Free Before You by Amber Hart Page A

leaves the decision to the captain.
    Me.
    Everyone waits for my response. I look at Tracy. Her eyes dare me to object.
    â€œTracy’s idea is fine,” I say, backing down.
    I don’t offer any suggestions for the rest of practice. Guilt gnaws at me, hungry and relentless.
    I should’ve stood up for my teammates who raised their hands. I should’ve stood up for myself. But I didn’t.
    I’m not sure I even know how.
    Â 
    After practice, I sort through pile upon pile of books.
    The back half of the library is littered with spare books, crammed together like people in an overpopulated city. My school is preparing for the annual book fair, and I’m on the organizing committee. Whenever big things happen—homecoming, book fairs, science fairs, plays, etc.—the committee organizes everything. I love it. Well, actually, I guess it’s not so much the sorting through a million books that I enjoy, but the end result. I love knowing that I make a difference.
    â€œHey, sweets.” Melissa plops down beside me. She’s wearing a pink spaghetti-strap tank top with white shorts and flip-flops. A string of ginger jewels hangs from her neck, dressing up her outfit like tinsel on a tree.
    â€œHey.” I smile.
    Melissa is on the committee. So are three others. We don’t actually have a president but most people come to me for final decisions.
    â€œBad news,” Melissa says. “Sally has the pox.”
    â€œWhat?” I ask. “Small or chicken?”
    â€œChicken. It’s serious, too,” Melissa informs me. “She’s being quarantined for three weeks. So is her sister, since they live in the same house. Molly hasn’t caught it yet, but everyone thinks she will.”
    I groan. “Well, that stinks. For them and for us.”
    Sally and Molly, two members of our committee of five, will not be able to help us get ready for the book fair.
    Another empty gap.
    Another role to fill.
    â€œYou think we can get some of the dance team to step up?” I ask.
    â€œDoubtful,” Melissa says. “Remember what happened freshman year when we asked for their assistance? Total disaster. We’re better off without them.”
    Right, as usual.
    â€œGreat,” I mumble. “We’ll have to stay later now.”
    â€œThat just means more time with me,” Melissa says, flipping her hair over her shoulder. She’s forever finding the bright side of things, like flowers that bend and reach for sunlight no matter their environment. I smile.
    â€œYou’re right. Let’s do this, then.”
    Melissa begins sorting through books. We need to alphabetize and price them. Then set up tables and posters and flyers. We have four or five weeks’ worth of work. The fair is in twenty days.
    â€œHey—” Melissa nudges me with her elbow as I try to rip open another box.
    â€œYeah?” I ask.
    â€œWhat happened in the lunchroom?”
    Freeze.
    â€œCome on. You’ve heard,” I say.
    â€œOf course.” Melissa nods. “I want your version. You know how stories get twisted around here.”
    â€œWeren’t you there?” I ask.
    It’s hard to remember much about lunch today. My mind is distorted. I was handed parts of the story from different people, each contributing his or her piece of the puzzle. Trouble is, none of it makes a complete picture.
    â€œI was late,” Melissa answers. “My third-period teacher decided to give me a lecture about how important it is to be prompt. Which I find pretty ironic, considering that her lecture made me late for lunch.”
    Melissa reaches to the table beside us and grabs scissors. “Move,” she instructs.
    I scoot aside.
    She cuts open the box that I’ve been struggling with.
    â€œThanks,” I say.
    â€œSo,” Melissa continues. “What’s your version?”
    I sigh. “I honestly don’t know what happened. I was