“Okay,” I answer, unable to say more.
“See you tomorrow,” he says.
“Okay, bye, Luke.”
“Bye, London,” he says before hanging up, the sound of my name from his lips sending chills through me again.
I clutch the phone to my chest and exhale sharply, then sit up and snap on the small lamp at my bedside. I update tonight’s note, and, as I’m doing so, my own mom pops her head into my room.
“It’s late,” she says.
“I know, I’m finishing up,” I answer, without looking at her.
“Sleep tight,” Mom says.
“Thanks.”
“I love you, London,” she says.
I sigh deeply and say halfheartedly, “I love you, too.” My eyes are still on my paper.
I resume writing, and sometime before I finish chronicling my call with Luke and turn out the light, my mom silently disappears.
23
Across the aisle from me, Jamie’s floral shoulder bag is packed and ready. There are five minutes left in class, and she’s making no effort to appear like she’s still paying attention.
I wonder whether she’s trying to get detention again.
The thought makes me sick.
Jamie has successfully ignored me all period, a task made easier by the fact that today wasn’t a lab day. No partnering. No practice drills. No joint assignments.
No speaking to each other.
The bell rings, and Jamie stands so quickly, it makes me jump. She turns to face me and plunks something down on my desk.
“Here,” she says, then turns and exits the classroom.
In fifteen seconds, the room is empty. Even Ms. Garcia is in her attached office, prepping for next period.
Slowly, I unfold the small piece of ripped notebook paper. There is no note; no nothing. Just a phone number.
I know what it is, though.
Even mad at me, Jamie came through.
Now it’s up to me to decide whether or not I want to contact my father.
“Do you think I can be fixed?”
My mom looks at me sharply, surprised. We’ve been eating dinner, up until this point, in silence.
“Fixed?” she asks. “I wouldn’t say that you’re broken. You’re special.”
I roll my eyes at her G-rated look on life.