The Queen of Bright and Shiny Things (30 page)

His friend gets out his phone and dials before the teachers can decide how to handle things
. Oh my God, no. I forgot. I forgot what he told me about needing to lay low—that if he gets in trouble again, he’s going to juvie until he’s eighteen.

A huge crowd gathers while the teachers confer. They try to shoo us away, but nobody’s budging. Dylan’s mom comes from the office and puts an arm around him; she glares at Shane, who’s still being restrained by the gym teacher. Eventually the cops show up and they talk quietly with the principal. I wrap my arms around myself because I can’t stop shaking.

This is because of me.

I try to explain that it’s not Shane’s fault, but Mr. Oscar pulls me away. “This doesn’t concern you, Sage. You should go to class.”

Yeah, that’ll happen when half the school’s in the gym or just outside, rubbernecking. My gaze meets Shane’s, but he’s wearing that empty expression, and I can’t tell what he’s thinking. I feel like I’ve ruined his life when I only wanted to make things better for him. His beautiful musician’s hands are spattered with blood.

“What happened?” Lila asks. I didn’t even notice her arrival.

In a monotone, I tell her.

“Holy shit. I mean, Dylan totally had it coming, but this is bad for Shane.”

“I know,” I choke out.

I’m still watching when the cops cuff Shane’s hands behind his back. It feels like the whole world slows down as he passes me. His eyes meet mine, and he’s trying to tell me something, but I don’t know what. He mouths the word
sorry,
and then life snaps back to normal speed when they take him away. I run all the way to the front of the school, keeping far enough back that the cops shouldn’t complain. As I push through the doors, I see them shove Shane into the back of the car. He turns his face away.

Rage boils up inside me then. This is bullshit. After what Dylan’s done, he gets to be the victim? I could do
horrible
things to him. For a few seconds, I let myself picture them. Then I wrestle the anger into submission. I’ve come too far to fall into the hole and let Shadow Sage out again. I don’t want to be a bad person; I don’t
want
these pictures in my head. What Lila and I did with the truck, that was as far as I can go.

“Maybe it’ll be okay,” Ryan says, coming up beside me. “The police will call his parents and they’ll work something out. Community service, maybe.”

There are no parents to answer. I imagine Shane sitting in lockup, waiting for them to realize nobody will ever come for him. And my heart’s a white ball of fire in my chest. He threw away his second chance for me, and I’m not worth it. I dissolve in Ryan’s arms, crying for Shane like I never could for myself.

“Hey, we’ll figure something out,” he says, stroking my back.

“It’s not fixable. He’s gone.”

“That’s not like you.”

“And you don’t know the whole story.” With a shuddering breath, I pull back, unwilling to tell Ryan that Shane’s mom passed away and that his dad’s abandoned him.

Eventually, the school staff herds us back to class, though we’ve missed the whole period after lunch. It’s bittersweet but Shane accomplished what he intended. People aren’t looking at me anymore. I’m pretty sure they’ve forgotten the reason he pounded the shit out of Dylan. Now Shane getting arrested is all anyone can talk about. And I wish it wasn’t true.

I’m a zombie in my afternoon classes. For the first time in two years, I leave without putting a Post-it on somebody’s locker. I refuse to believe anyone at JFK’s having a worse day than me anyway.

Shane is.

I call in sick at work and pedal straight to my aunt’s shop. There are a couple of women looking at hand-poured candles, but Aunt Gabby seems pleased to see me as I don’t stop by very often, then she gets a good look at my face.

“I’ll be right back,” she tells the customers, then she takes me in back. “What happened?”

I tell her in a single breath, so fast that some of the words come out on top of each other. Then I finish, “Is there anything we can do? It wasn’t his fault.”

My aunt sighs. “Oh, honey. While I agree that kid had it coming, the courts won’t see it that way. And Shane made the choice to resolve the problem with violence.”

“But we have to try. Please.”

“His dad will handle it.”

“No, he won’t,” I say furiously. There’s no point in keeping the secret anymore, so I tell her that, too. My voice sounds bitter and angry, as I explain what an asshole Shane’s dad is.

“So he’s been living on his own since he got here?” she asks, incredulous.

“Basically. Which means he’s on his own. Can we
please
try?”

Pushing out a breath, Aunt Gabby nods. “I’ll call the station and see what I can find out. But, Sage, it wasn’t okay to keep this quiet for him. He would’ve been better off with people who would take care of him.”

“That’s not what he wanted,” I say stubbornly. “You don’t know everything.”

“Then maybe you should tell me.” She’s frowning over all the stuff I’ve kept from her.

Before I can, however, the ladies in front call out, “We’re ready, Gabby!”

“Be right there.” She points at a stool. “Sit. I’ll be back. This conversation isn’t over.”

Because I’m too tired to do otherwise, I plop down and wait for my aunt. The back room of the shop is delightful chaos with sweet-smelling candles in the process of being packaged up, shimmering crystals with purported healing properties, silk flowers, and bundles of dried herbs. I can see why my aunt enjoys working here.

Soon, she returns, folding her arms to show me she’s not happy. “So … spill.”

I explain about Shane’s mom and how he spent years looking after her. “He doesn’t feel like a kid anymore, and he hated the idea of being stuck with strangers. After everything he’s been through, was it really so wrong for him to want some peace?”

“That poor boy,” she says softly. “I don’t know what kind of record he brought with him from Michigan City, but I’ll call the station right now.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Half an hour later, my aunt sighs, her shoulders rounded in disappointment. I already know she has bad news. “I tried, Sage. But I’m not his guardian, and apparently, he has a list of offenses.”

“Did they tell you what?”

“He wasn’t supposed to, but I’ve known Officer Delaney since grade school. Breaking and entering, theft, damage to private property, vandalism, possession of an illegal substance, and there would’ve been an assault if the other kid had pressed charges.”

That’s no worse than I expected. He did tell me he was out of control when he lived with Mike, his mother’s friend. Since his mom had just died, I can understand why he lost it. I suspect he thought it didn’t matter what he did. Who would care? I wish he had gotten to tell me about this stuff himself, but maybe he’s like me, thinking I wouldn’t want to be with him if I knew exactly who he is. Or more accurately, who he was.

I sigh audibly. “Dylan’s not the type to let this go.”

“Then … I’m sorry, honey.” She sounds genuinely regretful that she can’t fix it.

This is a lesson, huh? Some actions have consequences that can’t be waved away. Guilt squats in the pit of my stomach. If I hadn’t tried to fix everything for Shane and Lila, it would’ve been fine. I started this by challenging Dylan. And now things are just so screwed up.

“Is there anything I can do to help while I’m here?”

“If you don’t mind. You can wrap those crystals in tissue paper, then pack them in the boxes with the biodegradable peanuts.”

It’s mindless work, but Aunt Gabby and I parcel up like thirty Internet orders by the time the shop closes. As she locks the front door, I say, “I’m heading home if that’s okay.”

“Why don’t you wait for me? It’s been a rough couple of days.”

“Yeah, it has, but … don’t put me on lockdown. I’m coping. Trust me, okay?”

She stares at me for a long moment before offering a reluctant nod. “Fine. But be careful. I just have to balance the cash, then I’ll be there.”

I nod, slipping out the back. A few minutes later, my legs pump mechanically, making the wheels of the bike turn. It’s good I could find our house in my sleep because my brain is mostly turned off. I can’t believe Shane’s gone. He won’t be at school tomorrow, or on Monday. The worst part is, I can’t even imagine what it will be like for him. I’ve never been to juvie, so I picture it like prison for young people with bars on the windows or maybe even cells for them to sleep in.

The group home was a cluster of brick cottages. Each one housed ten boys or girls, and I shared a room. Our bathroom time was tightly scheduled and supervised. During the week, we ate in a big hall together, but on weekends, the workers cooked for us in the cottages. Depending on who was on duty, this could be better or worse than institutional food.

Shane’s probably still in lockup, though. How long will they keep him there while they try to get in touch with his dad? Before I know it, I’m outside our house. Part of me wants to keep riding, keep the wheels moving until I’m lost. I don’t deserve to sleep in a warm bed tonight. Though I didn’t ask Shane to do that, he decimated Dylan because of me. It kills me that he could shake off their shit all day, but he lost his mind over me.

It hurts to breathe.

For a few seconds, I consider asking my aunt to call in a refill for my prescription. I had no problems with unruly emotions then … mostly because I didn’t feel anything at all. But that seems cheap, like I don’t care enough about Shane to feel this way for him, after what he did for me. Nobody’s ever fought for me before. Aunt Gabby can say what she wants about violence not solving problems, but a tiny part of me is elated. Not that he’s gone, never that. But that he cared enough to do it.

So I go inside, determined to cope without chemical aids. Over dinner later, I ask my aunt to find out what she can about juvie rules, if Shane can have visitors, if so, when. I don’t even know where the nearest juvenile detention facility is.

“It’s about an hour away,” she tells me. “I could drive you.”

Silently I shake my head. If my first trip in a car is to see Shane while he’s locked up, it’ll just be another awful association. The boycott stands.

I tilt my head, considering. That’s sixty miles or so. It’ll take at least five hours to ride that far. And then there’s the return trip. But I’ll totally do it. I can start at daylight, get there in time for a visit, then make the return trip before it’s too late.

“I’ll make some more calls tomorrow, see what I can find out,” my aunt promises.

“Thanks.”

I don’t sleep much that night. Ryan and Lila both text me, but Shane’s number is silent. They’ve probably confiscated his phone. I can’t help being glad that his guitar is at the trailer, where nobody can take it. I don’t reply to my friends, mostly because I don’t know what to say. Maybe I’ll have some idea in the morning.

School is quiet the next day, like everyone’s trying to pretend things are okay. I’m back to being invisible. Nobody calls me princess, but they aren’t shying away, either. I’m tempted to give up on the Post-its, but then I remember Shane said he liked that about me—that I care if somebody’s having a bad day. I notice the jocks knocking the books out of this freshman’s hands, casually, not intentionally, so even though my heart’s not in it, I write a note and stick it on a her locker.
You have a nice smile.
True, as her braces came off recently, and it seems to cheer her up.

Ryan and Lila stay close, as if I might flip out without their supervision. That almost makes me laugh. Almost. I listen to them talk at lunch, the words washing over me. I’m a rock in the river; it will take years but the current might wear me smooth someday.

“Okay, I’m just gonna come out with it,” Lila finally says. “Shane’s gone and it sucks, but he wouldn’t approve of the android version of you.”

Ryan frowns. “Leave her alone, Tremaine. It’s only been a day. She’s probably still in shock.”

I get up and leave when they start arguing. I finish the lunch hour in the girls’ bathroom, and I only come out after the warning bell. I don’t care if I’m late to class, but I manage to slip in as the last one rings. I sit down and look out the window. The snow is melting, leaving a gray and slushy mess in the parking lot. Beyond, the fields are bleak.

When I get to my locker after school, I stop, staring at it in astonishment. The entire surface is covered in Post-it notes. They’re lined up neatly in a rainbow of hues and ink colors, different handwritings that tell me this show of support comes from a vast array of people. I read them with dawning wonder, and the ice cracks a fraction in my heart.

You made me not want to kill myself.

I took a college art class because of you.

Your kindness gave me hope.

I thought I was invisible until you saw me.

You reminded me that I matter.

I’m not scared anymore.

You proved one person can make a difference.

I’m happier since you moved here.

As I read them all, I’m on the verge of tears. Some of the messages are so personal that I can’t believe someone had the nerve to write it and post it on my locker. I wonder who started it and how it became an outpouring. My locker looks like every person I’ve ever tried to cheer up has now done the same for me. The final message is the one that truly brightens my mood.

Have faith, Shane will come back.

“I hope so,” I whisper.

It takes me a while to remove all the messages, mostly because I’m afraid people will steal them. I stick them inside my locker instead, on top of the pictures I’ve posted. They fill the inside of the doors and the back of my locker, along the sides. The one about Shane, I keep with me, and I stick it next to the Post-it he wrote, so now my binder says,
You are the silver lining,
and
Have faith, Shane will come back
.

I’m feeling slightly better, so I go to the Coffee Shop because someone needs to tell them that Shane won’t be showing up for his Sunday showcase in the foreseeable future. The barista actually seems sad to hear it. “I hope everything’s okay?”