and it would make too much noise. We need a climber.”
They all turn to look at me.
“Uh … What? Me?” I squeak. Nick is the one who does
Even with Nick’s fingers warm on the back of my neck, I find my thoughts wandering a well-worn path to Adam. I’ve seen him a couple of times in the halls—a nod, a flicker of dimple—but we haven’t talked again. I’ve been thinking a lot about the way I felt when I was on the mountain with him.
“See, she’s putting up another one,” Dave is saying as the pep rally roars around us. Hailey is all over him, her hands under his army jacket. They’d started going out soon after Nick and I hooked up. I think she did it to make Nick jealous, not that he seemed to notice.
I finally look around to see what Dave is talking about. Jade Grimsky and Hal Jones are busy putting up fliers. Jade and Hal are big into good works, and I assume it’s another bake sale to raise money for some cause or another. Why does Dave care so much about two-dollar brownies?
The pep rally finishes, and we get up, everyone jostling and yelling as we stream toward the doors. Nick has his arm wrapped around my shoulders, and even then, with my boyfriend’s arm encircling me, I find myself looking for Adam. Dave is in front of us, and slows as we near the blue flier that Jade and Hal were putting up. It says: Islam Peace Center, and there is a date for a grand opening this Saturday, and an address in town.
My stomach turns, and before I can help myself, I think: It was Muslims who hijacked those planes and drove them intothe towers of the World Trade Center and killed all those people. It was Muslims who killed my brother.
“See?” Dave says. “Can you believe this crap? My brother got his leg blown off over there, and they want to open up a freaking peace center ?”
Nick reaches out and rips the flier off the wall. Dave follows suit and rips down another sign nearby. As we head down the hall, they tear down every blue sign they see.
The four of us walk a long, circuitous route home. We usually take Nick’s car, but it’s in the shop, so we’re walking today. I’m not paying much attention where we are going, because my thoughts are spinning like car tires caught in the snow. My dad has gotten worse, and, as promised, Grill has quit, leaving me and a few newbies to run the store. Mom has never had much to do with the shop—as far as I know, she’s only climbed once in her life, right after my parents moved here, and she swore she’d never do it again—so she keeps zipping along like a deranged bumblebee pretending everything is peachy, while I try to keep things together.
We’ve stopped on the sidewalk, and Nick, Dave, and Hailey are staring up at a building. We’re at the bottom of a stretch of antique shops just off Main Street, and the last building in the row, which used to be a chocolate shop, has a new sign reading: Islam Peace Center.
“You’d have to tag it up high,” Nick is saying, and I finallytune into the conversation. “If you didn’t get up there”—he gestures to the top of the wall of the brick building, up on the second floor—“no one would see it.”
It takes me a minute to figure out what they are talking about: tagging the Peace Center. But there’s a fence running along the side of the building on the corner, and unless you got up high, the tag wouldn’t really be noticeable.
“A ladder?” Hailey suggests.
“Nah,” Nick says. “You’d have to move it every letter and it would make too much noise. We need a climber.”
They all turn to look at me.
“Uh … What? Me?” I squeak. Nick is the one who does
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