By the way, is this yours? I found it on the printer. 'Dear Evan Hansen.' That's you, right?
Oh, that? It's nothing. It's just this writing thing I do.
I'm screaming inside.
You're a writer?
He reads more and his expression changes. A cold stare.
No, not really. It's not, like, for pleasure.
Because there's Zoe. Is this about my sister?
Your sister? Who's your sister? No, it's not about her/
I'm not dumb.
You saw that I was the only other person in the computer lab, so you wrote this and printed it out so I would find it.
But you thought it.
I never said you were.
Why would I do that?
And then you can tell everyone that I'm crazy, right?
He shoves a stiff finger between my eyes.
No. I didn't-
I'm expecting those two words to come with a red exclamation point, something painful, but they actually land weak. He turns around and heads for the exit.
The air releases from my lung, my body loosening. But the relief I feel lasts only a second. As I watch Connor Murphy stalk out, I call after him, but he's too fast. Clenched in his fist as he slips out the door is a totally different kind of red exclamation point: he still has my letter.