Sometimes he’s right. But that’s not why I’m saying it tonight. And when he responds by saying “Sleep well,” that’s more than enough for me.

I don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow, but for once I’m really looking forward to it.

Chapter Two

Mom is up before me, as usual, in the same place at the kitchen table. It’s like she thinks Dad or I will steal her seat if she doesn’t beat us to it—and if she loses the seat, where will she spend the rest of the day?

“You look nice,” she tells me. Which would be a compliment, if she didn’t sound suspicious.

I don’t tell her that I made sure to look nice because it’s the one-day anniversary of everything getting better. She’d shoot that down real quick.

“I have to give a report,” I tell her. “In class.”

I know she’s not going to ask me what report, or what class.

Eager. I want to get to school as soon as possible, to see him. I hope he’s feeling the same way over at his house. I could text him and ask, but if things are going to change, then I can change, too. I don’t need to know everything all the time.

Mom and I say more to each other, but neither of us is really listening. I want to go, and she wants to stay. It’s the story of our lives.

I have to take the bus because my car is still at school. I could ask Rebecca or someone else to drive me, but then I would have to spend the whole ride talking about things instead of thinking about them.

His car isn’t there when my bus gets in. In fact, he doesn’t show up until almost everyone else has pulled in.

But this time he notices me waiting. Walks over. Says good morning.

I am trying hard not to barrage him with happiness. It’s still early in the morning. He’s barely awake.

“Sure you don’t want to run away?” I ask. Just to pull a little bit of yesterday into today.

He looks confused. “Are you serious?”

“No,” I tell him. “But a girl can dream, right?”

“Whatever.” He starts walking, assuming I’ll fall in step right beside him. Which I do.

I get it. Kind of. Since it’s not like we’re going to do it again today, it’s probably best not to think of it as an option. Otherwise, whatever we do today will feel pathetic in comparison.

I reach for his hand.

He doesn’t take it.

“What’s gotten into you?” he asks.

Yesterday, I want to tell him. But from the way he looks straight ahead, I figure now’s not the right time.

He doesn’t even wait to hear my answer to his question.

He just keeps moving.

I tell myself it’s not Angry Justin. It’s Lost Justin. It has to be.

When you picture someone lost, it’s usually in someplace like the woods. But with Justin, I imagine a classroom. It’s not that he has a learning disability or anything. That would be a good reason. But no. He’s just bored. So he doesn’t keep up with what’s going on. And it only gets worse, and he only gets more lost, which only makes him hate it more.

I am trying to stay on the beach. As the teachers talk and as Justin and I barely say hello between first and second period, I am reminding myself what it was like. I am turning my mind into a time machine, because I need to.

I know Rebecca’s going to pin me down third period, when we’re sitting next to each other in art. And that’s exactly what she does.

“Where were you?” she whispers. “What happened?”

Art is one of the only classes we have together, because my school likes to keep the smart kids away from the not-smart kids, as if being in class with me might hurt Rebecca’s test scores. In art, some of the not-smart kids get their revenge. I like that it gives me and Rebecca a chance to be together.

Mr. K has put a car engine at the front of the room, and has asked us to draw it in charcoal. He always says we’re not supposed to talk while we’re working, but as long as we’re not too loud and we’re getting our work done, he doesn’t really mind.

Rebecca’s engine is turning out worse than mine, and I feel bad that this makes me feel better.

I tell her that Justin and I escaped to the beach. I tell her it was an in-the-moment thing, and that it was wonderful.

“You should have asked me and Ben to come along,” she says.

Ben is her boyfriend. He’s smart, too. Justin doesn’t like him at all.

“Next time,” I tell her. We both know it’ll never happen, but we’re okay with that. Our friendship doesn’t need her to skip school, and it doesn’t need Ben and Justin to get along. She and I have enough history that we don’t need to make a whole lot happen in the present to be close.

“Wasn’t it cold?” she asks.

“Too cold to swim,” I say. “But warm enough to be there.”

She nods. Whatever I say to her usually makes sense.

I’m just leaving out some of the details.

I wonder if I’m supposed to meet him at his locker like yesterday. But lunchtime habit takes me to the cafeteria first, and there he is, at our usual spot.

“Hey,” I say.

He nods. I sit down.

“Has anyone said anything to you about yesterday?” I ask. “I mean, you haven’t gotten into any trouble, have you?”

He dips a French fry into some ketchup. That’s all he’s having for lunch.

“It’s all good, I think,” he says. “You?”