“A girl . . . The more I think about it, the more I think maybe this is me getting what I deserve, so I can’t—I can’t even be upset about it.” He nods to himself. “In a way it’s like a relief. I’ve been waiting all this time for my punishment. Maybe . . . maybe this is it.” He sounds so resigned. So hopeless. It makes my heart hurt.
I rest my head on his shoulder. “Don’t talk like that,” I whisper. It’s crazy, but I feel genuinely bad for him.
He lets me sit like that for a moment and then he says, “Can you please go?”
I sit up straight to look at him, but he won’t look me in the eye.
That’s when it comes to me. An idea. And before I’ve really thought it through, I’m telling him a way to fix things.
“We have this family friend. He’s my dad’s coworker’s son. He’s a football player. Not a star quarterback like you, but still. He took a fifth year of high school at a prep school, and it was like a whole other year for recruits to check him out.” I say all of this super calmly, like he hasn’t been crying and he didn’t tell me to leave. I say, “You could do that, Reeve. If you train hard, and you get your grades up, I bet you could get a scholarship at a prep school somewhere, and then colleges would look at you again. It would be your second chance.”
He lifts his head; his eyes are red. “I told you, Cho. I don’t deserve a second chance. I’m no good. You shouldn’t even be around me.”
“I don’t want to hear you talking like that,” I snap. I never thought I’d feel this way, but maybe Reeve does deserve a second chance.
Reeve looks startled. Then he says, “Why would some fancy school give me a scholarship? My grades aren’t good enough for a scholarship.”
“Duh, you’re an amazing quarterback. If their team sucks, they’re basically paying to make it better by having you go to their school. I could ask my dad to talk to his friend, get more information. This could be your ticket out.”
He’s shaking his head. “I don’t know. It seems like a long shot.”
“Don’t give up on yourself. All you need is more time to heal and get strong again. Sure, spring workouts might be too soon for you, but what if you had another year to recuperate? You might not get to go to some big football school, but at least it’ll be a real college and not the JICC.” Reeve opens his mouth, but before he can answer, I grab him by his shirt collar. “Listen to me, okay? It’s worth a shot. I’ll help you study, if that’s what you’re so worried about.”
Reeve almost smiles, which makes me feel so good. “Oh yeah? That’s generous of you, Cho. Just so you know, I’m actually not a Neanderthal; I’m a pretty smart guy.”
“I never for one second thought you were dumb,” I tell him, dropping his collar and smoothing it out. And then, like it’s already decided, I say, “Tomorrow you make an appointment with Mr. Randolph and see what he knows. He’s bound to have some contacts at prep schools; I think he went to one. Then you register for the December SAT test date.”
“I already took the SAT,” Reeve says. “My score was fine.”
“Fine?” I repeat. I give him a doubtful look.
“Yeah. It was easy. At one point I put my head down and took a nap. I think maybe I had a hangover that day.”
“Well, what was your score?” I challenge.
“1920.”
Oh. That is pretty good. I’ve taken it three times, and it was only on the third try that I broke 2000. So Reeve is smart. He does have a chance at going to college. “Then take the test one more time. If you scored that high without even trying, who knows what you could do if you studied?”
I tell myself not to feel guilty for helping him. If I can fix this, if I can help make it so he still gets his football scholarship . . . everything will still end up the way it’s supposed to. Mary can still have her pound of flesh, and Reeve can still go to college.
I clap my hands together, cheer-style. “So first we reorganize these keys and then we go to the library. And if you do a good job, you’ll get a snack after.”
Reeve smiles for real this time. “You’re a piece of work, Cho. Did you know that?”
I smile back smugly. “Oh, trust me. I know.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
I’m practically sleepwalking as I shuffle down the hall to English class. I can hardly keep my eyes open. I stayed up super late to finish reading The Scarlet Letter for today’s discussion. I’m too shy to actually talk in class, but Mrs. Dockerty loves to randomly call on the quiet kids.
I should have been doing a few pages a night, but of course I left it to the last minute. It’s such a sad story, and I can’t say that I enjoyed it. It hit a little too close to home. The scars that Hester carried all through her life, the guilt and shame she felt even though it wasn’t her fault. And when she died at the end, I was in tears.
Needless to say, it was not a fun read.
I walk through the classroom door. I’m the first one, which is odd, especially since my last class was on the other side of the high school and it feels like everyone is counting off the minutes until Thanksgiving break begins. Not even Mrs. Dockerty is here yet. She’s probably in the bathroom or something. I fall into my seat and lay my head on the desk and rest my eyes for a minute.
I wake up with a start, my cheek stuck to the cover of the paperback. I lift my head slowly, trying to figure out how long I’ve been out. The class is suddenly full; everyone is in their seats. But there’s no Mrs. Dockerty. Instead a man is sitting on her desk. I guess we have a sub. I quick wipe my mouth and take out my paperback.
“What did you think about Bartleby’s decision never to leave the office? Did it make him sympathetic? Or were you frustrated?”
A bunch of hands fly up. I glance down at my copy. I don’t remember an office anywhere in The Scarlett Letter. Or a character named Bartleby. Maybe I didn’t read closely enough?
The sub calls on one of my classmates, who says, “I thought it was annoying. If you’re not happy working at a place, why would you stay?”
Another kid across the room says, “He’s unhappy, but he doesn’t know how to fix it. He’s paralyzed. He’s got nowhere else to turn. Life at the office is all he has going for him. Without it, he’s nothing.” This kid doesn’t even wait to be called on. Which is crazy. Mrs. Dockerty is very strict about not talking out of turn.
