He hurries toward me, backpack slung over one shoulder. “Saw you go in. I’ve been looking for you all morning.” He squints and blinks, like his contacts bother him, and there are circles under his eyes. “Mom didn’t play her uke in B minor last night. She played a happy song, ‘Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah.’” He pushes the sleeve of his gray cashmere pullover up to his elbow, showing his golden arms. There’s a pen stain on his finger. There’s also a tear in the knee of his jeans that looks earned, not like the preripped jeans that cost a fortune.
I hug my bag to me. “She’s in love.”
He cusses and sweeps aside a fallen loquat with his foot. “Melanie’s freaking out.”
“Does she know?” I try not to panic.
“I had to tell her, or she’d call Mom’s shrink.”
Wonderful. Another leak in the boat.
“She thinks you did it on purpose, setting up Mom with a”—he frowns and looks away—“a teacher. Anyway, sometimes Mel doesn’t know what she’s saying.”
From across the courtyard, Coach Juarez calls out, “Hey, Sawyer! Extra practice at four. Don’t be late.”
Court acknowledges his coach by holding up his thumbs.
“Will she tell your mom?”
“We decided not to. Mom’s been through enough.”
“What about Melanie’s friends?” Like Vicky.
He shakes his head. “Don’t worry, Mel won’t talk. You said Mom would forget about her feelings for Mr. Frederics after you—” He makes loops with his finger, trying to conjure the right word.
“PUF her, yes.”
“So it erases memories?”
“No. She’ll remember what happened, but she won’t have any romantic feelings attached to those memories. I have to go, but thanks for the update.” I start toward the bike racks with a renewed sense of urgency. Despite his reassurance, I can’t help worrying that Melanie will tell Vicky, who will then use the information to blackmail something out ofme, and, by association, Mother.
He walks alongside me. “That’s crazy. I mean, this whole thing is”—he rubs his chin—“unreal.” He looks at me out of the corner of his eye. “I called my aunt. She’s flying in for a visit. She’ll take Mom out, which should give us some time.”
I choke back my surprise. “Us?”
“I don’t want to see my mom hurt again.” He frowns.
I dump my stuff in my bike basket. “Thank you. I really appreciate it.” It’ll give me a needed safety cushion of time in case I don’t find all the plants at Meyer today. Every bit helps.
Students drift in and out of the library, some of them staring at us. Court doesn’t seem to notice. Through the library windows, I make out the time on the library clock: 12:07. If I don’t leave, I’ll never make my train.
I take up the handlebars. “Um, thanks again.”
“You going somewhere?”
“Meyer.”
“Right now?”
“Yes.”
“You’rebiking?”
“Just to the train station. I’m not crazy.”
He pushes up his other sleeve so now both sides are even. “I’ll take you.”
“That’s okay. It’s just a ten-minute ride.”
