Please Don't Tell Read Free Page B

puts on every day. We prop Mr. Gordon against his blue Mazda. He slouches semiconscious against the hood. The stranger wipes his forehead, smiles gratefully at me.
    â€œThank you so much. I’m Levi. You’re the nicest person in the world.”
    It’s like every word’s tattooed on his heart, he’s so sincere.
    He’s two inches shorter than me. Eyebrows, perfect. His upper lip’s fuller than the bottom. If he combined with Grace and me, we’d have an even mouth.
    â€œI had no idea what I was gonna do with him in there,” he says.
    We realize simultaneously we have no idea what we’re going to do with him out here.
    â€œYou don’t drive, do you?”
    I shake my head. “I just got my permit. Sorry.”
    â€œDon’t be sorry.” He rolls a shoulder, winces, crouches. Mr. Gordon grumbles nonsense. There’s a special kind of shittiness about an adult whose life’s a train wreck. I have time to fix mine. But maybe that’s what he thought when he was sixteen.
    My phone buzzes. It’s November.
    Giving Cassius a ride home. Lemme know if u need me to come back for ya.
    People start filtering out, looking at the sky and the ground and every car in the lot except Mr. Gordon’s. The easiest way to deal with a problem is to pretend it doesn’t exist, as taught by my parents. Only Ms. Bell heads toward us. There’re rules against staff touching students, but she hugs me. Levi, too. He hugs her back tight.
    â€œYou guys know each other?” I’m stuck on the mystery of who he is.
    â€œNope.” Ms. Bell bends and shouts, “Mr. Gordon!” Agroan. She straightens. “Joy, I’m bringin’ my car around, and I’m takin’ him home. He won’t get to see his son bein’ buried, but if you ask me, I don’t think he’d see it even if we plonked him down next to the minister.”
    It takes her three minutes to back her car up to us. We tip Mr. Gordon into the backseat.
    After she’s driven off, Levi says, “Thanks again. For helping, and for being the first person in Stanwick I’ve talked to. Makes me think all of you must be pretty nice.”
    He doesn’t see the train wreck. But it’s not as obvious on me, like a pukey suit and Jell-O legs. “I can’t believe he got so wasted.”
    â€œIt’s not his fault. People do things to cope.”
    â€œPeople shouldn’t need . . . that kind of coping.”
    â€œEveryone has something they use to cope.” His eyes are wood brown, oak branches, sunlight. “Doesn’t make ’em bad people.”
    I should ask how he knew Adam, but I don’t want to hear that they were friends. Maybe he helped Mr. Gordon for the same reason November’s giving Cassius a ride home.
    â€œThe graveyard’s across the road,” he says hesitantly. “Walk with me?”
    I nod and walk with him.
    Grace and I were seven the last time we came to the graveyard. It was after some nameless great-uncle had a heart attack in front of Antiques Roadshow . I stole a daisy fromsomeone else’s grave, put it in Grace’s hair, and cried when Mom snatched it back.
    Now it’s a summer graveyard with winter air. We surround the fresh pit, everyone silent. Adam’ll lie here forever, neutralized. He won’t follow me out.
    The minister tells some nice lies about Adam, and then several men lift the casket and lower it into the open hole. I’ll make sure they don’t fuck it up. This is why the time machine didn’t work yesterday—they hadn’t buried him yet. Grace’ll be fine as soon as he’s covered in dirt.
    Kennedy cries for real, heaving sobs over the dirt patter. Sarah clings to her back. I’m rigid. No girl should ever cry for him.
    Grace never cried.
    Then Levi’s beside Kennedy, whispering gently to her. She quiets. Does he know her? Or does he just know what to say? If I