goes to print on the front page of the paper the following Monday, my first day back at school after suspension. I take care of the editing and Chloe somehow manages to keep the whole thing a secret from the rest of the staff, including, of course, Bex.
Newly unsuspended or not, there’s no way I can sit through Bex’s class this morning, so I head outside as the bell is ringing for the start of third period. It’s almost spring now, the cold air laced with the smell of something damp and briny. I cross the muddy field and make my way up the bleachers, climbing halfway to the top before sitting down and tilting my head back toward the weak midday sunshine, like a new plant desperate to grow.
I don’t know how long I’m sitting there, the light making patterns on the insides of my eyelids, before somebody calls my name from the other side of the field. I open my eyes and there’s Gray crossing the fifty-yard line below me, backpack slung over one broad shoulder. He’s off his crutches now, but he’s still walking with just the tiniest limp, the kind you wouldn’t even notice if you hadn’t spent the whole semester noticing things like the way he normally walks.
“Hey,” I call back, holding up one hand in greeting as he makes his way carefully up the wide metal steps. He’s wearing a Bridgewater hoodie over his uniform, his ridiculous step counter fastened securely around one wrist. “You back up to twenty thousand per day yet?”
“Getting there,” he reports with half a smile. He hesitates a moment like he’s asking for permission before I nod, and he settles himself down beside me, stretching his long legs out in front of him.
“I read your piece,” he says, nodding at the Beacon sticking out of his bookbag. “I think it’s awesome. I mean, it’s shit what happened to your friend Chloe, obviously, but . . . That was really brave of you guys.”
I muster a smile. “Thanks.” The truth is, it doesn’t feel brave at all: I’m glad Chloe had the chance to talk about what Bex did to her. I’m a little nervous I’m going to get expelled. But mostly I’m just sort of numb. It’s like I keep waiting for some cinematic moment to signal I’m totally over everything that happened, that means it’s all done and dusted. But the hard, frustrating reality is that all I can do is move on one day at a time.
Both of us are quiet for a minute, watching as a couple of Canada geese totter across the field, honking irritably at each other. A chilly wind rustles the budding branches on the trees.
Finally Gray takes a breath. “I told my moms I don’t want to go to St. Lawrence,” he confesses.
“You did?” I whip around to look at him, everything that’s happened between us momentarily forgotten. “How’d they take it?”
Gray shrugs. “I mean, they weren’t thrilled,” he admits. “They lawyered me pretty hard. But eventually we made a compromise—I can take the job at Harbor Beach as long as I’m also taking college classes someplace local, Bunker Hill or UMass or someplace. So I think I’m gonna do that.”
“Good for you,” I say, reaching out to squeeze his arm like a reflex before remembering myself and dropping my hand awkwardly. “I’m, um. Really proud of you.”
“Thanks,” he says, smiling a little sheepishly. “You’re kind of the person who inspired me to do it, actually. I guess I figured if you could put yourself on the line, then at the very least I could nut up and tell my moms I didn’t want to play sports at college.”
I laugh, I can’t help it, and then my face abruptly falls. “Gray, I’m really sorry.” This time I do touch him, just the tips of my fingers against the sleeve of his shirt. “About like . . . everything. I was a total asshole to you, and you didn’t deserve it at all.”
Right away, Gray shakes his head. “Hey,” he says, “don’t even sweat it. You were going through a thing, you know?”
“I mean, I guess so,” I say, unwilling to let myself off the hook quite so easily. “But that’s not an excuse. You were a really, really good boyfriend, and I took a bunch of stuff out on you that wasn’t actually your fault. And I’m sorry.”
“Really, Marin, don’t worry about it.” Gray waves me off. “We had fun, right?”
“I—yeah.” That