Still pretty hung up, Jake thought. Well, Penny hadn’t been dead for even three months yet. Maybe Winnie had forgotten about her, maybe she had come to terms with the accident, maybe Winnie, like so many other teenagers, had been cursed, or blessed, with a short attention span. She had been saddened by Penny’s death, but it was old news now, and she was moving on.

Jake pulled away from Winnie, but she didn’t seem to notice. She whipped out her phone and began madly texting. Probably broadcasting the news of his return. In ten seconds everyone would know.


There was a song that Zoe used to play on the cassette deck of her Karmann Ghia called “Uncle John’s Band,” and the first line went like this: Well the first days are the hardest days, don’t you worry any more. Jake sang this to himself as he moved through the halls, fielding amazed and inquisitive Hey man’s from his classmates. Some kids’ names he’d completely forgotten. He tried to focus on the school part of school-the Calc, the Physics, the A.P. European History. The teachers, at least, did their best to act professional and nonchalant-or possibly they really were professional and nonchalant. They, after all, were adults, with mortgages and children, and aging parents, and water heaters that needed replacing. They were nice people and good citizens; they all knew that Penny had died and that Penny had been Jake’s girlfriend, and maybe they even knew that Jake had spent the summer/winter in Australia, but they didn’t feel inclined to take Jake’s emotional temperature-they were too busy and consumed with their own worries to meddle much in others’ lives-and for that, Jake was grateful.

On his way from European History to his elective, Personal Narrative, which was a sort of creative writing class (and one he was greatly looking forward to), he felt a hand on his shoulder. He feared for an instant that his father had popped into school to check on him, but when he turned, he saw the principal, Dr. Major.

“Jake,” Dr. Major said. “Welcome back.”

“Thanks, Dr. Major,” Jake said.

Dr, Major smiled at Jake kindly. His blue eyes watered behind his glasses. Was he going to cry? Dr. Major was known around school as the ultimate good guy, sometimes too good a guy to do some of the more difficult tasks his job required. Kids who got suspended often got their sentences commuted by Dr. Major. He believed that kids, more than anything, needed adults to listen to them. This openhearted approach worked out for the most part; the students of Nantucket High School felt protective of Dr. Major and generally tried not to let him down.

“How was your trip?” Dr. Major asked.

“It was weird,” Jake said.

Dr. Major tilted his head. The head tilt was his signature gesture, a cue to let kids know he was listening. Jake didn’t want to be the recipient of Dr. Major’s head tilt. Kids were streaming past them like water around two rocks. This wasn’t the time or the place for Jake to detail the oddness of his time in Australia.

“I can’t explain it,” Jake said. “Not right now, anyway.”

“Fair enough,” Dr. Major said. “Well, I have to say, this school isn’t the same without Penelope.”

Jake nodded once, sharply. “Right. I know.”

Dr. Major clapped Jake’s shoulder again. “I just wanted to tell you…” Here he trailed off, and his eyes filled, and Jake had to look away rather than see the man cry. “… If you ever need a place to take a moment away from everyone, you’re welcome to sit in my office. As you know, I’m rarely there.”

Yes, Jake knew this; everyone knew this. Dr. Major roamed the school, no crevice or alcove was safe or private. Dr. Major was likely to appear out of nowhere. “Going about my rounds,” he called it. He stopped in to the junior Spanish class and learned how to conjugate irregular verbs, and he entered the art room and asked for a demonstration of the pottery wheel. He didn’t like to sit behind his desk, he said. Four or five times a day, Mrs. Hanson’s voice would come over the intercom, paging him for a phone call.

“Thank you,” Jake said. It was nice of Dr. Major to offer up his office for what amounted to Jake’s own personal crying room. “That’s very nice.”

Dr. Major smiled. His eyes were brimming, but no tears fell, thank God. “We’re all rooting for you,” he said. “And we’re glad to have you back.”


At lunchtime, Jake wasn’t sure what to do. Seniors were allowed to go off-property for lunch; it was one of the things he and Penny had been looking forward to. They had talked about how they would hit the burger shack at Surfside Beach in September while it was still warm, how they would go into town to the Brotherhood on Fridays in the winter, how they would sneak back to Penny’s house on days when Zoe was working. It was going to be forty-five minutes of daily bliss.

But what now?

There wouldn’t be a senior in sight in the cafeteria. That might be okay, Jake would be able to eat alone, none of the underclassmen would be brave enough to approach him. But the younger kids would talk about him, and the things they said would be half true and half false, and Jake didn’t feel like cutting the kind of tragic figure who sat alone and pretended to ignore the fact that everyone was discussing him. He needed to leave the building, but having only his bike left him few options. If he biked all the way home, he would have time only to drink a glass of water before he had to turn around and come right back. He could bike to the beach, he supposed, but he was fairly certain that Winnie Potts and Annabel Wright and company would all be there, and he sure as shit didn’t want to run into them. Or anyone. He needed forty-five minutes of quiet, of alone time, and it did occur to him that he could take Dr. Major up on the offer of his office, but even then, he worried that Mrs. Hanson or Mrs. Coffin or one of the other secretaries might fuss over him.

He would bike to the cemetery, he decided, and sit on Penny’s grave. Whoa, that was morose, that was completely Emily Dickinson of him, but the cemetery was green and quiet and relatively nearby.

He strode out of the school, put on his sunglasses, and tried to look like he was moving with purpose, like he had somewhere to be, an important meeting or a date. He had to remind himself that Penny wasn’t actually at the cemetery. His father had effectively made that point when they left for Australia. There was just a box in the ground that held her remains, marked by a stupid headstone that told nothing about her-but whatever. It was all he had.

He saw other seniors making an exodus. He saw Winnie Potts in her red convertible Mini backing out of a parking space, and to avoid another confrontation, he ducked around a tight corner-and there, sitting on a granite bench with one leg straight out in front of him, was Hobby.

Jake stopped in his tracks. He hadn’t admitted it outright to himself, but he had spent all day subconsciously avoiding Hobby. He had breathed a long sigh of relief when Hobby hadn’t turned up in his Physics class. Claire Buckley was in his European History class, but old-fashioned Mr. Ernest had sat them alphabetically, and so Claire was on the other side of the room, and no contact was required. He had noted that Claire’s physique had changed enormously; she was all rounded curves now instead of sharp angles. So what Jordan had reported must be true.

Hobby started a little. “Whoa, Jake! I heard you were back, man, but I didn’t believe it!”

“Yeah,” Jake said. He wanted to run away, he couldn’t say why, but seeing Hobby was too much. Hobby was Penny’s twin, he was the closest relation she had, he had been present for all of it, her freakout and the crash, and he had suffered in ways that Jake couldn’t even imagine. Furthermore, Jake had told Hobby about his mistake with Winnie Potts, which in retrospect had been a foolish thing to admit to. After a couple of months of ruminating on this, what must Hobby think of him? That he was a faithless bastard, that he hadn’t been committed to Penny at all, that he was an utter hypocrite for showing up wearing marked-up jeans?

Hobby said, “I’d stand up and hug it out with you, man, but I’m kinda slow on the uptake.” He nodded at his stretched-out leg.

“Oh, right,” Jake said. He stuck out his hand, and they shook, and Jake didn’t sense anything but Hobby’s usual good-guy-ness.

“Great to see you, man,” Hobby said. “I mean, it’s really good to see you. When you walked out of my hospital room that day, man, I thought maybe that was it. I thought you were gone for good.”

“Yeah,” Jake said. “I thought that myself.” If it weren’t for the grace of his mother, he would be attending the American School in Perth, wearing a blue suit and skinny tie like a Mormon, reading Yeats and Auden alongside the sons of foreign mining executives.

“Sit down,” Hobby said. He scooted over on the bench and moved the brown-bag lunch that Zoe had obviously packed for him. Jake recognized the chicken salad with pine nuts and dried cherries, the container of her homemade broccoli slaw, and the slumped brownies wrapped in wax paper. His stomach complained. The funny thing was that in all his deliberation about where to spend his lunch hour, he hadn’t once thought about food. But there was food-meaning pizza and takeout Thai, which Jake and his father were once again eating in order to survive-and then there was Zoe’s food.

“Um,” Jake said. Could he tell Hobby that he was on the way to the cemetery to sit on his sister’s grave? No. Never. “I don’t want to bother you.”

“Bother me?” Hobby said. “Dude, I’m here by myself. I don’t have my license, and I’m too gimpy to walk anywhere. Last week I ate here with Claire, but today she’s tutoring some freshman in geometry.” He popped a grape into his mouth. “It’s a thing she’s started doing. Looks good on the transcript.”