Chương 4
Leo put down his backpack. “Why did you post it?”
“Because it happened.”
“That’s not a reason.”
“It’s usually the reason people record things.”
“You recorded before you knew what was happening.”
“Everybody did.”
“Not everybody posted it.”
The two students moved away.
Nora tucked a strand of black hair behind her ear. “My uncle is in the Army. I thought it mattered.”
“It mattered before you posted it.”
Her face changed slightly. Not anger. Something more defensive.
“I took your name out of the first caption.”
“People knew my name.”
“The principal said it over the microphone.”
“After the video started.”
“I can delete it.”
“It’s on a million accounts.”
“One point four.”
Leo stared at her.
“That sounded bad,” she said. “I know it sounded bad.”
The homeroom teacher entered carrying coffee and a stack of papers. Conversation dropped, then rose again in whispers as she crossed the room.
Nora returned to her seat.
Before she sat, she said, “For what it’s worth, I didn’t make you look like anything. That’s just what you did.”
Leo pulled out his notebook.
Inside the front cover, his mother had written his flight confirmation number in case his phone died. Beneath it, in smaller handwriting, she had added, Call me even if it feels stupid.
He looked at the unknown number on his phone.
During lunch, he answered Marisol.
What do you want?
Her reply came immediately.
Ten minutes somewhere public. Your mother can come. I won’t ask you to lie.
Leo typed and erased three responses.
Then he wrote:
Why were you at my school?
This time she waited.
I heard about the tribute. I wanted to see whether he was all right.
Another pause.
And whether you were.
Leo locked the phone.
Across the cafeteria, Principal Warren stood with two district employees beside a banner that had not been there yesterday. MAPLE RIDGE BUILDS CHARACTER, it said in blue block letters.
A photographer from the district office adjusted a lens.
Caleb opened a carton of milk.
“If you become famous,” he said, “I want it documented that you once threw up on the bus after eating three cinnamon rolls.”
“I ate two.”
“You stole half of mine.”
“That still makes two and a half.”
“History will decide.”
Leo did not smile.
Caleb stopped talking.
That was how people who knew Leo understood when something was wrong. He did not become louder. He became so quiet that other people could hear the space he usually occupied.
“What?” Caleb asked.
Leo glanced toward the teachers.
“The airport worker contacted me.”
Caleb’s milk carton crumpled slightly in his hand.
“The one who left the SEAL?”
“She says she didn’t.”
“Didn’t what?”
“Leave him. Not the way everyone says.”
Caleb looked around as if an airline lawyer might be sitting at the next table.
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know.”
“Tell your mom.”
“She’ll say not to answer.”
“That is probably because answering strangers is how people end up in documentaries.”
“She came to school.”
“That makes it more documentary.”
Leo nudged the folded napkin beside his tray.
“She lost her job.”
Caleb’s expression settled.
His father had lost work twice in the past three years. The second time, Caleb stopped eating lunch from the cafeteria and began bringing peanut-butter sandwiches wrapped in reused foil.
“What does she want you to say?” he asked.
“I don’t know.”
“You could meet her.”
“My mom will hate that.”
“Your mom hates self-checkout machines because she thinks they’re judging her.”
“They do judge her.”
“She puts produce on the scale before selecting the item.”
Leo finally smiled.
It lasted only a moment.
Caleb lowered his voice. “Meet her with your mom. Public place. Don’t promise anything.”
The photographer asked Principal Warren to stand beneath the banner.
Warren smiled and adjusted his tie.
Leo watched him move two students out of the background because one of them had a stain on his shirt.
That afternoon, Luke Harris returned to Maple Ridge without the SEAL formation.
He wore plain khaki pants over his brace, a dark-blue jacket, and a baseball cap with no military insignia. One crutch rested beneath each arm. Without the uniform and medals, he looked less like the man from the video and more like someone who had not slept properly in months.
He waited in the counseling office while Principal Warren sent for Leo.
When Leo arrived, Luke was trying to drink coffee from a paper cup while balancing both crutches against a chair.
One crutch slid.
Leo caught it before it struck the floor.
Luke looked at him.
“That’s becoming a habit.”
Leo set the crutch against the wall. “You should get clips for them.”
“I have clips.”
“Then use them.”
Luke glanced toward the counselor’s empty desk. “Your principal said you were shy.”
“He says that when he means rude.”
Luke laughed once, then winced and touched his leg.
Leo sat across from him.
Through the counseling-office window, students crossed the courtyard in small groups. A groundskeeper used a leaf blower near the steps, sending the same leaves in circles.
Luke nodded toward Leo’s backpack.
“You carry that thing everywhere?”
“It has my stuff.”
“That is generally what backpacks do.”
Leo looked at him.
“Sorry,” Luke said. “I have a daughter. She looks at me like that too.”
“The eight-year-old?”
“Her name’s Emma.”
“Did you make it home in time?”
Luke’s fingers tightened around the coffee cup.
“She was waiting at baggage claim with my sister. She had made a sign. Most of the glitter came off on her coat.”
“That’s why you came to school?”
“That’s part of it.”
“What’s the other part?”
Luke set the cup down.
“My team wanted to thank you. I wanted to thank you. The airline asked whether they could help arrange it.”
Leo looked toward the window. “The airline arranged it?”
“They contacted the district after they identified you.”
May you like
“How?”
“You gave your name to the gate agent when she rebooked you.”
