They came in an order that made no sense to me but seemed prearranged by something.
Dad? Is it you, doing that?
Then I shook the notion loose, out of my head. There was no room for that today.
An hour later, the Dills’ minivan pulled up the driveway where I was pacing back and forth, and I was surprised to see Mrs. Dill behind the wheel with that wide, rigid smile she’d always had for me, even before the accident. Meg was slumped in the backseat. As I climbed in next to her, she rolled her eyes.
“Mom insisted on driving us. She says she wants me to relax.”
“Are you nervous?” I asked.
“I stopped studying at eight o’clock and watched TV all night. I figure, if I don’t know it by now, I never will.”
We rode in silence toward the high school, and it hit me. I was going to see people. They were going to see me.
As we stepped inside the lobby of the main entrance, I locked my eyes onto a spot on the floor, not knowing where to look. But within seconds I felt a hand on my shoulder and turned around to see Mr. Churchwell.
“Laurel!” he said with a plastered-on grin. “It’s so good to see you.” Then, his voice got lower and the grin vanished. “You’re okay? You still want to do this?”
I nodded, and then he pulled me aside.
“Well, we’ve arranged something a little special for you. The College Board gave us permission to let you take the test in a room by yourself. I will be there too, of course, but no other students. Would you like that?”
I looked at his bright eyes, that earnest wrinkle in the middle of his forehead, and wondered if anyone in the adult world thought he was cute.
“Thank you,” I said. “That would be great.”
“I’ll take you to the classroom we’ve set up for you.” He started to lead me away, and I turned back to Meg, who had been watching us and was now shooting me a puzzled glance. I just shrugged at her before turning to follow Mr. Churchwell away from the crowd.
I hadn’t even gotten the chance to wish my best friend good luck.
It was a long morning taking the critical reading and then the writing parts of the test at a desk in the middle of the faculty lounge, Mr. Churchwell sitting at a nearby table with a copy of Rolling Stone, but the tests didn’t surprise me at all. I felt prepared—thank you, SAT prep course! During the breaks I got at the end of each hour, I used the teachers’ private bathroom and listened to the buzz of voices in the hallway.
I finished the math section early and signaled Mr. Churchwell.
“I’m done. What should I do?”
“You want to check your answers?”
“I did. I’m done.”
He glanced at his watch and came over to me. “Then I guess I’ll just take that,” he said, holding out his hand for the test, “and you can go early.” I handed him the answer sheet and he took it gently, like it was something precious. “How do you think you did?” he whispered.
The way he said that, as if he was begging for me to share a secret, sounded almost exactly like my mother.
Do you think Mrs. Dixon liked your project? Did everyone laugh at the right times during your mock newscast?
She never wanted to sound like a pushy, overbearing parent. She wanted to be like the encouraging friend, confident that I’d do well in whatever I tried. So she’d ask me with her voice at half volume to sound like she only half cared, which totally bugged me. Because she fully cared, and I knew it.
The sensation of missing Mom came at me fast and hard, right into my chest. I might have even stumbled backward from the impact.
Not here! Not now! And definitely not in front of Mr. Churchwell.
I quickly imagined that I could reach my hand into my chest, yank out that awful feeling, place it on an invisible cloud of air right in front of me, then push it away. Push it away.
And it worked. I could almost see it float past Mr. Churchwell’s head and out the door.
“I think I did okay,” I finally said, trying to pick up his question even though several long, terribly quiet moments had passed.
“You have a ride home?” he asked. If he sensed how close I’d just come to losing it, he didn’t let on.
“Megan’s mom.”
“And so I’ll