“Yes, Sweet Pea?” she finally says.
“I’ve got to go to the restroom,” I say. “Pronto.”
“You can go the moment Miss Bryant returns.”
“But ma’am—”
“Mrs. Young,” says Joseph “Digging for Gold” Russo, biting back laughter. “If Sweet Pea says it’s an emergency, you might want to trust her on that.” And then under his breath he adds, “I’ve got the puke-stained T-shirt from this weekend to prove it.”
I want to snap right back with an equal amount of snark, but his plea works.
“All right,” she says. “Take the boys’ pass and please bring Miss Bryant back with you. No detours.”
I pop up and take the other pass. “Yes, ma’am!”
I speed walk to the restroom at the end of the hallway and let out an actual sigh of relief the moment my tush hits the porcelain toilet seat.
It’s not until I’m washing my hands that I hear the sniffling from the handicap stall and remember what Mrs. Young said about bringing Kiera back with me.
“Hello?” I call out as I dry my hands on the front of my shirt. “Kiera?”
“What do you want?” Her voice sounds like a live wire.
“How do you even know who it is?” I ask.
“Oh, I’d knowthatvoice anywhere. If I were dead, I’d still hear your voice and know it was you haunting me in my grave, Sweet Pea.”
I heave out a sigh. “Well, you can’t say I’m not memorable.”
I try to muster all the fiery anger I’ve felt for Kiera over the last few days, but hearing the way her voice quivers makes it hard to be mean. Almost like it’s no fun if she can’t fight back. “You wanna tell me what’s up?”
“Not really.” The stall door swings open and she stompsout. I didn’t know girls like Kiera could stomp. I figured she glided or floated everywhere.
“You probably don’t remember, but I’m a pretty good listener.”
“I remember you listening,” she says. “It’s the judging I don’t like.”
I try to hide the shock registering on my face. I’m not judgmental. How could she ever say that?
“Okay, fine.” She heaves a sigh. “It’s my parents. They’re the worst.”
“Your parents aren’t bad,” I tell her. At least half of them aren’t.
“You try living with them when they can’t even say good morning without my dad yelling or my mom crying.” She crumples up the note from the office and tosses it in the trash can. “And now my mom says I have to take the bus home today.”
“You—you’re crying because you have to take the bus home today?”
I always knew Kiera’s family had way more money than mine and that her life was what Mom always called “charmed,” but lately the only way I’ve gotten out of taking the bus was by puking all over my whole seventh-grade class.
She lets out a deep groan. “It’s not the stinking bus.It’s like—doesn’t it ever feel like all the stuff in your life is building up, and then it just takes the silliest thing for it to all come toppling over and you just, like, lose it over that one ridiculous thing?”
It’s like the wind’s been knocked out of me because I know that feeling so, so well, and never in all my life did I think Kiera and I would ever find anything in common again. “Yeah, actually. I know exactly what that feels like.”
She reaches past me for the soap dispenser and starts to wash her hands.
“So your parents aren’t getting along?” I ask.
“That’s putting it mildly.” She dries her hands and shoulders past me.
