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  “No problem,” Maya said. “See you Sunday.” She gave me one last smile.

  I grinned back, feeling the softness of the tissue paper flower in my hand.

  I love the way night feels in the desert. I drove home, thinking about how to ask my parents to stay so that I would be able to leave.

  Chapter 7

  November

  Julie Reid

  I usehed it when I wd to wish I had never been born. I first wisas little and my parents were fighting. I wished it again every time my brothers broke the law and caused trouble. One time I didn’t was two years ago when my stepdad asked if I wanted to be adopted and have his name instead. I wouldn’t have to go to school at the beginning of each year and have the teachers all say, “Julie Cox . . . Are you Kevin and Mark’s sister?” I always had to say “Yes,” because if I lied, they’d find out eventually anyway. The teachers would get this look on their faces, like now they were going to have to keep an eye on me or something. They’d always try to hide their surprise when I turned out not to be a troublemaker. I didn’t want to surprise anyone anymore.

  Even though it helps to have a different last name, there are still plenty of people who know who I am. The other kids know about my brothers and the teachers usually do too. I knew that, of all people, my music teacher, Mr. Thomas, would know who I was and what my brother had done.

  I couldn’t believe it when he arrived as our teacher. I had never been assigned his dad’s English class, and if I had, I would have changed it immediately. I had no idea that Mr. Thomas, the son, would be teaching choir. My schedule said “Mrs. Durham” because Mrs. Durham had been the music teacher forever. I had decided to take beginning choir to fill my cultural arts requirement since my brothers had always taken art. I figured I’d have a better chance of the choir teacher not knowing that I was related to them. Plus, I really like to sing, though I only really dare to do it when I’m alone. Anyway, I thought I would be safe. I never am.

  On the first day of school I was sitting in the third row from the back. I think that’s the best place to sit. The teachers always notice you if you’re right in front, but if you sit clear in the back they think you’re a troublemaker, which is sometimes true. That’s where Everett always sits.

  I was watching everyone come in and talk to each other. Girls hugged like they hadn’t seen each other in years. Guys called out to each other. Everyone was kind of checking each other out to see how people had changed over the summer. Some people had changed a lot. There were a few people who had gotten new clothes, new hairstyles, new everything. I’ve wondered what it would be like to do that—have a complete makeover and throw away everything I had before—but we’ve never had a ton of money the way some kids’ families do. I was wearing some new clothes, but they were ones I’d picked out that would blend right in: jeans and a gray cable-knit sweater. I wondered what it would be like to wear an outfit that demanded attention.

  Everyone else was all talking a mile a minute when a young man came in. He was tall and thin and looked sort of familiar somehow. He smiled, a little nervously, I thought, and walked to the front of the room. He tapped his baton on the top of his black metal music stand. No one noticed, except for me. He tried again. Nothing. Then he walked over to the piano and started playing the chords from what I later found out was Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony as loud as he could. Everyone stopped and looked at him.

  “Thanks,” he said and walked back to the music stand. “I’m your new choir teacher, Mr. Thomas.” People looked at each other in surprise. I was surprised too, but I hadn’t made the connection yet. “Mrs. Durham decided to retire over the summer, so I’m taking her place.”

  And then someone asked the question that changed everything for me. “Are you related to Mr. Thomas the English teacher?”

  “Yes, I’m his son,” said Mr. Thomas. He made kind of a lame joke about not holding that against him, but I wasn’t listening at all. I felt like someone had slapped me hard and quick across the face when I was in the middle of laughing. I had felt so safe and kind of excited about being in choir, and then this. I hadn’t known he was related to Mr. Thomas.

  I hadn’t known he was the son of the woman Kevin killed that awful, awful night.

  Ever since the first day of school, I’ve wondered if Mr. Thomas hates me. He is perfectly polite. He says hello to me and he didn’t even miss a beat when he called roll the first time. He’s been nothing but kind so far. But there might be something underneath.

  I feel like I’m waiting for the storm to hit. Every day I go to class and think, Today’s going to be the day he gets mad at me. Or, Today, he’s going to take me aside and ask me to quit choir. I don’t know how much longer I can keep going to school because I have a sick, waiting-for-something-bad-to-happen feeling all of the time. There are two people I’m terrified of right now—Mr. Thomas and Everett Wilson. I felt like I could deal with either one of them alone, but the combination of the two of them is too much. I wanted to start all over and it was beginning to feel impossible.

  Something had to give and one day it did. I passed Everett in the hall right before choir. He leaned over to me as I stood by my locker and whispered something gross, something humiliating. I didn’t even turn to look at him, but he laughed when I dropped my notebook. “I can still get to you, can’t I?” he said, and then he went down the hall. I took a deep breath and picked up my notebook. I shut my locker and turned around. A few people were looking at me. I didn’t want anyone to see me with Everett, ever. I hurried to choir as fast as I could without even thinking about where I was going, which was right from one scary situation to the next.

  When Mr. Thomas walked up to the front of the room to begin, I felt all the worry and exhaustion weighing right behind my eyes. I felt like I couldn’t see clearly. He started us off on the first few lines of our song and I tried to sing along with everyone else, but I couldn’t seem to get enough air. All of a sudden, my legs gave in and buckled like a baby’s. I sat down on the floor, dizzy. Everyone turned to see what trouble I was causing. I felt like crying but tried not to, because I knew that would only make everything worse. First Everett drawing attention to me in the hall, now falling apart in choir. I knew everyone was murmuring and whispering about me. I heard the sharp click as Mr. Thomas set down his baton and the sound of his shoes as he walked over to me.

  “Are you okay?” he said.

  I nodded. I didn’t make eye contact. “I’m fine. I think it’s just a little hot in here.”

  “You look like you could use a drink,” he said kindly. “Michaela”—he turned to the girl next to me—“will you walk with Julie down the hall and make sure she gets to the nurse’s office all right?”

  “Sure,” she said, looking at me with concern.

  Mr. Thomas helped me up and, when he could tell I really was okay, handed me over to Michaela. He smiled and turned back to conducting the class. Michaela kept a grip on my arm, firm but kind.

  “I feel a lot better,” I said shyly to her as we walked down the hall. “I’m sorry for bothering you and making you leave class. That was really embarrassing.”

  “Don’t worry about it, seriously,” she said. “I’ve had that happen to me before. I was in church and I had to give a talk. I didn’t sit down like you did, but I came really close. It was awful.”

  “I don’t think I need to go to the nurse’s office,” I said. “I feel better already. Maybe I’ll just splash some cold water on my face in the bathroom.”

  Michaela studied me. “You do look better. It’s always so hot in there,” she said, as she pushed open the bathroom door.

  As we walked in, we both heard someone throwing up in the bathroom stall. It didn’t sound good, not that throwing up ever sounds good, but this sounded awfully bad. It sounded like Kevin after a long wild night of partying, but I didn’t tell Michaela that. We looked at each other for a minute, then Michaela walked over to the stall door and gently knocked.

  “Are you okay
in there?” she said.

  “Yes, I am.”

  Whoever it was, it sounded like an adult, maybe a teacher or a staff member. Michaela looked as startled as I felt. “I’m just not feeling so well today,” the voice said.

  I could relate to that. “Do you want us to get the nurse or anything?”

  “I think I’ll be fine in just a moment,” the voice said. “Thank you.”

  Michaela and I looked at each other again. “We should do something,” I whispered.

  She nodded.

  “I have some gum,” I said. Right after I said it, I thought, That’s a stupid idea.

  Michaela didn’t think so. “That will help. She’d have to go the rest of the day smelling like barf. And it sounds like she might be a teacher or something.” We spoke quietly, but I’m sure that whoever was in there could hear us whispering about her. That’s a terrible feeling. I feel it all the time when I walk by Everett and any of his friends.

  I stuck my hand under the door, nervously, as though I were feeding some sort of caged animal that I couldn’t see. An animal that might bite my hand right off. “Here,” I said. I felt her hand take the gum from mine. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Thank you. I do feel better.” There was a little more energy in her voice. Michaela said, “All right.” I motioned to her that we should leave. I didn’t want whoever it was to be embarrassed when she came out and saw us.

  We stopped at the drinking fountain outside of the bathroom, and I splashed my face with the cold water.

  “I wonder who was in there,” Michaela mused. “I guess you’re not the only one who felt sick today.”

  I agreed. “At least I didn’t throw up in front of everyone. That would have been even worse than what I did.”

  “You know what?” Michaela said. “My worst fear is that I’m going to stand up in front of the class to give a presentation sometime and I’m going to wet my pants.”

  I laughed. “Really?” I didn’t know Michaela very well, even though we’d been in school together for a while, but that fear didn’t seem to fit my image of her. “You don’t seem like a class presentation would make you very nervous.”

  “Oh, it does,” she said, laughing along with me. “That was a really good idea about the gum, by the way. I wanted to do something, but I didn’t know what.”

  “I felt the same way,” I said. “I feel like that a lot. Like there’s something I should be doing and I always mess things up somehow and do the wrong thing. And once you’ve made a mistake, you can’t go back. At least she seemed to want the gum. You never know how people are going to react sometimes.”

  We were walking away from the drinking fountain when we saw her come out of the bathroom. I know that neither of us hid our surprise very well when we saw that familiar spiky blonde hair and those sharp eyes. It was Principal Downing. She smiled at us and said, “Thank you for the gum.” She moved off down the hall at a brisk pace.

  Michaela and I stared at each other. “Poor Ms. Downing!” I said.

  “Who would have ever thought we’d hear our principal throw up?” she said. “That’s so weird! What’s she doing at school if she’s so sick?”

  “Maybe there was a meeting or something she really had to go to,” I said as we walked down the hall toward our music class.

  Our high school has gray linoleum floors that always seem scuffed and dirty. I’ve gotten here early in the morning, though, and they are spotless, shining away under the fluorescent lights. I wonder if it makes the janitors mad that we mess up their halls every day and they have to keep cleaning them. I feel like that’s what I’m doing sometimes. I feel like I’m getting up and starting over, not only cleaning up all my mistakes but the ones Kevin and Mark made too.

  Right before we got to the choir door, Michaela stopped me. “This is going to sound really weird,” she said, “but I have to tell you that you’re wrong.”

  “What?” I said, surprised. “I’m wrong about what?”

  “What you said earlier, about not being able to go back after you’ve made a mistake. You can’t go back and change what happened, but you can be forgiven for it and be clean again if you really want to.” She looked a little uncomfortable as I stared at her. “That’s what my church teaches. I wanted to tell you that for some reason. I didn’t want you to feel like you couldn’t fix whatever it was that was bothering you, or at least feel better about it.”

  Tears stung my eyes. Did she know about me? Did she know about my brothers?

  We opened the door to our classroom. The students were all singing and Mr. Thomas was conducting. A few people turned to look at us. One of them was Mr. Thomas. He raised his eyebrows at us while his hands flew through the air. I mouthed the words, I’m okay, as Michaela and I slid back into our places. He smiled and gave me a thumbs-up sign.

  As Michaela picked up our music and looked for the place, she whispered, “Some of us are going to a church activity tonight. Me and Ethan Beckett—do you know him? And David Sherman. Do you want to come with us? We’re just playing floor hockey in the gym at our church and then having some food, but it will be fun, I think. It’s not like an actual church meeting or anything, just something fun.”

  “Sure,” I said. No one has asked me to hang out in months, not since Everett. I didn’t know how to play floor hockey, but I felt reckless, in a good way. I smiled at Michaela. She grinned back.

  I opened my mouth to start singing again and the words came flying out with the music. They floated around the room, and I felt weightless too. I felt fine, or like things could be fine, for the first time in months.

  Chapter 8

  November

  David Sherman

  Ah, journal writing. Something I do about every decade. I haven’t written in here in so long. The last entry was about receiving the Aaronic Priesthood—that was almost six years ago! Back then my worst fear was that I would mess up what seemed to be the really complicated formations that everyone else knew by heart when it was time to deliver the bread and water for the sacrament to exactly the right spots. Or that I would spill the water all over someone. And I think I was also probably pretty worried that my voice wouldn’t ever change and that I would never get to dance with a girl at a stake dance. Some things change, including my voice (thank the powers that be for that).

  Back then, Andrea’s parents were married and she still came to church. I don’t think I thought much about her then. I knew she was there, of course, but she has always been so far out of my league. A few years later she quit coming altogether and her father moved away and now it’s just Ethan and his mom and his other sister. I know my mom, who was Andrea’s Mia Maid leader, tried to get her to come back, but finally she gave up and said that Andrea needed some time. Andrea doesn’t even come to early-morning seminary at the church, which her mom teaches. Andrea and I have both been on the cross-country team for four years and I know her brother Ethan pretty well, but I haven’t thought that much about her, to be honest. She kind of moves in a different circle. Plus, high school for me has been one big good time. I haven’t ever done anything really sinful or anything, but there was a lesson in early-morning seminary a few weeks ago that kind of hit me between the eyes.

  Our teacher, who, as I mentioned, happens to be Andrea’s mom, was talking about sins of commission and sins of omission. I’m sure I’ve had a lesson on the same subject before because all the church lessons seem to go in rounds, like the pride cycle. There’s the one on the sacrament, the one on morality (my personal favorite because, whatever else it may be—embarrassing or awkward—it’s never boring), the one on Joseph Smith, the one on the priesthood, etc., etc. I’m not saying that’s a bad thing. I need all the repetition I can get, I bet. Anyway, on this particular go-around, it was the part in the lesson on sins of omission that really got to me.

  I’ve been congratulating myself lately on making it through high school without any especially grievous sins. No immorality problems, no drugs, no alcohol,
I’ve been decent to most people, I think, no huge dramatic arguments with my parents (well, none that resulted in me getting shown the door, anyway). Sometimes with the world the way it is today you get to thinking that’s a pretty big accomplishment. I’m not saying that I was thinking I was the greatest guy ever or that I’d never been tempted to do anything wrong. But I was feeling pretty good about making it to senior year with my life still in order (although my parents do think that I could be more serious a lot of the time).

  Then, in our lesson, Sister Beckett talked about how sometimes the worst sins can be the ones that we don’t actively commit, like going out and getting drunk, but the ones we fail to do, like treating someone the way the Savior would. She told us about how it was especially sad when we committed those sins because we knew better and were giving up a chance to become even more like the Savior than we could be if all we did was follow the rules. She pointed out that the Savior didn’t just obey the laws and do the right thing; He also actively sought out others to serve and looked for things He could do for people. I’d never thought of things that way before. It surprised me and it made me think, a lot. I stayed awake in all my classes for the rest of the day, which doesn’t always happen after early-morning seminary. I kept thinking about Sister Beckett’s lesson and decided to try to do better over the next few weeks. Try to help people like the Savior would.

  Two weeks ago, I was at the Homecoming Game with a bunch of my friends. We were going to go to the dance afterwards. Most of the other guys’ dates were there, but my date, Holly Clark, was on a volleyball trip and wouldn’t be getting back until just in time for the dance. Halftime came and it was time to see who the Queen would be (and the King too, I guess, although that little piece of political correctness always cracks me right up, since no guy in his right mind really wants to be paraded up there as the King, does he?). They called the names and there came Andrea Beckett, walking across the red carpet totally alone with no escort. Her boyfriend Connor had an escort, though.