Hate List Read Online Free PDF Page B

face—her desire to go back to where we were before the shooting,
     the guilt she felt over holding me at arm’s length—but I could also see how acutely aware she was of how being friends with
     me now made her look. If I was guilty by virtue of loving Nick, would she be guilty by virtue of loving me? Being my friend
     would be a tough risk to take—social suicide for anyone at Garvin. And Stacey would no way be strong enough to take that
     risk.
    “Does your leg hurt?” she asked.
    “Sometimes,” I said, looking down at it. “At least I don’t have to take P. E. But I’ll probably never get to class on time
     with this thing.”
    “Been to Nick’s grave?” Duce asked. I looked at him sharply. He was staring at me with hard contempt in his eyes. “Been to
     anyone’s grave?”
    Stacey elbowed him. “Leave her alone. It’s her first day back,” she said, but without much conviction.
    “Yeah, c’mon,” David mumbled. “Glad you’re okay, Val. Who do you have for math?”
    Duce interrupted. “What? She can walk. How come she never went to nobody’s grave? I mean, if I was the one writing down all
     these names of people I wanted dead I’d at least go to their graves.”
    “I didn’t want anyone to die,” I practically whispered. Duce gave me one of those raised eyebrow looks. “He was your best
     friend, too, you know.”
    There was silence between us, and I began to notice that all around me were curious onlookers. Only they weren’t curious about
     the confrontation. They were curious about me, as if they’d all of a sudden realized who I was. They walked past me slowly
     on all sides, whispering to one another, staring at me.
    Stacey had begun to notice, too. She shifted a little and then looked past me.
    “I gotta get to class,” she said. “Glad you’re back, Val.” She was already walking past me, David and Mason and the others
     trailing behind her.
    Duce moved last, shouldering past me, murmuring, “Yeah, it’s real great.”
    I stood on the sidewalk, feeling marooned with this strange tide of kids moving around me, shoving me backward and forward
     with their motion, but never breaking me loose into the sea itself. I wondered if I could stand in this very spot until Mom
     came back at 2:50.
    A hand fell on my shoulder.
    “Why don’t you come with me?” a voice said in my ear. I turned and found myself looking into the face of Mrs. Tate, the guidance
     counselor. She wrapped her arm around my shoulders and pulled me along, the two of us heading boldly through the waves of
     kids around us, leaving whispers in our wake.
    “It’s good to see you here today,” Mrs. Tate said. “I’m sure you’re a little apprehensive about it, no?”
    “A little,” I said, but I couldn’t say more because she was pulling me along so fast it was all I could do to concentrate
     on walking. We broke into the vestibule before the panic in my torso could even well up, and somehow I felt cheated. Like
     I should at least have the right to panic about entering my school again, if that’s what I wanted.
    The hallway was a bustle of motion. A police officer stood at the door, waving a wand over students’ backpacks and jackets.
     Mrs. Tate waved her hand at one of them and ushered me past him without stopping.
    It seemed a little sparse in the hallways, like a lot of kids were missing. But otherwise it was like nothing had changed.
     Kids were talking, squealing, shoes were scuffling on shiny tile, the walls echoing with the
wham! wham! wham!
of lockers slamming in the hallways beyond my eyes’ reach.
    Mrs. Tate and I walked through the hall with purpose, then rounded the corner to the Commons. This time the panic rose so
     quickly it made it to my throat before Tate could pull me into the large room. She must have sensed my fear because she squeezed
     my shoulders harder and pressed on more quickly.
    The Commons—once the place to hang out in the mornings, ordinarily packed