“Rust. There's a metallic taste in his mouth as though he's been chewing on aluminum foil. Ashleigh is crying, stricken and pale, sliding down the locker to sit hard on her ass. His gaze sweeps the hall. It's between classes and the throng is in motion, or should be. Instead, they're frozen, these kids, just standing there staring up at the ceiling, eyes searching for the speakers from which the hard-edged words have just issued. In a moment the whispers will begin. Hearts will start to beat aga...in. The kids who didn't know Mike Lebo, or who knew him only from passing him in the hallways, they'll be a little creeped out, freaked at the idea that a kid their age—any kid their age—could die. This isn't the evening news and it isn't some story spun by Students Against Drunk Driving. This is a kid they had passed in the hall at school, who maybe had ridden the bus with them. That shit just doesn't happen. Not here. Not to someone they know. He can see it all in their eyes, can read their thoughts in that frozen moment, in that collective intake of breath.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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