Free Slide by Jill Hathaway Page B

alternately poking his finger in the air and tugging at his beard. His voice is higher than normal, and he seems like he’s had about twenty cups of coffee because his sentences don’t really make sense. They’re just a jumble of words.
    What exactly happened in here on Friday?
    Why would Sophie be crying to Mr. Golden?
    He’s a good teacher, and I can see someone feeling like they could confide in him. Maybe Sophie came in here after she found out Amber sent that naked picture of her to everyone. Maybe she was having problems with Scotch and went to Mr. Golden seeking advice.
    Or maybe Samantha is right for once in her life.
    Or maybe Sophie and Mr. Golden were having an affair.
    He’s good-looking in an older, Johnny Depp sort of way. I could see how a girl could develop a crush on him. And what guy wouldn’t want some of what Sophie had? She was stunning.
    But she was a kid.
    My stomach turns over, thinking about the two of them together.
    “You okay?” A hand pulls on my sleeve, bringing me back from my twisted reverie. Zane is leaning close, and I catch a whiff of his cologne, something spicy.
    He’s got a notebook propped up on his lap so that it looks like he’s taking notes, but behind it he’s reading a book. I crane my head to see the title— Tender Is the Night . Zane catches me peeking and gives me a sheepish, lopsided grin.
    I smile back, and warmth rushes into my cheeks. It’s nice to feel something other than fear. It’s nice to think about how cute Zane is, with that shock of blond hair falling in his face, instead of speculating about who killed Sophie. Zane returns to his book, and I try to focus on what Mr. Golden is saying. I realize someone is staring at me from across the room. It’s Rollins, and he doesn’t look happy at all.
    After class, Rollins pushes out of the room without a word, but Zane lingers as I stuff my notebook into my backpack.
    “Good weekend?”
    “Um. Not exactly.”
    He gives me a sideways look. “Everything okay?”
    “Well, besides my sister’s best friend dying, I’m great,” I say, and then realize how bitter that sounds. “Sorry. Just having a rough week.”
    He reaches toward me, as if to put a hand on my arm, but then pulls it away, like he’s not sure if he should touch me. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
    Determined not to be a total downer, I try to make small talk. “So how was your weekend?”
    He shrugs. “Went to a concert.”
    “Oh, yeah? Who’d you see?”
    “The Belly-Button Lint.”
    “Never heard of ’em.”
    “Consider yourself lucky.” He makes a face and tucks his novel under his arm.
    “Good book?” I ask.
    Zane grins. “I’m a sucker for Fitzgerald.”
    “Yeah? I read The Great Gatsby last year. Not a huge fan.”
    We’re the last ones in the classroom, and I’m conscious of Mr. Golden straightening papers at his desk, trying to seem like he’s not listening.
    “Let me guess. You read it for English. You had to fill out study guides. At the end, you wrote a five-page paper and had to analyze the characters, the symbols, the theme.” Zane shakes his head in disgust.
    “Something like that,” I say, nodding. It was only a three-page paper, but still.
    “God, it pisses me off when teachers suck all the life out of literature. Do me a favor. Read Gatsby again, but read it outside, under a tree, at dusk. It’s a completely different experience. Only read a chapter if you want, but give it a shot. Will you do that for me?”
    The expression on his face is so serious. I’ve never met anyone as passionate about words before. Well, Rollins loves to write, but it’s almost as though he does it because he’s compelled to point out the hypocrisy all around us, not because he loves the language. The way Zane speaks about F. Scott Fitzgerald—well, it reminds me of how I feel about the stars. They are bigger than me, bigger than us all, and that’s what makes them beautiful.
    “I promise,” I say, and the look on Zane’s