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Nbook, this is so unlike my sister.

Our house was miles from Club Mazatlan. She never told us she’d walked. She never told us a thing.

“Isabel,” I say, “you should have said something.”

My sister’s eyes are moist. “I wish I could go back. If I could do it all over again, I would have made a scene, right in the café. I would have given them a piece of my mind. I dream about that night all the time. I replay it over and over. Now do you see why I’m bugging you? It’s bad enough to live through something like that — but it was even worse to see my little sister go through the same thing. I just don’t want you to suffer the way I did, Amalia.”

So that’s it, Nbook. That’s why she’s been so impossible. She thinks she’s protecting me.

“Isabel,” I say, “what happened to me was different.”

“In a way. But those girls won, Amalia. They just walked away without paying a price — the way those kids at the café won.”

“They didn’t win anything. Someday they will pay.”

“What good will that do us?”

“Isabel, it’s over. It happened. Okay, maybe you could have done something different. Maybe you’re not perfect. Why stay so angry? That’s exactly what they would have wanted. It’s like you’re letting them win.”

“Because they destroyed a piece of me, right in front of my friends. They took away my dignity, same as those girls did to you. It’s too late for me to do anything, but you can fight back — ”

“Your dignity is inside you, Isabel. You still have it, no matter what those jerks said.”

“I don’t really believe that,” Isabel snaps, getting up from the bed. “Do you?”

Do I, Nbook?

I say nothing to Isabel as she leaves.

Because I don’t know.

Sleep time

(Right.)

WHAT IS WRONG WITH THIS PICTURE?

I see it, Nbook.

It’s clear now.

Yeah, those girls were awful. They took a part of me, turned it inside out, and then left without looking back. And I let them go.

But what exactly did they take with them?

Not Amalia.

I’m still here. Still the same girl.

They took their hate. And it’s still inside them. It’s curdling and rotting away — always hungry, always needing to be fed.

OK, they got away with it this time. But that kind of hunger is never satisfied. It’ll act up again.

And someday they’ll pay for it.

I don’t need to hate them back.

I don’t need to feel bitter either. Or sorry for myself.

Those feelings curdle your insides too.

I know what you’re thinking, Nbook. Don’t be stupid. Don’t turn your back to trouble.

I am wiser now. My eyes are wide open. I will sense danger better. I promise.

But I can’t stop living. I can’t stop being me.

What I told Isabel was right, Nbook. I have my dignity.

N one can touch it.

I am not a balloon, dear sister.

My holes heal.

Thursday morning, 6/10

Before school

Homeroom

It’s over, Nbook. It really is. I feel it. Those horrible girls are gone. They’re not floating around in my brain anymore, laughing at me like evil spirits.

It was Isabel who got me through this, really. I mean, not the way she thought she would. Not by badgering me. By opening up — finally — and making me see the answer myself. I guess I helped her as much as she helped me.

That’s what sisters are for, huh, Nbook?

So this morning I feel like a human again. Sunny tells me we’re going to kidnap Dawn to the beach on the Friday after finals (exactly the way Sunny wanted it in the first place) — and I actually feel excited about this.

I have my life again. Which is great.

The life that I have, unfortunately, is a disaster.

Forget about Brendan. I can barely remember what his face looks like, but I know every contour of his back. I’ve seen much more of it than I’d like this week. His brain is probably halfway to Massachusetts already.

I want to talk to him, Nbook. But I don’t know what to say. Why is he so silent? I wish I knew how he felt about me.

I wish I knew how I felt about him.

Maggie? I’ll be lucky if I get the evil eye from her. I may have really blown it with her.

Time for Project Rescue Me.

OK, Amalia. It’s up to you, girl.

If you want ‘em, go get ‘em.

English

After hroom, I’m talking to Cece in the hallway, when Brendan comes up to me.

Cece gives me a look and shoots away. Brendan hands me three pages, neatly folded.

I unfold them and see they’re computed-printed in this tiny font. And they begin with “Dear Amalia.”

I say, “What’s this?” Like, I’m supposed to read the whole thing right there? It would take me until lunch.

He fidgets and shrugs. He says it’s an apology for leaving me outside the theater. For not being there when those girls came. For letting me get beaten up.

He’s mad at himself. Embarrassed too, for being so helpless that night. That’s why he hasn’t been talking to me.

I can’t believe what I’m hearing. All this time wasted, all this worrying — because of this?

Because he blames himself for something that has nothing to do with him? As if he could have made it all right. As if what those girls did — with their bigotry and stupidity — was somehow his responsibility.

All I can think is, what a waste. I mean, we have SO LITTLE TIME before he leaves for camp.

I should be furious at him. But you know what? I’m not. I know he means well. And I know he cares about me, in his own weird way. So I say, “Brendan, it’s not your fault.”

“But I was taking you out,” he replies. “I should have taken care of you. Now it’s too late. The damage is done.”

Damage?

“Brendan, you are not my guardian!” I blurt out. “Look, I know how bad you feel. But I was the one who refused to come into the theater. I chose to stay outside, remember? The usher asked me if I wanted to go in — ”

“I should have insisted — ”

“And I would have said no to you too. I didn’t have to say yes. I’m my own person.”

Brendan nods. “I — I guess I’m just … concerned about you. That’s all.”

His face is turning red. He’s so uncomfortable.

Not me. I’m not uncomfortable at all now.

Just curious.

“How concerned?” I ask.

He stops fidgeting. I see the deep green of his eyes for the first time in a long while.

“What do you mean?” he asks back.

“You’re going away. Are we supposed to miss each other?”

Brendan smiles. Something else I haven’t seen in awhile [sic]. “Well … yeah,” he says.

“So we’re — ?”

The bell rings. Brendan goes nowhere, and neither do I. We’re just looking at each other, all alone in the hallway, and I could stay there all day and all night. I’m thinking about plane flights to Massachusetts and composing letters to send beforehand, two a day. And those green eyes are taking me in, that beautiful green, they’re answering my question, making me smile. And even though he was kind of a jerk to me, I realize he really wasn’t. He was confused. So was I.

We’re even.

“I guess we are,” Brendan says.

“Yeah.”

He takes my hand.

We fly down the hallways together to first period.

I see Maggie in the library during study hall. She’s writing like crazy in her spiral notebook.

She doesn’t even see me sit at her table.

“Hi,” I say.

She practically jumps out of her seat. She smacks shut the notebook, glares at me, and grunts something that resembles a hello.

“Writing a song?” I ask.

She nods.

Then she picks up the book and calmly walks to another part of the library. A single chair with a desk attached.

I don’t push it.

I see her again later, after school. I follow her outside and ask if we can talk.

“Sure. In the car.”

She walks to the limo. (As usual, it’s parked around the corner — not in front of the school, where other kids might see it.) Reg is holding open the door.

But instead of getting in, Maggie reaches into the bar and pulls out two bottles of liquor. Reg and I are watching her with our jaws open as she walks to the corner.

She dumps them both in a trash can.

As she heads back, I see her eyes are moist.

Silently she gets into the limo, and I follow. Reg closes the door behind us and races around to the driver’s seat.

“What?” Maggie asks. She’s turned away from me.

I almost forget what I was going to say. I’m shocked at what she did, but kind of proud too. I see she’s taking a stand, she’s trying. I want to compliment her, comfort or encourage her — but I don’t. First things first.

“I’m sorry,” I tell her. “About what I said.”

She doesn’t move for a long time. Finally she just shrugs. “Why be sorry?” she says. “You were right. I was being harsh to my dad.”

I tell her it’s none of my business how she treats her dad. She says it’s none of her business whether or not I take that summer job.

I tell her the job doesn’t really matter. She says I shouldn’t stop living just because of her.