His arm was thrown over the shoulder of one of his teammates. As if reading my mind, Jeremy reached over my shoulder to point them out. "That's Vince's dad. And the one to Mr. DiMorello's left is my dad. The short one is Eric Miller's dad. And the one on the end is Emily Reinnert's dad, I think. I'm not sure who this one is," he said, pointing to the man my father had his arm around. The man's face was partially torn away.

"It was stuck to the back of another photo. I had to pull them apart, and tore a piece. I'm sorry." He shrugged.

"Are you kidding? This is amazing, Jeremy." I threw both arms around his shoulders before I realized what I'd done.

Jeremy's shock hit my skin first. Then his pain. It was physical. He sucked in a breath and winced. His arms remained rigid at his sides.

I shut my eyes, wanting to cry for him.

"He caught you returning the poker money, didn't he?" I whispered without letting go.

Jeremy slowly lifted his arms and wrapped them around me, his emotions distilling into something tender and confused. "It's okay. The look on your face when you saw that picture made it all worth it."

A throat cleared behind me. Jeremy and I pulled apart and Anh set her bag down on the table, covering our maps. "Am I interrupting something?" she asked. Jeremy glanced guiltily at the folder Anh carried under her arm. She set it on the table. It was a summer internship application. To Syracuse.

We all took turns staring at one another through an uncomfortably long silence.

"You're not interrupting anything," I told her. "I was just leaving."

13.

Later that afternoon, Posie Washington looked at her watch and shrugged. A damp breeze turned the leaves upside down, revealing their bright undersides and blowing debris over the sidewalk. I tried not to stare at the remnants of yellow tape that tumbled along with them. Four days had passed since Marcia's murder. That's what the police were calling it. The police tape had been cut from the gym doors, and it was no longer cordoned off as a crime scene, but the details of the ongoing investigation were quiet.

We both stared at the storm clouds, neither of us mentioning the subject that hung over West River like a pall. "Twenty after four," she said apologetically, rubbing her coffee-milk arms.

"No worries, my next student is late anyway."

An older model minivan turned into the school parking lot and pulled to the curb. Posie's little brothers and sisters were wreaking havoc in the backseats and her Mom's tired face smiled through the window.

Posie was the oldest of five children, and would be the first to go to college. And at the rate she was going, she'd be the youngest student at West River ever to graduate. She'd skipped ahead two years, and was a gawky and slight fourteen-year-old junior. She didn't really need the tutoring, but Posie had spent every Tuesday afternoon with me since the beginning of the year. It couldn't have been easy for her to make friends, and as she sailed through her lessons each week, I suspected she needed the companionship more than the mentoring.

Posie's little brother made blowfish lips against the glass and I smiled, resisting the urge to make a funny face back. Must be nice, coming home to a house full of giggles.

Posie climbed into the passenger seat, reaching over to wrap her arms around her mother's neck. She waved with a sad smile, and watched me disappear in her rear-view mirror, as if maybe it was really me who needed the companionship after all.

The minivan rolled out of the lot, and thunder rumbled in the distance.

Obviously Reece wasn't going to show up, and despite needing the tutoring hours, I was relieved. I secured my backpack tighter over my shoulders, zipped my hoodie against the humid gusts, and began the long (and soon to be wet) walk home.

A motorcycle growled to life in the parking lot. It rounded the corner, grumbling louder, and my stomach knotted as it neared the curb. Reece hadn't been a no-show. He'd just been late.

He wasn't wearing a helmet and his eyes were obscured behind aviator sunglasses even though the sun wasn't out. I waited for him to shut off the engine.

He didn't.

Instead he revved the throttle, just enough to make a point, and idled at the curb.

I turned on my heel and headed for the doors. If he wanted to study, he could park his death machine and come inside. I pulled the handle but it didn't budge, already locked from the inside.

I turned back with a look that could kill and a fat raindrop plunked down on my cheek.

Reece shook with laughter I couldn't hear, and he dangled a helmet from his fingers, crooking one in a "come here" gesture that made my knees slightly numb.

Thunder crackled a few miles away, the sky a deepening purple.

"I'm not getting on that thing with you."

He glanced up at the sky, shrugged a shoulder, and kicked the bike into gear.

"Suit yourself," he said, fingers loosening on the clutch. A fork flashed low across the sky and the wind kicked dirt devils across the pavement. In a few minutes, I'd be a wet human lightning rod tromping down Route 1.

"Oh for god's sake." I snatched the helmet, wrestled it onto my head, and fumbled with the chin clasp, muttering profanities as fat drops splattered the pavement.

Reece reached out, grabbed me by the front of my shirt, and dragged me closer. The heat of the pipes bloomed against my ankles, creeping up to settle in my cheeks. He fastened the clip with practiced hands, and his finger accidentally brushed my chin.

"Have you ever been on a bike before?" He spoke loudly over the engine.

I shook my head.

"It's easy. Just relax. Hold on to my waist. Lean when I lean." Reece waited for me to ease onto the seat behind him. My fingers fumbled for a handhold, but there were no handles. He reached back and grabbed my arm through my sleeve, drawing my hand toward his waist where the hem of his T-shirt met his jeans. My wrist grazed the warm skin of his stomach, and I think I forgot how to breathe. His emotions were suffocating and heavy, regrets mingled with guilt so deep, I was sure I'd never get the taste off my tongue. "Try not to fall off."

He revved the engine and I held tight with both hands as the bike lurched forward.

I squealed, grasping for finger holds and finding them in the belt loops of his jeans. As we neared the first turn out of the parking lot, I dropped my face between his shoulders and squeezed my eyes shut. Icy drops pelted the back of my neck. We zoomed down streets, the bike leaning into the curves, wind whipping over me. The faster we went, the more Reece's bitterness faded. I pressed into his back until all I could smell was the leather tang of his jacket, and all I could taste was the sweet thrill of flying away.