Page 62 of Until the Ribbon Breaks

“I’m really sorry ... I had no idea.”

His apology makes me feel entirely too exposed, so I go into myself. Clamming up, I drop my eyes and do my best to hide behind my invisible walls, but he makes it impossible when his fingertips lightly touch the gauze wrapped around my wrist. Abruptly, I jerk my arm out of his reach and hide my hand inside my sleeve.

Quietness expands, giving me time to notice that he no longer has his cast on. It doesn’t take long for me to grow annoyed with the stalemate, and I shift, ready to stand and walk away, but then he murmurs, “My dad died two years ago.”

The force of his words jostles me. I had no clue that Mr. West died. I still remember the time in sixth grade when a group of us snuck into an R-rated movie and got busted. Sebastian’s dad came to the theater to pick us up from the manager’s office. He was so cool about it and never told any of our parents what had happened.

“Since then, everything’s gone to shit,” he continues as I listen. “My mom’s an alcoholic.”

I face him in disbelief. His mom, the woman who chaperoned field trips and was at every classroom party, is ... an alcoholic?

His eyes rim in shame. “Her scumbag boyfriend lives with us.” His jaw flexes before he confesses, “He gets a kick out of knocking me around.”

I don’t even know what to do with everything he just dumped on me or why he’s even telling me this at all. In a million years, I never would’ve guessedthatwas his reality. He’s too popular, too perfect.

“You can tell whoever. Spread it around school and destroy my reputation if you want.”

My head shakes ever so slightly as I ask, “Why would I do that?”

“Because I deserve it for how badly I’ve treated you.” He pulls his knees up to his chest and drapes his arms over them. “Now you have my biggest secret,” he says. “I know that I don’t know much about you anymore, but I’m assuming that what happened a couple of nights ago is your biggest secret. I guess ... I guess I just want you to trust me when I say that I’ll never tell anyone, but I won’t care if you tell people about me.”

“I won’t.” My response comes honestly.

If I had known any of this a few months ago, I might have blabbed about it, but there’s a sincerity in him right now that I’ve never seen. It makes him more human to know he’s more than the shallow, egotistical jock he presents at school. It’s weird to connect with him—if that’s what is even happening—to discover that we both share pain. Although it’s a very different pain, it’s still pain.

HARLOW

Gazing out the window in a trance, I mindlessly tap the eraser of my pencil against my workbook. Thin sheets of gray clouds glide slowly across the sky, allowing the sun to peek out every once in a while.

When I was a little girl, my family would take trips on airplanes. As we flew above the clouds, I would look down on them, thinking that was where Heaven was, but only the dead could see it. I believed souls lived on the billowy puffs of vapor, in their little houses that had little flower gardens, and if they wished for anything, it would instantly appear because God was magical like that. I would spend almost the whole flight thinking of things I would wish for like candy and toys. Looking back, I can see just how frivolous those wishes were.

Now, I’m not sure what I would wish for because all the things I want are too abstract.

“Knock it off.”

Snapping my eyes from the window, I look to the other table to find Kevin glaring at my hand.

I stop tapping my pencil, and he gives an exasperated, “Finally,” before turning back to his work.

“Do you understand any of this?” Sebastian asks. He’s sitting next to me and keeps glancing at my workbook. “You haven’t even started.”

I look at the page of unsolved quadratic equations.

“Do you know how to do this stuff?”

“Voices,” Mr. Garrison, the fake teacher who comes in every day, warns. He’s a glorified babysitter who makes sure we do our remedial schoolwork.

Even though it’s summer, we are forced to have three hours of curriculum each day, except on the weekends. It’s a crime in and of itself if you ask me.

“So, do you?” he whispers.

“We learned this freshman year.”

“And your point?”

“How did you pass if you don’t know how to do this stuff?”

“I cheated,” he responds flippantly, as ifduh.

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