The Tear Collector Read Online Free Page B

shows another truth: they resent the ill. While Robyn would never say it—as it might cause the halo to fall from around her golden-haired head—she resents Becca. She resents all the attention that Becca sucks up from everyone; death and illness are time vacuums.
    “Cassandra, child, you always make me feel better,” she says, but, like everything with Veronica, words have two meanings. “Always” isn’t a compliment, it is an expectation.
    I suck it up and give her the obligatory embrace, then start to leave.
    “You’re holding back,” she whispers. Her five senses are failing; her sixth remains strong. I could never, ever lie to Veronica, but of late, I don’t tell her the whole truth of my life.
    I don’t deny it; instead, I lean toward her. Up close, I notice just how weak she really is. I take the handkerchief out of my back pocket. I gently rub my fingers over the monogram with Veronica’s initials, then dip the tip of it in a small bowl of liquid near her bed. Her skin is almost translucent; the blue veins look like rivers about to burst their banks. I squeeze the handkerchief like a sponge and let the fluid run down her satisfied and saturated face onto her bare shoulders.

CHAPTER 4
MONDAY, MARCH 9
    Is everything okay?” I ask, lightly tapping on the marked-up puke green bathroom stall door.
    “Leave me alone,” an unfamiliar female voice hisses back. For a second, the sobbing sounded like Robyn, but that was wishful thinking on my part. I thought she might come back today, but even though Robyn’s strong, she’s not that strong. She’s probably faking an illness to hide not only the breakup but also her own heartbreak from her parents. She knows how rumors fly around this place. I’ve yet to hear a hint before school, but by the end of the day, the news could be like a raging river flood. It only takes one person to break the dam of silence.
    “Sorry,” I say to the girl in the stall, wondering who is inside and how I can help. Between classes, the bathroom’s packed with girls texting and talking but few tearing up. I tape on the smudged mirror a flyer about the school’s peercounseling service. A couple of girls snicker, but I ignore them. They’re smug and happy now, but they’ll need someone like me one day.
    “I thought you drowned, Swimmer Girl,” Cody says, when I finally emerge.
    “Only in your love,” I say, then kiss him on the cheek. My small hand folds into his, and we start walking together. As we’re walking through the crowded halls, Cody acts as if we’re the only two people in the world. Six months ago, Cody wanted me, but now he needs me; he loves me. At first when walking together, Cody held me in a headlock, but I cut him off until that behavior stopped. Boys, like most mammals, need training before they’re fit for society.
    “You wanna roll tonight, Shawty?” he asks. I give him another kiss on the cheek—nothing else is permitted in Lapeer’s halls; almost everything else takes place in the school’s parking lot after, before, and during school. There are plenty of four-wheel hotels around here.
    “Sure.” I’m trying not to laugh. We always roll back to the same place: his basement.
    “I can’t wait,” he says, pulling me closer, maybe hoping he can hold me forever. But I know that, like a calendar, Cody’s days are numbered. It’s just a matter of how, when, and where. He’ll get hurt no matter what I say, so I need to plan for the best possible outcome for both of us.
    I sneak a full-mouth kiss, sucking on Cody’s bottom liplike a Life Saver, and then turn toward the door. He says good-bye with a kiss on the cheek and a very public smack on my behind. I sigh, then slip in the door as the second bell rings for first period. My last-second arrival draws a frown from Mr. Abraham, our Honors Biology teacher and my mentor.
    Mr. Abraham (also known as Mr. A) is not someone I want to disappoint. He’s the school’s swimming coach, and as our