“The way he dove, man. Like he didn’t think about it, like he didn’t even care. They say war can mess a man up. Dark places, you know.”

I bit into a sandwich, chewing slowly. “I don’t think that’s it.”

“But four seconds, man. Christ. It’s like it took forever, like he was hanging there and then, bam! I thought that was it. I really did.”

I didn’t want to talk about Jason, not even with Chance. “Let’s drop it, okay? He made the dive. I didn’t. So what?”

“Hey, man. Chill.”

“I’m chill.”

“You know my cousin saw him last night at the Carriage Room. He was mixing it up with some scary dudes.”

“What do you mean?”

“Bikers, I heard.”

“Get out.”

Chance tipped back a Coke. “Hells Angels, maybe. There was a fight or something. People got hurt.”

“My dad didn’t say anything.”

“Bikers, dude. It’s not like they’d run to the cops.”

I didn’t buy it. Chance’s stories were usually bullshit. Charlotte Booker got naked at a party. Mike Aslow slept with Buddy’s mom. That’s how his mind ran.

“Whoa, hey. Red alert.” He nudged my ribs, whispering. “Becky Collins. Three o’clock.”

Becky emerged from the covered walkway that led past the cafeteria and to the gym. She wore a denim skirt and white vinyl boots that rose to her knees. Crossing the courtyard, she headed straight for us; and when she stopped, my eyes were down. I saw the way she bent a single knee, the safety pin holding up the zipper of her left boot.

“Gibby,” she said. “Chance.”

She held books cross-armed against her chest. Calculus. European history. It was easy to forget how smart she was. People focused on the hair, the legs, the cornflower eyes.

“Hi, Becky.”

She frowned as I looked up. “I waited for you at the quarry,” she said. “After your brother dove. Why didn’t you talk to me?”

Because I chickened out on the dive …

Because you were with other guys …

I mumbled some kind of answer, but it didn’t satisfy her. Beside me, Chance was grinning into the back of his hand.

“You’ve been ignoring me here, too.”

“Um…”

“Are you ever going to ask me out?”

“Um. What?”

It seemed mumble was my new language. She tapped a foot, and made things very direct. “We’ve been dancing around this for a while now, but the year’s almost over. Are you going to ask me out or not?”

I glanced at Chance, but he was no help. Becky was a cheerleader, the homecoming queen. People said she was going to Princeton, though she denied it. “Are you serious?” I asked. “You want to go out with me?”

“I’m here, aren’t I? We’re talking.”

I looked to Chance for help. Nothing. “Will you go out with me?”