she said. “Then I would like to hang out sometime.”
A wave of amazement washed over him. Now what was he supposed to say?
“Are you always this shy?” she asked. Without waiting for an answer, she pulled a ballpoint from her jeans and reached for his hand to write her number on.
“Um, no, don’t!” He moved his hand away, afraid she’d see his cuts.
“What’s the matter? You ticklish?” She glanced toward his wrist and her face changed as if she’d noticed something.
“Here, write on this,” he said, handing her a notebook from his backpack.
She gazed at him as if she wanted to ask a question. He tugged his jacket sleeves down, his arteries pulsing with panic and excitement.
To his relief, she didn’t ask. Instead, she wrote down her phone number with a smiley drawn next to it. “Call me, okay?” She grinned slightly but her voice sounded serious.
“Um, sure. Thanks.”
Had she spotted his cuts? Would she ask about them if he did call? How could they hang out without her discovering his scars and asking questions about him? How could anything possibly ever work out with her?
While she joined some friends, he headed toward his locker, thinking about what Vidas had told him: He was already in jail. A jail he was making for himself.
CHAPTER 8
“W HAT’S THAT FOR ?” Vidas asked while he led Diego down the hall to their appointment.
In Diego’s hand was a can of household oil that he’d rummaged out of the garage.
“For your chair,” Diego explained. “So you won’t have to hear it squeak.”
Vidas smiled, bobbing his head as though impressed. “Great!”
Inside the cluttered office, they flipped the chair upside down and squeezed some oil into the swivel. After setting the chair right side up, Vidas sat down and rocked back and forth. No squeak.
“Thanks.” He extended the candy jar from his desk out to Diego. This time, Diego took a candy.
“So”—Vidas set the jar back on his desk—“how’re you feeling?”
“Fine,” Diego said, eager to talk about Ariel.
“Fine is not a feeling,” Vidas said and pointed to the smiley-face poster. “Pick one.”
Diego smirked and almost picked Annoyed . But instead he chose the closest thing he could find to “fine.”
“Glad, I guess.”
“About anything in particular?” Vidas asked.
“Well…” He was eager to tell him about Ariel, but first: “Glad that you decided to put me on probation.”
“Okay.” Vidas gave an understanding nod. “To start us out, I’ve drawn up a treatment contract.”
“A what?” Diego sat up in his seat. Nobody had ever mentioned a contract. “I thought we were just going to talk like before.”
“First we need to set some rules.” Vidas handed him a printed sheet. “I’d like you to read your copy aloud and we’ll discuss it as we go along.”
Diego shuffled his feet, uneasy. Although he’d figured there’d be rules, he’d never imagined they’d be in a written contract.
“‘To comply with probation,’” he began reading, “‘I agree to abide by the terms below. Number one: Absent a valid excuse such as illness, I will report to probation appointments on time.’”
“I want to meet with you once a week,” Vidas explained. “I’ll also phone your mom and drop by school to ask your teachers how you’re doing. Any questions about that?”
“Nope.” Diego relaxed a tiny bit. He could manage that.
The second item stated that he had to attend school without unexcused absences. That was no problem; he never skipped classes. Quickly, he moved on to number three.
“‘I agree to obey all reasonable and lawful commands of my parents and school officials. My curfew time to be home at night is nine p.m. Sunday through Thursday and ten p.m. Friday and Saturday.’” He glanced up at Vidas, frowning. “Are you serious? Nobody I know has to be home that early. No one.”
“Then I guess,” Vidas replied, “the people you know aren’t on probation.”
That
A wave of amazement washed over him. Now what was he supposed to say?
“Are you always this shy?” she asked. Without waiting for an answer, she pulled a ballpoint from her jeans and reached for his hand to write her number on.
“Um, no, don’t!” He moved his hand away, afraid she’d see his cuts.
“What’s the matter? You ticklish?” She glanced toward his wrist and her face changed as if she’d noticed something.
“Here, write on this,” he said, handing her a notebook from his backpack.
She gazed at him as if she wanted to ask a question. He tugged his jacket sleeves down, his arteries pulsing with panic and excitement.
To his relief, she didn’t ask. Instead, she wrote down her phone number with a smiley drawn next to it. “Call me, okay?” She grinned slightly but her voice sounded serious.
“Um, sure. Thanks.”
Had she spotted his cuts? Would she ask about them if he did call? How could they hang out without her discovering his scars and asking questions about him? How could anything possibly ever work out with her?
While she joined some friends, he headed toward his locker, thinking about what Vidas had told him: He was already in jail. A jail he was making for himself.
CHAPTER 8
“W HAT’S THAT FOR ?” Vidas asked while he led Diego down the hall to their appointment.
In Diego’s hand was a can of household oil that he’d rummaged out of the garage.
“For your chair,” Diego explained. “So you won’t have to hear it squeak.”
Vidas smiled, bobbing his head as though impressed. “Great!”
Inside the cluttered office, they flipped the chair upside down and squeezed some oil into the swivel. After setting the chair right side up, Vidas sat down and rocked back and forth. No squeak.
“Thanks.” He extended the candy jar from his desk out to Diego. This time, Diego took a candy.
“So”—Vidas set the jar back on his desk—“how’re you feeling?”
“Fine,” Diego said, eager to talk about Ariel.
“Fine is not a feeling,” Vidas said and pointed to the smiley-face poster. “Pick one.”
Diego smirked and almost picked Annoyed . But instead he chose the closest thing he could find to “fine.”
“Glad, I guess.”
“About anything in particular?” Vidas asked.
“Well…” He was eager to tell him about Ariel, but first: “Glad that you decided to put me on probation.”
“Okay.” Vidas gave an understanding nod. “To start us out, I’ve drawn up a treatment contract.”
“A what?” Diego sat up in his seat. Nobody had ever mentioned a contract. “I thought we were just going to talk like before.”
“First we need to set some rules.” Vidas handed him a printed sheet. “I’d like you to read your copy aloud and we’ll discuss it as we go along.”
Diego shuffled his feet, uneasy. Although he’d figured there’d be rules, he’d never imagined they’d be in a written contract.
“‘To comply with probation,’” he began reading, “‘I agree to abide by the terms below. Number one: Absent a valid excuse such as illness, I will report to probation appointments on time.’”
“I want to meet with you once a week,” Vidas explained. “I’ll also phone your mom and drop by school to ask your teachers how you’re doing. Any questions about that?”
“Nope.” Diego relaxed a tiny bit. He could manage that.
The second item stated that he had to attend school without unexcused absences. That was no problem; he never skipped classes. Quickly, he moved on to number three.
“‘I agree to obey all reasonable and lawful commands of my parents and school officials. My curfew time to be home at night is nine p.m. Sunday through Thursday and ten p.m. Friday and Saturday.’” He glanced up at Vidas, frowning. “Are you serious? Nobody I know has to be home that early. No one.”
“Then I guess,” Vidas replied, “the people you know aren’t on probation.”
That
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