She wore Jason’s black American Outfitters T-shirt, his black jeans, and her–or maybe his, really–new black Oakley shades, and she rolled in like a visiting raja, relishing yet ignoring the shouts and squeals of the onlookers. She parked the car diagonally across two spaces, which was strictly against the rules. Walking tall, she wore her sunglasses into school, also against the rules. The other kids kept their distance from her and watched her silently, acting more impressed now than hostile. No shouts of “pervert.” Instead, one of Jason’s teammates from wrestling, a tall, broad-shouldered blond boy named Shane, walked up to her. Jessie’d had a crush on Shane, who was her age, since middle school. Mutely she adored him almost as much as she had adored Jason. He had never noticed her, had never spoken to her before, and she had never spoken to him. Now here came Shane calling, “Hey, um, Jason.” He said the name like yeah, right, but he was smiling. Challenging, yet not unfriendly.
