THIRTY-THREE December 10th I DECIDE TO GO TO Preston’s funeral after all. The cemetery is on the other side of Vista Palisades, a ten-minute bus ride or a thirty-five-minute walk. I loiter at the closest bus stop, but when the bus pulls up, it is full of people I know: classmates, teachers, the guy who rents kayaks in front of The Triple S. Their faces are ghostly white circles pressed close to the windows, monsters with blurry features distorted by the smudgy glass. I decide to walk. Cars line one side of the road leading into the cemetery, and both parking lots are full. Mrs. Amos’s Honda is parked in the north lot, right inside the gates. I suddenly remember the restraining order. I hope the Colonel won’t freak out and attack me in the middle of the service—I don’t want to do that to Preston’s friends and family. But at the same time, Pres was one of my closest friends, regardless of the secrets he kept. I deserve a chance to grieve for him. The gravesite is on the far side of the grounds, near the south parking lot.
