Free Damage Done by Amanda Panitch

“I have a bird feeder in my backyard,” she said. “And the birds shed all the time, and I figured I might as well do something with the feathers, right? So I—”
    Señor Goldfarb clapped his hands at the front of the room.
“¡Silencio, por favor!”
he shouted, and then continued in Spanish. “Let’s go over the homework. We’ll start with number one. Ava?”
    The girl in front of me—Ava—began to speak, her feather earrings wobbling with every rolled
r
and nasal
n.
I settled back in my chair, relieved our conversation was over.
    Something hit me on the arm. I turned, scowling, to see Michael grinning at me. My eyes traced the movement of his to the floor, where there lay a crumpled ball of paper. Once Ava was done speaking and Señor Goldfarb’s attention had shifted to the other side of the room, I leaned over and scooped it up.
    Those earrings are hideous. You have terrible taste.
    I balled the note back up and threw it at him. It bounced off his chest. He let out a muffled squawk that he managed to turn into a cough. He unrolled the paper, smoothed the crinkles out, and scribbled something else before brushing it back onto the floor. I leaned over to pick it up before he sat back up, and our fingers brushed each other’s. Sparks danced up my arm and straight into my stomach, where they bloomed into something warm and soft. I glanced over at him; he had pressed his lips together hard, clearly trying not to laugh.
    He reminded me so very much of my brother. Not the side of him that other people saw—the one that killed eleven people and made me wish I were dead—but the side of him that listened to me cry when I had a nightmare and told me I was beautiful after one of the drummers made fun of my hair. The side of him I missed.
    I smoothed Michael’s note, which was already beginning to fray at the creases, out onto my desk.
And you immediately turn to violence. Nice job.
The bloom in my stomach turned to ice. I couldn’t breathe. I darted another glance over at him. He was still smiling. He wouldn’t be smiling if he knew what violence really was.
    I went back to the note.
You can’t deny your terrible taste. Because you were talking to Ava about her earrings when you could have been talking to the handsome guy next to you.
    I started breathing again. It was just a joke. It was just a
joke,
stupid Lucy. I scribbled quickly,
Who? Señor Goldfarb?
and sent it sailing back. I couldn’t hold back a snicker as his eyes widened and he clapped a hand to his chest, his head falling forward in mock pain.
    “Señor Silverman.” Goldfarb’s beady eyes fixed on Michael. Michael sat up, adjusting himself in his chair. “Is there a problem?”
    “I just thought I was having a heart attack,” Michael said seriously. Someone behind us tittered. “False alarm, though.”
    Goldfarb pursed his lips. “Have your heart attack after class,
por favor,
” he said. “Now answer
número tres
?”
    It wasn’t long before I felt the sting of the paper ball, and I glanced over to see Michael grinning at me again. Heaving a heavy sigh, I picked apart the note.
Dinner again tonight? My house. We never got to eat that ice cream. Or finish our talk.
    I caught his eye and shook my head. Quickly, so he wouldn’t see how hot my cheeks were getting.
Band practice,
I mouthed.
    He shrugged with one shoulder, smooth and easy, like a big cat’s loping stride.
I have swimming,
he mouthed back.
After practice.
    A few paper cuts later, we established that he’d be driving me and that he would not, under any circumstances, be making anything with fish or anything Asian.
But how could you not like sushi?
was his plaintive reply.
    I turned away and raised my hand. It was only after Señor Goldfarb called on me that I realized I had no idea what question he’d even asked.
    —
    I found myself in band practice before I really had a chance to think about what I’d gotten myself into. With Michael, obviously. I didn’t know whether I