What She Left Behind by Tracy Bilen Page B

can the topic be ‘Shopping’? Isn’t there some sort of alternate topic?” That’s Nick.
    “Nope.” Mrs. Monroe shakes her head and gives a big “Shh!”
    I slip a couple of Ritz Bits in my mouth for inspiration and start to write.
     
Don’t get me wrong, mall shopping is great. But the kind of shopping that I like best is at a rummage sale. It’s not like we’re poor or anything, but it’s kind of like a family pastime. Or it used to be, back when Matt was alive. We weren’t those people who’d get up atthe crack of dawn to buy the newspaper on Saturday so we’d be the first at the advertised sales (Dad still got us up at the crack of dawn, but that was to clean). But when we happened to pass a rummage sale and we didn’t have someplace to be, we stopped. We even stopped when we were in other states. That’s where Matt got a lot of the license plates for his room.
     
    My phone vibrates right as we finish our free writing. I suck my breath in and start choking on the Ritz Bits I have stuffed in my mouth. Please let it be Mom.
    It’s a text message from Alex: ZACH SAYS YOU LIKE BIKING. SKIP MATH AND HIT THE TRAIL?
    Unbelievable. I delete the message and put my phone in my backpack.
    I get to history early. So does Alex. He sits next to me in the back row. “Did you get my message?”
    “Uh-huh.” Forget butterflies. I think a hawk is trying to take off inside my stomach. Alex’s lips scream “soft and kissable.”
    “So, what do you say?”
    Does it count as a date if it’s during school hours? “I don’t think so.”
    “Why not?”
    I raise my eyebrows at him. “Altman, for one reason.” More important, I can’t just run off and play with you when my mom ismissing. I open my history book and prop it up on my desk. Then I pull out Misery and put it on my lap so I can read when class gets too dull.
    Alex puts a hand on one of mine. “Tell you what. We won’t leave until after lunch. I can pick you up from say, the Dairy Dream? I’m guessing that’s where you’ll be?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Great!”
    “I mean, yeah, that’s where I’ll be.”
    “It’s a beautiful day. A little exercise after lunch would be much nicer than being cooped up in here.”
    “You forget that I actually like algebra. It’s you who’s into puzzles.”
    He doesn’t look convinced.
    “Okay. So ‘like’ is a little strong,” I backtrack. “But I definitely tolerate it.”
    “Wouldn’t you rather have the wind in your hair than have Aaron drooling on it from the seat behind you?”
    “You noticed that?” I laugh.
    “That guy’s got a serious saliva problem.”
    “True enough, but the answer’s still no.”
    “How are you at acting?”
    For the past couple of days, that’s all I’ve been doing. So I’d say pretty damn good. “Okay, I guess.”
    “I have this idea. You pretend to faint and I’ll carry you down to the nurse’s office. Don’t worry, I’ll catch you so you won’t hit your head on the floor. Only instead of the nurse’s office, we’ll go—”
    Robertson comes over and stands between us. I pull out my notebook and pen. So does Alex. I’m surprised he actually has one.
    Alex clears his throat. “Just so you know, Mr. Robertson, sir, if you’re planning on asking that question about the causes of World War I again today, I’m your man.”
    “Glad to hear it. And just so you know, Mr. Maloy, I have a blank e-mail open on my computer already addressed to your coach.”
    Robertson starts his lecture. Alex inches closer to me until our desks are nearly touching. He appears to be paying attention and taking good notes. What he’s actually doing is writing me notes. He writes a sentence or two, then rests his pencil on his chin and slides the notebook toward me. He also volunteers to answer approximately every fifth question and gets most of them right, so I think that’s why Robertson doesn’t say anything about our desks. I don’t learn a thing about World War I that period,