start of the line, her tray of food held at her waist. In front of her, a punk kid has his arm pulled out of the sleeve, his long hair flipped to one side, covering half his face. He’s talking to her—no, he’s shouting noises at her, and then he’s swaying his body, using his armless sleeve to knock the food off her tray, his shouts getting louder, and I see red.
Red.
Hot.
Rage.
I release Coach’s hand and start toward him, but Coach and Rhys are both holding me back. “I’ll take care of him,” Coach says.
“Calm down,” Rhys tells me, as if I can. As if it’s possible. And then I look at Ava. At the way her lips part, the way her eyes are wide open but filled with tears, as if she refuses to blink because if she does, her tears will fall and she doesn’t want to give this asshole the satisfaction. Slowly, she places the tray back on the rail and turns, the crowd around her parting as she walks away. People are still laughing and my heart… my heart is sinking.
And then I blink.
Come to.
I chase after her, calling her name. Her steps are fast, but mine are faster. I try to grasp her arm, but she shrugs me off. Within seconds, we’re at her locker, and she’s stuffing books into her bag, refusing to speak, refusing to look at me.
“Ava!”
She slams her locker shut, and then she runs… a slow run, but still a run. The first sound of her cry comes just as we pass the office. I manage to get her around the waist, force her to stop and face me. “I’m sorry,” I say, “I’m sorry.” It’s all my brain can come up with.
She squeezes her arms between us, her hands on my chest, and then she pushes. She pushes me away, swiping at her tear-stained cheeks. Her cries echo through the empty halls as she holds her bag to her chest and takes the few steps to the psych office. I follow after her, but I don’t touch her, too afraid of her reaction.
She opens the door without knocking, and I’m right behind, stopping just inside. Miss Turner stands as soon as she sees Ava, dropping her sandwich on her desk. “Ava?” she whispers, then looks at me. “What happened?”
Ava’s cries are louder now, uncontrollable, and there’s an ache in my chest that prevents me from answering.
“Ava?” Miss Turner says again, moving around the desk to get to her. “Sweetheart?”
“You said!” Ava cries, the loudness of her voice shaking me to my core. I pull out of my daze, only to realize she’s talking to me. “You said, Connor! You said you didn’t want anything more from me!”
My heart squeezes, flatlines. A lump forms in my throat. “I didn’t…” I look between Ava and Miss Turner. “I didn’t know.”
“Of course you didn’t know!” she screams. “They don’t do it in front of you or Rhys, but they do it. And they do it to me. And to her!” She takes a breath. “You said…” she repeats, quieter this time. She leans against the wall and then slides down until her ass hits the floor. “You pressured me to be there, to face that… You said you just wanted me, but you lied!” She lifts her knees to her chest, her face going between them, arms covering her head, shielding her from… from me. “You lied, Connor.”
She’s rocking now, back and forth, and I haven’t taken a breath. Haven’t felt a single beat in the place I keep just for her. “Ava, I don’t—” I choke on my words. “I don’t know what to say.”
Her cries are silent, the sound replaced by hiccups, and she won’t look up, won’t stop rocking. And then her breaths get louder, faster, escalating to a point harsh enough that Miss Turner curses, grabs a paper bag from her desk drawer. She drops to her knees in front of Ava and strokes her hair, imploring her to look up.
Tears fill my eyes while the knot in my stomach grows and grows and grows some more. Ava takes the bag from Miss Turner and breathes into it, her breaths slowing, but her cries still steady. Her shoulders shake with every one of her hiccups, and all I can do is stand.
Watch.
Wait.
Worry.
The bell rings, and Miss Turner looks up at me. “Go to class, Connor.”
I widen my stance, my arms at my sides. “I’m not leaving her.”
Ava’s single whimper