Dear Edward by Ann Napolitano

Author:Ann Napolitano
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2020-01-05T16:00:00+00:00

* * *

—

When he enters Shay’s room that night, he stares down at his feet. He can still hear basketballs pounding the floorboards in his head when he says, “I’m sorry I was a jerk.” He registers that he sounds angry, even though he’s not; he’s just trying to speak loudly enough to be heard over the rattle of balls.

“What do you have against Margaret?”

He tries to think of a way to explain what it felt like on the basketball court, how his nerves were being lit on fire, one wick at a time. After gym class, he’d apologized to Margaret. She hadn’t said anything in response, just glowered at him and walked away.

“At least you know there won’t be any consequences for shoving her,” Shay says. “Because you’re you.”

“They wouldn’t do anything to a kid for shoving someone one time.”

“They most certainly would. I got suspended for punching a boy.”

Edward stares. “You were suspended? When?”

“Right before you got here. The kid’s family moved away, so he’s not at the school anymore.” Shay closes the book she’s holding. “He hummed under his breath during every class, which was profoundly irritating. I couldn’t take it.”

“So you punched him?”

“Well, I was bored before you got here, and I hate being bored. I had to entertain myself. I’ve almost run away every year since I was six. I always had a different plan, with different timing. I realized at some point that I was never going to actually run away, because it would kill my mother. But I still needed to make the plan, to distract myself.”

Edward has a memory of standing on the front stoop with Besa during one of his first weeks here. “Your mom told me that you used to hit girls sometimes, when you were little. She was thanking me for being your friend, and I assumed she was exaggerating to make me feel less bad about showing up here.”

“She wasn’t exaggerating.”

“What were you trying to distract yourself from?”

Shay makes an exasperated noise, then says, “I don’t know. My mother buying me dolls every Christmas, hoping I would play with them. Eating dinner at five-fifteen every single day. Do you know our chicken schedule? Because we have a chicken schedule. We eat fried chicken on Mondays, roasted chicken on Wednesdays, and barbecued chicken breasts on Fridays. It never varies.”

Edward feels like he’s walked into a different bedroom from the one he sleeps in every night. He remembers following Shay down the school hallway on the first day of seventh grade, watching her elbow a boy out of his way. He remembers her scowling at the people who used to watch him as if he were a parade. He can see this new version of Shay in the old one.

She shakes her hands out, the way athletes do between competitions. “Look,” she says. “I don’t want to shut up anymore. I don’t think you want me to.”

“No,” he says, even though he feels nervous. The air in the room is strange, like the still precursor to a hurricane.

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