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it’s going to be that quick.”
    â€œI know,” Gabby said, her voice sludgy and strange. “Listen, I’ll see you tomorrow, Deenie.”
    â€œOkay,” Deenie said. She wanted to say something more, but she couldn’t guess what it would be. Then she remembered something. “Gabby, what was the rumor?”
    There was a pause and for a second she thought Gabby had fallen asleep.
    â€œWhat?” she finally said.
    â€œThis morning, before everything, you said you heard something about me.”
    â€œI did?” she said, voice faraway. “I don’t remember that at all.”

7
    Wednesday
    When he woke up, Eli thought for a second that he was on the ice. Felt his feet in his skates, legs pushing down, grinding the blades hard. His chest cold and full. This happened sometimes.
    It was still dark when he left the house for practice. It always was, and he never minded.
    He rode his bike through the town, swooping under the traffic lights, counting the number of times the red signals would blink and no one would be there to stop.
    It took him a long time to remember everything that happened the day before.
    Morning practice felt like part of the dream and he woke up after, in the locker-room shower, his legs loosening and the heat gusting around him, his body finally stopping and his mind slowly rousing. Remembering all the things he’d forgotten.
    *  *  *
    â€œPrincipal Crowder’s having a very bad time,” Mrs. Harris whispered to Tom as he strolled through the administration office. “He can’t get any information on Lise Daniels, and parents keep calling.”
    â€œWell,” he said, reaching for his mail, “I’m sure Crowder’s state of mind isn’t a big concern for Lise’s mom.”
    â€œOf course not,” Mrs. Harris said. “But it would help us to know. To calm everyone down. When something happens in front of students…”
    Tom nodded. He was looking at an interoffice memo: Spring Will Spring (Soon!): A Morning Concert. All Faculty Expected to Attend.
    â€œSo this is still happening today?” he asked. A picture came to him of Lise, rosebud lips perched on her silver flute, at the last recital, at every recital since fifth grade. She used to practice on a plastic water bottle. You pretend like you’re spitting a watermelon seed , he once heard her tell Deenie, and they both giggled. All the talk of tonguing and fingering and the two girls laughing without even knowing why. These days, they didn’t laugh about any of that—a thought that made Tom nervous to ponder.
    â€œOf course,” Mrs. Harris said. Everything with her was Of course and Of course not . “They’ve been practicing for weeks.”
    Tom looked at the concert flyer, the graphic of the drunken music note swimming through flower petals.
    Driving Deenie to school that morning, he’d felt the exhaustion on her, and a watchfulness. The waiting—which felt like it could end in a second or never, like waiting for all things out of your hands—seemed so weighty on her, her body so tiny next to him, her shoulders sunken.
    Maybe a distraction was what she needed, what everyone needed.
    *  *  *
    â€œSo you still have to play?” Deenie asked. “Without Lise?”
    They were in the frigid girls’ room, the high window always propped open. It was as if the school thought girls gave off so much heat and pungency that constant ventilation was required.
    â€œI guess,” Gabby said from behind a stall. She was changing from her jeans into her long performance skirt. “I think they want to do it.”
    â€œThey should do it,” Kim Court said, appearing from a corner stall. Kim again, like a bad penny. “For Lise. To send good thoughts to her.”
    Combing her fingers through her hair, Deenie didn’t say anything.
    â€œDeenie,” Gabby said, her voice echoey