“Um, yeah?”
Freddie looks at me likeyou know this guy?
“Right, so I’m Allyster. We’ve gone to school together since eighth grade.”
“Okay?” He waits for me to say something else. “You look familiar.” Just like everyone else. Eulogy may not be so small that I know everyone by name, but I remember faces.
“Well, I should,” he says.
“Can we help you with something?” asks Freddie.
“No, not you. Your grandma already sent in a check.”
Allyster sits down next to me, forcing me to scoot in. I should be annoyed, but I think I’m more amused than anything. “A check for what?”
He opens the binder he’s been clutching against his chest to a printout of a spreadsheet. “You’re the only person in our senior class who hasn’t purchased ad space in the yearbook for a senior page.”
“I’m theonlyperson?”
“Well, the only person who isn’t incarcerated or on maternity leave.”
“So what if I don’t want a senior page?” I ask.
He pulls a loose paper from his binder with all the necessary information, and it looks like the type of thing that’s probably been pushed to the bottom of my locker. “Your call,” he says. “But we’re striving for a hundred percent participation here. Don’t want anybody to be forgottenwhen they open our class time capsule.”
Allyster walks off, leaving Freddie and me.
I hold the flyer up. “How freaking dumb is this? I can’t believe people are actually paying money for this.”
He scratches the tip of his nose with his index finger. “It’s not that dumb, really. I mean, I’m doing it.”
“Well, Agnes did it for you.”
“Only ’cause I asked her to.”
I glance over the paper. “So what? You just send in some pictures and, like, a final shout-out? I guess it seems weird to me to put these pictures and memories in this book that no one’s gonna ever look at after graduation. And then to charge for it.”
“Or maybe it’s a chance to say thank you to the people you love and put a cheesy senior picture to use.”
The first bell for next period buzzes. I shove the flyer in the front pocket of my backpack. “I’m not asking my dad to pay for that. He’s got enough to worry about. And I’m for sure not forking over any cash for it.” I stand up and sling my backpack over my shoulder. “And it’s not like my time in high school has been all that memorable.”
He holds a hand to his chest dramatically. “I’m insulted.”
I swat his bicep, but he reaches for my hand and holds it inside of his.
“Hey, maybe we should talk about what happened?”
My heart thumps against my chest. “I don’t think there’s anything to talk about.”
His lips twitch. I recognize the hesitation in his expression, because I feel it, too. He’s torn between accepting myanswer and pushing for more. “Nothing?” he asks.
I shake my head and pull my hand back. “Nope.”
“Oh,” he says. “I almost forgot. Adam wants to know if you and Ruth want to come over while he takes my”—Freddie holds his fingers up in air quotes—“‘sweet, sweet Star Wars virginity.’”
Just then Adam pops out of the crossing hallway, as if he’d been summoned. His board is strapped to his backpack, and judging by the whiskers above his lip, he’s experimenting with facial hair. “Oh,” he says. “You won’t want to miss this. I predict tears. Like, full-on man tears.”
Freddie snorts and turns to Adam. “What’s the capital of Thailand?” Adam has barely any time to react and block himself before Freddie shouts, “Bangkok!” and punches him in the nuts. Well, almost. It appears that Adam has adequately defended himself.
