Principal Lori looks at me, fingers hovering motionless over the keyboard, a knowing look on her face.Of course she knows.She dealt with crap like this from Mac enough in the past to see straight through me.
“I’m sure it was. I’m also sure it won’t happen again.”
I jerk my chin in answer, and all I can think is,Shit.
Blue
Right after Joshua walks off, a snicker sounds behind me. “Nice look.”
I glance over my shoulder, where two girls stand eyeing me up and down.
The brunette nods toward the backpack hanging over my shoulder. “I especially like thefalling apartbit. Adds a trendy touch, flower girl.”
The girl beside her looks away and mutters, “Come on, Tiff,” before they disappear down the hall.
I shift the bag so I can see it. Some of the stitches in front are coming undone, and half the side pocket droops, barely hanging on. I trace a finger over the material. This is the only backpack I’ve made myself, and Mom’s the one who taught me. It may be wearing down, but I’m going to keep using it for as long as I can.
Turning back to my locker, I tilt one of the photos. I took both pictures on my way to school this morning. They’re gorgeous, a blend of blues and greys, the sky heavy with unshed rain, and my lips curve just looking at it. They’re the perfect touch for my locker, posted on the inside of the door. Once I add a few more, this will be just what I need to hold me over between back-to-back skyless classes.
I angle my head, flicking my gaze to the picture on the left—the one I was taping while talking to Joshua. I rub my lips together at the thought of him. We barely spoke before he abruptly took off. He’s confusing. Sometimes, his words and actions don’t match his eyes. For all the coldness he gives off, the energy below the surface is surprisingly warm.
“Blue, isn’t it?”
I startle, turning to find a familiar face. I don’t know her name, but I remember her from Kimmie’s mini pool party last week.
“Yeah, that’s me.” Pushing my locker shut, I adjust my backpack before it slips off my shoulder. “What’s up?”
“I’m Amber.” She smooths out the tight black curls framing her heart-shaped face. “We’re in English together.”
“I know.” I smile, and she fidgets with her necklace.
“This is going to sound totally random and whatever, but ... when I was at Kimmie’s the other week, you said my necklace was ... you called it something like—”
“Celestite.” I nod, glancing down at the grey stone. “Pretty sure that’s what it is. It’s beautiful.”
“Yeah, that.” She scans the hall before stepping closer and lowering her voice. “Can you tell me what that is? Like, what it’s for? I mean, not that I believe in all that stuff but ...” She bites the inside of her cheek. “I just need to know.”
I watch her for a second, the way she darts her eyes around like she’s on the run from the government. Must be some necklace for her to stick her neck out like this, risking her social status. And it kind of breaks my heart.
“It’s for balance.”
“Balance?” She arches an eyebrow. “Like, so I don’t trip?”
My expression softens. “No, not that kind of balance. More on an emotional level. Celestite’s known for its loving energy, so sometimes, people use it if they’re sad or just not feeling quite themselves. It’s like a peacemaker, meant to soothe you and help restore the natural happiness you already have inside you.”
Her grip tightens around the stone.
“You made a great choice, picking that one.”
Her voice is quiet, strained, when she says, “I didn’t pick it. My grandmother gave it to me last time I was able to visit her. She’s, um, she’s sick. You know, like,reallysick. Anyway ...”
My chest squeezes, and I glance at the necklace, at her snug clasp around it. “Well then, your grandmother knows how to look out for you. My mom calls celestite a guardian angel because it’s supposed to protect you with love.”
Amber’s eyes close, and a tear slips down her cheek.
The bell rings, but she doesn’t move. I don’t either. After a while, when the crowds clear and silence falls around us, Amber slowly opens her eyes. She wipes her cheek.
“I’m sorry,” she mutters, looking away. “You can go. You’re going to be late for class.”
