That didn't describe any of my friends at all.

14.

"So tell me something about Valerie," Dr. Hieler said at our next visit. He settled back in his chair, slinging one leg over the arm of it.

I shrugged. As much as I hated having Mom around me all the time now, casting worried looks at me, I wished she had stayed in the office for our session.

"You mean like, why did I talk about suicide and people I hated all the time and stuff?"

He shook his head. "No, I mean tell me about you. What do you like? What can you do? What's important to you?"

I sat stone-still. It had been so long since there were things about me that were important other than the shooting. I wasn't even sure what about me other than that would be important anymore.

"Okay, I'll get us started," he said, smiling. "I hate microwave popcorn. I was almost a lawyer. And I can do a killer back handspring. How about you? Tell me about yourself, Valerie. What kind of music do you like? What's your favorite flavor of ice cream?"

"Vanilla," I said. I chewed my lip. "Um. I like that hot air balloon." I pointed to the ceiling where an antique-looking wooden hot air balloon hung. "It's really colorful."

His eyes followed mine. "Yeah, I like it, too. Partly because it's cool looking, but also partly because of the irony. It weighs a ton. In this office, anything can fly. No matter what is weighing it down. Even wooden balloons. Cool, huh?"

"Wow," I said, studying the balloon. "I never would've thought of that."

He grinned. "Me neither. My wife thought of it. I just like to take credit for it."

I smiled. There was something about Dr. Hieler that felt so safe. I wanted to tell him things. "My parents hate each other," I blurted out. "Does that count?"

"Only if you think it does," he said. "What else?"

"I have a little brother who's pretty cool. He's really nice to me most of the time. We don't fight like some brothers and sisters. I'm sort of worried about him."

"Why are you worried about him?"

"Because he has me for a sister. Because he has to go to school at Garvin next year. Because he liked Nick. Um. New subject."

"Vanilla ice cream, unhappy parents, cool brother. Check. What else?"

"I like to draw. I mean, you know, I like art."

"Ah!" he exclaimed, leaning back in his chair. "Now we're getting somewhere. What do you like to draw?"

"I don't know," I said. "I haven't drawn anything in a really long time. Not since I was a kid. It was stupid. I don't know why I even said it."

"That's okay. So we've got vanilla ice cream, unhappy parents, cool brother, may or may not like to draw. What else?"

I racked my brain. This was a lot harder than I thought it would be. "I can't do a back handspring," I said.

He smiled. "That's okay. I lied. I can't do one, either. But I think it would be cool to learn, don't you?"

I laughed. "Yeah, I guess. But most days I can't really even walk very well." I gestured toward my leg.

He nodded. "Don't worry. In no time you'll be running again. Maybe even doing back handsprings. You never know."

"I got cleared," I said. "Of the shooting, I mean."

"I know," he answered. "Congratulations."

"Can I ask you a question?" I asked.

"Of course."

"When you talk to Mom... during her sessions... does she blame everything on me?"

"No," he said.

"I mean, does she tell you about how much she hated Nick and how many times she tried to get me to break up with him? Does she tell you that I got what I deserved with my leg?"

Dr. Hieler shook his head. "She's never said any of those things. She's expressed concern. She's very sad. She blames herself. She thinks she should have paid better attention to you."

"She probably wants you to feel sorry for her and hate me, just like everyone else."

"She doesn't hate you, Valerie."

"I guess. Stacey hates me, though," I said.

"Stacey? A friend?" he asked, almost nonchalantly, although I had a feeling that with Dr. Hieler, pretty much no question was nonchalant.

"Yeah. We've been friends since we were kids. She came over last night."

"Great!" Dr. Hieler eyeballed me and ran a forefinger over his bottom lip contemplatively. "You don't look happy about it."

I shrugged. "Well, yeah. It was nice that she came by. It's just that... I don't know."

He let the sentence sit between us.

I shrugged again. "I had my brother tell her I was asleep so she would leave."

He nodded. "How come?"

"I don't know. It's just..." I fidgeted. "It's just that she never even bothered to ask if I was a part of the shooting. She's supposed to be on my side, you know? But she's not. Not really. And she thinks I should apologize. Not to her. To everybody. Like, publicly or something. Like I should go to each family and ask for forgiveness for what happened."

"And what do you think of that?"

This time it was my turn to be silent. I didn't know what to think of it, other than the idea of facing all those people-the grieving ones who were screaming for justice every time I turned on the TV or opened a newspaper or saw the cover of a magazine-still made me feel sick to my stomach.

"I had Frankie send her away, didn't I?" I said softly.

"Yeah, but you didn't want her to go," he said. Our eyes locked, and then he suddenly stood up and arched his back, holding his hands over his head. "I hear it's all in the legs," he said, sort of squatting like he was going to jump up in the air.

"What's all in the legs?"

"A good back handspring."

15.

Frankie and I were sitting at the kitchen table, just like always, him eating his cereal, me eating a banana, when I noticed the newspaper folded up on the table at his elbow. Only when I saw it did it occur to me that it was the first time I'd seen a newspaper since I came home.

"Let me see that," I said, pointing.

Frankie glanced at the paper, blanched, and shook his head. "Mom says you're not supposed to read the newspaper."

"What?"

He swallowed his cereal. "Mom says we're supposed to keep you from seeing the newspaper and, you know, TV and stuff. And we're supposed to hang up if a reporter calls. But they don't call now as much as they did when you were in the hospital."

"Mom doesn't want me to see a newspaper?"

"She thinks it'll make you sad again if you see stuff."

"That's ridiculous."

"She must've forgotten and left this one out. I'll throw it away."

He grabbed the paper and started to get up. I lurched to standing and grabbed for it. "No you don't," I said. "Give me that paper, Frankie. I'm serious. Mom doesn't know what she's talking about. I was watching TV in the hospital when Mom wasn't around. I saw it all. Not to mention, I was there at the shooting, remember?"

He started to head for the trash again, but hesitated. I held his gaze.

"I'm fine, Frankie, really," I said softly. "I won't get sad, I promise."

Slowly he held it out to me. "Okay, but if Mom asks..."

"Yeah, yeah, I'll tell her you were a Boy Scout. Whatever."

He picked up his cereal bowl and took it to the sink. I sank back down at the table and read the front page article: SCHOOL OFFICIALS SEE SOLIDARITY.

IN AFTERMATH OF TRAGIC SHOOTINGANGELA D DASHThe students of Garvin High, who returned to cla.s.ses last week, report a significant change in the way they see life and relate to one another, according to Princ.i.p.al Jack Angerson."If anything that came out of this tragedy could be considered remotely good," he said, "it's that the students seem to have come to an understanding of one another and of the old saying 'Live and let live.'"According to Angerson, it's not unusual to see former enemies sit together at lunch, see old feuds end as students pair up on a more conscious level."Things are very much more peaceful," he says. "We don't have nearly the number of complaints coming through the counselor's office about petty things that we used to."Behavior difficulties in the cla.s.sroom are a thing of the past, as well, according to Angerson, who predicts that the school can expect to see a decline in the number of behavior problems in the years to come."I think students are beginning to understand that we're all friends here. That the criticism, harsh opinions, and quick dislike that are so common in children of this age just aren't worth it in the end. Unfortunately they had to find that out the hard way. But they learned and they changed. Which is why I think this generation will make the world a better place."The students were allowed back into the building to complete the school year, although Angerson admits that curriculum has taken a back seat to what he's calling "damage control." The district has hired a team of trained counselors to work with the students on coming to terms with what happened on May 2nd.Angerson also reports that students were not required to come back. No final exams will be administered, and teachers are working closely with the students on an individual basis to ensure every student has the opportunity to earn the grades they need."We have some teachers who are heading up study groups in their houses at night. Some at the library. Others are doing it online. But a lot of kids came back," Angerson says. "Some of them feel really strongly about their school spirit and wanted to show support for Garvin High. They wanted to show that they won't be scared away. Honestly, the main reason we resumed cla.s.ses was as an answer to students' outcry."Angerson reports that he is proud of Garvin High students for maintaining their loyalty to their school and feels that, in the years to come, the students of Garvin High will emerge as strong leaders in society. "I'm so proud of them for being the first wave of what I believe will be the agents of change in this world someday," Angerson adds. "If there's ever to be world peace, it will come through these guys."

I smuggled the article into Dr. Hieler's office later that day. No sooner had he shut the door than I dropped it on the coffee table between us.

"Does it make him a hero, Dr. Hieler?" I asked.

Dr. Hieler scanned the paper with his eyes as he eased into his chair. "Who?"

"Nick. If the people who survived are stronger and all about peace like the news says, does that make him a hero? Is he like the millennium's version of John Lennon? Peace-spreader with a gun?"

"I understand that it would be easier for you to think of him as a hero. But, Valerie, he did kill a lot of kids. Probably not a lot of people are going to think of him as a hero."

"But it seems so unfair that the school is just moving on and that finally they're accepting everyone and n.o.body's mean anymore and Nick is gone. I mean, I know it's his own fault that he's gone, but still. Why couldn't they have just seen it before? Why did it take this? It's just not fair."

"Life isn't fair. A fair's a place where you eat corn dogs and ride the Ferris wheel."

"I hate it when you say that."

"So do my kids."

I sulked, staring down at the article until the words blurred together. "You're probably thinking I'm an idiot for being kind of proud of him."

"No, but I don't think you're really proud. I think you're p.i.s.sed. I think you wish this change of att.i.tude at Garvin had happened sooner and then maybe none of this would've happened. And I also think you don't really believe that it's true."

And for the first time-but certainly not the last-I purged everything to Dr. Hieler. Everything. From talking about Hamlet Hamlet on Nick's unmade bed to wishing Christy Bruter would pay big-time for what she did to my MP3 player to the guilt I was feeling. Everything I couldn't say to the cop in my hospital bed. That I couldn't say to Stacey. To Mom. on Nick's unmade bed to wishing Christy Bruter would pay big-time for what she did to my MP3 player to the guilt I was feeling. Everything I couldn't say to the cop in my hospital bed. That I couldn't say to Stacey. To Mom.

Maybe it was the way Dr. Hieler looked at me, like he was the one person in the world who could understand how everything got so out of control. Maybe it was just that I was ready. Maybe it was the newspaper article. Maybe it was my body's way of exploding-letting off the pressure before I destroyed myself.

I was a volcano of questions and remorse and anger and Dr. Hieler stood strong under the hail of all of it. He watched me intently, spoke softly, evenly. Nodded somberly.

"Do you think I would've done it?" I cried at one point. "If I had a gun, would I have shot Christy? Because when Nick said, 'Let's go get this finished,' and I thought he was going to, I don't know, embarra.s.s her or maybe beat the c.r.a.p out of her or something, I felt so good. So, like, relieved. I wanted him to take care of her."

"That's natural, don't you think? Just because you were happy that Nick was going to stick up for you doesn't mean you would've picked up a gun and shot her."

"I was p.i.s.sed. G.o.d, I was really, really p.i.s.sed. She broke my MP3 player and I was so p.i.s.sed."

"Again, natural. I would've been p.i.s.sed, too. p.i.s.sed doesn't equal guilty."

"It felt good to have him on my side, you know?"

He nodded.

"I thought he was going to break up with me, so having him stick up for me was really good. It rea.s.sured me. I thought we were going to be okay. I wasn't even thinking about the Hate List."

Again, he nodded, his eyes narrowing as I became more agitated.

His words floated softly in the air, wrapping around me. "Valerie, you didn't get her shot. Nick shot her. Not you."

I leaned back into the couch cushions and took a drink of my c.o.ke. There was a perfunctory knock on the door and Dr. Hieler's secretary poked her head inside.

"Your three o'clock is here," she said.

Dr. Hieler's eyes never left me. "Tell him I'm running a little behind today," he said. His secretary nodded and disappeared. After she left, I was hyper-aware of the silence that stretched across the room between us. I could hear a door shut in the vestibule, someone talking in the hallway. I felt embarra.s.sed, exposed, a little disbelieving that I'd spilled everything like that. I wanted to slink out of there, never face Dr. Hieler again, hide in my room and will the wallpaper horses to whisk me away to somewhere where I wasn't so vulnerable.