Speechless(64)

                “Chelsea? What are you doing here?” he blurts out.

                I feel my face burning red. I point one hand to the left, where                     Asha went, and Sam follows the gesture with his eyes, seeming to connect the                     dots.

                “Excuse me,” he says flatly, and takes off in that                     direction.

                As soon as he’s out of sight, I jump off the stool and follow                     without thinking, hovering by the double doors leading to the busing area. I                     crouch behind a cart of clean dinner trays and spy through the dirty circular                     windows, catching a glimpse of Sam marching up to Asha, who is stacking some dry                     dishes into a rack. I can hear every word.

                “You brought her here?” he exclaims. “What were you                     thinking?”

                “Give her a chance,” Asha says.

                “It’s not me I’m worried about,” he says. “If Andy sees her, he                     is going to freak out.”

                Okay, who the hell is Andy, and why                     would he care about me being here?

                Asha sets down the last plate and looks up at him. “I just                     think she could really use a friend right now.”

                “And you’re volunteering for the position,” he says                     skeptically.

                “I don’t think she has anyone else,” she tells him. “Everyone                     is mad at her.”

                “I’m not saying we should be gathering the pitchforks or                     anything, but come on. Did it ever occur to you maybe she deserves it?”

                “You don’t know, Sam. It’s not just about Noah…it’s about her                     ratting out those basketball players. There were these girls today, and they                     said these awful things to her… I mean, really                     awful. Then one of them said something to me—”

                “What? Who?”

                “It doesn’t even matter,” she continues, “but Chelsea got in                     the girl’s face, and she didn’t say anything, obviously, but I could tell she                     was mad about it. And someone wrote something nasty on her locker. And you saw                     what they did to her car, and I know you don’t think                     that was deserved. I just want to be nice, okay? Can you please have my back on                     this?”