Speechless(122)

                Andy throws out each fact like he’s drilling nails into my                     heart. His stare doesn’t waver from mine, rooting me to the spot. I feel like                     crying, but I think if I did, it’d just make him angrier.

                “He’s never been out of the country, so we’ve planned this road                     trip to Toronto for the summer, just so he can say he’s been,” he continues. “He                     wants to become a doctor and volunteer in Haiti, because he saw this documentary                     about it last year, and it’s stuck with him ever since. He’s excited about                     senior year because he makes good grades, and if he gets into any of the schools                     he applies to, he’ll be the first one in his family to go to college.” He stops                     to let that sink in. “Someone almost stole all of that from him. For no reason.                     And you helped it happen.”

                I didn’t think it was possible to feel any worse than I have,                     but it is, because in all the thinking I’ve done, I haven’t thought about it                     like this.

                “So forgive me if I don’t feel like extending you the hand of                     friendship,” he says. “Everyone else may buy your little act, but I don’t. It’s                     pathetic. You’re not helping anyone.”

                I cap the marker and stare at my feet. Maybe he’s right. Maybe                     I should give it up already. And if I’m going to say anything to anyone, I                     should be apologizing to Andy, out loud.

                The problem is that now it’s all hyped up in my mind. My first                     words should be important—and apologizing to Andy is important, but not enough                     for me to break my silence. Not yet. That moment has to mean something, it has                     to, but I don’t know what.

                “Sam says you’re getting a lot of shit at school,” Andy                     says.

                I look up and nod. I wonder how much Sam’s told him.

                “They’re all fucking scum. I hate them so much.”

                I don’t disagree with his assessment. Even if he’s including me                     in that category.

                He sits back down with a sigh, ashing his cigarette, and after                     a minute I sit on the crate next to his. I write, How is                         Noah? and inch the board toward him.