Roswell shoved his hands in his pockets, looking down at me. “Okay. Not what I was expecting.”
He didn’t follow me.
I stood on the far side of the parking lot and leaned against one of the biggest white oaks, letting the rain filter down between the leaves and land on my face. The bell rang and I stayed where I was, numb and breathing too fast because I wasn’t always the best student when it came to doing the reading, but I knew the book enough to know that maybe Hester goes around with a big red A pinned on her dress, but Dimmesdale’s the one with it burned into his skin. He’s the one who dies.
Behind me, there was the rough idle of a car and then a voice said, “Hey, Mackie.”
Tate had pulled up next to the curb in this absolute monstrosity of a Buick and was leaning across the front seat. Apparently, she’d decided she was done with school for the day. Or, more likely, done being a public spectacle. She put her hand on the edge of the passenger window. “The rain isn’t going to stop. Do you want a ride somewhere?”
The car sat idling against the curb, its wipers flicking back and forth. Long primer-gray body, poisonous fenders. It made me think of a wicked metal shark. “That’s okay. Thanks, though.”
“Are you sure? It’s not a problem.”
I shook my head, watching the rain drip in a wavering curtain off the front bumper so I wouldn’t have to look at her.
Her face was softer and younger looking than normal. I stood under the dripping oak and debated complimenting the way she’d faced down Mrs. Brummel, just to have something to say—tell her I was impressed by the way she could be sad and stared at and still tell everyone to go straight to hell.
After a minute, she killed the engine and got out of the car. “Listen. I need to talk to you.”
When she came across the grass to me, she had this look on her face, like out in the parking lot, in the open, she wasn’t so sure of herself after all. Like maybe I scared her. Her mouth had a bruised look. Her eyes were blue underneath, like you get from not sleeping.
When she came up next to me, she turned so we were standing side by side, staring out at the parking lot. The point of her elbow was inches from my sleeve.
“Do you have a minute?”
I didn’t answer.
“Jesus, why don’t you ever say anything?” She turned and stared up at me with her teeth working on her bottom lip. It looked raw, like she’d been chewing it a lot. Even reeking like iron from the Buick, she still smelled crisp and kind of sweet. It made me think of flowering trees or something you want to put in your mouth. The kind of smell you shouldn’t notice about girls who are covered in tragedy and Detroit steel.
