closed. I had never seen it less than agape in a blatant display of its bounty. I moved closer and listened. From within I heard muffled sounds. My sapped brain did not connect them with human activity. I had only the dumb idea that if I sorted through all the stuff in the closet, I might be able to keep myself awake. I opened the door.
Woody was inside, masticating Tess’s neck, her shirt up around her armpits, his hands kneading her bra. My fellow trumpeter saw me first, and her look was one of annoyance rather than shock. Woody raised his head, his lips separating from her slick neck with a smack, and regarded me with a curious sort of half-grin.
“Sorry,” I mumbled. Woody’s grin broadened.
“Go away?” Tess said, her brow cleaving so abruptly her curls bounced.
“Sorry,” I said again.
“Shut the door, Crotch,” she commanded. I saw her fingers grab Woody’s hand, which had unconsciously drifted away, and secure it back on top of her breast. The knob was in my hand, my face turned away, the door shut. Muffled noises resumed but I walked away so that I did not have to listen. I watched my reflection split and scatter across the embouchure mirrors. Ted’s closet—I felt bad for him. Those two making out, they would knock things from the walls and disrupt the shelves. They would not put back fallen objects. They had no respect for Ted, not either of them, and after hooking up they would mentally mock him every time they saw him: We got it on in your closet and you don’t even know.
Exhaustion had left me hollow and dry, and the spark of anger took quickly to flame. Tess I could care less about; we would just resume ignoring each other at band practice. But Woody, that fucker—he could get away with almost anything, but not this, not this disrespect of Ted. And not just Ted—never far from my mind was Celeste. Although she occasionally had been present as Woody taunted me, she had always seemed as if she were waiting for permission to leave that asshole and reach out to somebody, no matter their social status. Somebody, for example, like me.
I had to find her, she had to know. The final twenty minutes of study hall felt like two hours. My mind shoved aside everything that had happened the night before so that focus could be applied to this mission of utmost importance. Punishing Woody, winning gratitude from Celeste: if I pulled off these things before returning home, somehow the ensuing lightness would push away some of the dark.
Two more classes, the final bell. Students sprang from their chairs and I fought to be in their numbers. I was due on the football field for marching band practice but dismissed it. Two floors, six hallways, and exits everywhere: how would I find her? I scanned my surroundings for packs of girls, carefully done hair, short skirts, the most stylish shoes one could buy near Bloughton. I made it down one hall—nothing. Another hall, one hundred faces, none of them hers. A third wing and still nothing: I could feel, like blood from my veins, students leaving the building by the dozens.
Around a corner toward the front entrance and there was familiar raven hair tied in exotic fashion and barretted flat in crisscrossed layers. I leapt down the stairs, squinting in the afternoon swelter. I was behind her; I was at her elbow; I gave myself a final push and I was in front of beauty and grace herself, Celeste Carpenter.
“Celeste,” I panted. She had to stop—I was blocking her path. I held up a hand to buy myself a moment while I gasped for air. My smell: too late, I thought of it and hoped that any unpleasant whiff would lose itself in the outdoor air.
How to begin? My brain labored for an opening statement. I didn’t think you’d be outside, I considered. It was at least true. From what I understood, Celeste was involved in numerous activities, and was particularly noted in theater and dance. I had overheard that play rehearsals were going every single day after school. Yes, that was it—I could ask her if she was skipping rehearsal or just getting some air before they began.
Instead it came out like a belch: “I saw Woody with Tess.”
The delicate shadow between her eyebrows darkened. Her expression remained enigmatic, though I sensed a slight angling of her head. At this moment I