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he stole. The laptop might be in his car or even in his house. Either way, I need those keys. I bend down and rifle through his pockets.
    His wallet feels warm in my hand and I open it, realizing that this particular wallet will never have anything else put into it again. Jay will never throw a few dollars in there or put a picture of his kid sister inside that little plastic flap.
    I take everything and shove it in my own pockets where it mingles with my stuff.
    Somehow that seems right.
    Suddenly Jay’s voice is in my head, like he’s standing next to me, commenting on everything as it happens.
    “That’s what I love about you, Richardson, you’re always thinking and planning.
    Like Merlin to my King Arthur.”
    I smile, half-wishing it were true. How long before people start to look for him?
    A day or two?
    I think he was in trouble , I picture myself telling a couple of grizzled detectives. I think maybe he took off for Mexico or something—he mentioned some bad people were after him.
    And this is completely true. Bad people were after him and he knew it. In fact, he welcomed it.
    The wind is blowing again and my ears feel frozen, like two blocks of ice on the sides of my head. I cross my arms and shiver in the chill air, staring down at him, desperately trying to make sense of it all.
    Whatever Jay was, this empty shell lying there on the hard, cold ground no longer has any power. I seem to remember that not very long ago he’d terrified me, made me want to be like him, but now that all seems so silly. Now he’s just this harmless, unmoving heap on the ground in front of me. He’s gone away. Gone away and never to return.
    But his eyes are what will haunt me.
    Those deflated, gray eyes are staring at me. Accusing me. This is all your fault, those eyes tell me.
    And what about Candice? Doesn‘t she also take some of the blame?
    But I won’t allow myself to be distracted by thoughts of Candice right now.
    I look back at Jay again, surprised to find my eyes filled with tears.
    It’s funny, but I still don’t hate him. He ruined my life in these last few months because he didn’t care enough about his own, but in the end, it wasn’t really personal.
    DUE (2)
    The day that Jay Stevens saves me from certain humiliation, I’m running late to computer lab. The halls are mostly empty as I jog through C Wing to make it to the stairs that lead up to the third floor of Middlebury high school.
    My forehead is sweaty and my backpack bounces against my shoulder as my legs pump, sneakers squeaking on the floor. Running through the hallway with sweat pouring down your face isn’t something a cool kid would do. Cool kids stroll around without a care in the world. If they’re late, they’re late. They laugh when the teacher lectures them and docks them points on attendance.
    Obviously I’m not one of the cool kids.
    And then there are the kids who don’t even bother showing up to class at all.
    Kids like Nate Diaz.
    I see Nate arguing with his girlfriend just outside my computer class. I come to a stop a few feet away from them, torn between trying to walk past them into the classroom or maybe just turning around and coming back in a few minutes when hopefully they’ll be gone.
    It might seem ridiculous to turn around in this situation. But self-preservation is never ridiculous. Nate Diaz is one of the school’s legendary bad-asses. He’s a known druggie who supposedly went to jail last year for breaking someone’s eye socket at a brawl during a school soccer game. It is a known fact that he generally will kick the crap out of anyone who looks at him the wrong way.
    “I told you not to talk to that asshole from Target,” Nate tells Amanda Leatherton as she rummages through her purse for something. Her curly brown hair has big poofy bangs and she wears a ton of makeup. She moved to Middlebury from South Boston and has the strongest townie accent I’ve ever heard.
    “You’re not my dad,” Amanda says.
    “If I