It was April. She sat in the seat next to my empty chair. She snapped her gum as she unpacked her pastels. "Did you catch that documentary on Edward Hopper we were supposed to watch last night? My DVR totally had a meltdown."

"No. I guess I missed it." I scanned the room for Daniel. Lynn Bishop sat in the back row, gossiping with Melissa Harris. Mr. Barlow worked on his latest "pro-recycling" sculpture at his desk, and a few students trickled into the classroom before the bell.

"Oh, crap. Do you think there's going to be a quiz?" April asked.

"This is art class. We paint pictures while listening to classic rock." I checked the room one last time. "I doubt there are going to be quizzes."

"Boy, you're crabby today."

"Sorry." I got my supply bucket out from the cubbies and sat in the seat next to her. "I guess I've got a lot on my mind."

My tree drawing sat on top of the bucket. I told myself to hate it. I told myself to rip it up and throw it away. Instead, I picked it up and traced the perfect lines, my finger just above the paper so I wouldn't smudge the charcoal.

"I don't get why you even care about him," April said for the sixth time since yesterday. "I mean, I thought you said that Daniel guy was hot."

I stared down at the drawing. "He used to be."

The tardy bell rang. A few seconds later the door creaked open. I looked up and expected to see Daniel. The same way I used to expect to run into him at the mall or see him slip around a corner downtown after he disappeared.

But it was Pete Bradshaw who came through the door. He was an office aide fourth period. He waved to April and me as he delivered a note to Mr. Barlow.

"Now he's cute," April whispered, and waved back. "I can't believe he's your chem lab partner." I was about to wave also, but then I got this sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. Pete dropped the note on Barlow's desk and came over to us.

"We missed you last night," he said to me.

"Last night?"

"The library. We had a study group for the chemistry test." Pete rapped his knuckles on the table.

"You were supposed to bring the donuts this time."

"I was?" That sinking feeling got deeper. I'd sat out on the porch last night, thinking about Daniel, until I was practically a Popsicle, and had forgotten all about our study group--and the test. "I'm sorry. Something came up." I fingered the drawing.

"I'm just glad you're okay." Pete grinned and pulled a roll of papers from his back pocket. "You can borrow my notes during lunch if you want."

"Thanks." I blushed. "I'll need them."

"More painting, less talking," Mr. Barlow bellowed.

"Later." Pete winked and left the room.

"He is so going to ask you to the Christmas dance," April whispered.

"No way." I looked at my drawing and couldn't remember what I'd planned on doing next. "Pete doesn't like me like that."

"What, are you blind?" April said a little too loudly.

Mr. Barlow glared at her.

"Pastels are far superior to charcoals," April said, trying to cover. She glanced at the teacher's desk and then whispered, "Pete is so into you. Lynn said that Misty told her that Brett Johnson said that Pete thinks you're hot and he wants to ask you out." "Really?"

"Really." She waggled her eyebrows. "You are so lucky."

"Yeah. Lucky." I looked down at Pete's notes and then at the drawing. I knew I should feel lucky. Pete was what April called a "triple threat"--a cute senior, a hockey player, and a total brain. Not to mention, one of Jude's best friends. But it seemed strange to feel lucky that someone liked me. Luck shouldn't have anything to do with it.

Twenty minutes later, there was still no sign of Daniel when Barlow got up from his desk and stood in front of the class. He stroked his handlebar mustache, which draped over his jowls. "I think we'll try something new today," he said. "Something to challenge your minds along with your creativity. How about we have a pop quiz on Edward Hopper?" There was a collective groan from the class.

"Oh, crap," April whispered.

"Oh, crap," I whispered back.

THE LUNCH BREAK

Mr. Barlow cleared his throat over and over again in irritation as he handed back our quizzes. He Returned to his sculpture and twisted a wire around an empty Pepsi can with melodramatic jerks. When the lunch bell rang, he cleared out of the art room with the rest of the students. April and I stayed behind. AP art was a two-period class with a lunch break in the middle. But April and I were the only juniors, so we usually kept working through lunch to show Mr. Barlow that we were serious enough to be in his advanced class--except on the days Jude invited us to eat with him and his friends at the Rose Crest Cafe (the off-campus lunchtime haven for popular seniors).

April sat next to me, perfecting the shading on her pastel drawing of roller skates while I tried to study Pete's notes. But the more I tried to concentrate, the more the words on the pages jumbled into an unintelligible mess. That sinking feeling I had before seemed to churn inside me until it turned into trembling anger and I couldn't think about anything else. How dare Daniel show up after all this time and then disappear again. No explanations. No apologies. No closure. I knew there could be a million reasons why he hadn't shown up today, but I was sick and tired of excusing his behavior. Like when he'd steal food out of my sack lunches, or whenever his teasing got too intense, or when he'd forget to return my art supplies--Pd chalk it up to all the stuff he'd been through in his life and let it slide. But I wouldn't excuse how he'd crept back into my life just long enough to cause me to disappoint my parents, upset my brother, ditch out on Pete, bomb a quiz, and potentially fail my chemistry test. I felt so stupid, wasting my time thinking about him, and now he didn't even have the decency to show up. Now I really wanted to see him one more time. Just long enough to tell him off ... or smack his face ... or something worse.

Daniel's tree drawing sat on the table taunting me. I hated the way it seemed so perfect, with its smooth, entangled lines that I never could have drawn myself. I picked up the drawing, marched over to the waste-basket, and unceremoniously chucked it in.

"Good riddance," I said to the trash can.