Nessa frowns. “I think it’s sad what happened to him. He was the best teacher I ever had. Don’t you remember how much we loved him? And little Andy?”

“I feel sorry for little Andy,” Skylar says, “but not him.”

“What do you all think?” Nessa looks at each of us.

“I’m with Skylar,” Erica says. “We both know plenty about divorce and cheating dads and all that stuff.”

Lindsey looks embarrassed. “I don’t want to talk about it. It’s horrible. I loved him and Ms. Sullivan both and now she’s dead and it’s partly his fault.”

“She knew he was married, though,” Erica mutters in such a low voice that I’m not even sure she really said it.

Nessa looks at me. “How about you, Abbi?”

“I’m kind of like you. I know it was wrong of him, but I feel sort of sorry for him anyway. But I feel a lot more sorry for Ms. Sullivan.” Pictures of her flash through my head. I think of the paintings she would never paint, the books she’d never read, the places she’d never go. I bite my lip and will myself not to cry.

Skylar pushes her chair back and gets to her feet. “The Gap’s having a big back-to-school sale. Let’s go.”

We all get up and move toward the Gap. Nessa and I lag behind the others. “You look upset, Abbi,” she says.

“It’s just so sad.” I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand and sniffle. “I liked them both so much.”

“Me, too.” Nessa sighs. “Mr. Boyce just wasn’t as great as we thought.”

Like that saying about idols with clay feet, I think.

We catch up with the others in the Gap. Erica’s holding up a blue T-shirt. “Let’s all get one of these and wear it on the first day of school.”

I worry we’ll look like a gang, but since everybody else likes the idea, I go along with them. Even though the shirt is 20 percent off, I spend almost every cent of the shopping money Mom gave me. Skylar comes up short, and Erica lends her five dollars.

We leave the Gap and meet Ms. Freeman in the parking lot. Skylar gets in the front seat; I get in the back. I guess this is the way things are now.

With a week of summer vacation left, Skylar and I are sitting on her porch steps.

“Did you see the announcement for Ms. Sullivan’s memorial service?” I ask her. “It was in yesterday’s Flier.”

“I never read the Flier. It’s boring.” She looks up from her phone. “When is it?”

“This Sunday at the Nature Conservancy. Do you want to go together? We can ride with Mom and Greg in the truck.”

“Do you think Mr. Boyce will be there?”

“Probably not.”