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325 pages, Mass Market Paperback
First published May 14, 2002
It was an ordinary January afternoon, a Thursday, when they came for Matt Donaghy. They came for him during fifth period, which was Matt's study period, in room 220 of Rocky River High School, Westchester County.
Twice Matt dialed the number Ursula had given him and twice he hung up quickly before the phone could ring. So damned shy. The third time he dialed, he let the phone ring and it was answered at once. "Hello?" The girl's voice was husky, guarded.
"Hi, this is . . . Matt. Is this Ursula?"
"Yes."
"I . . . got your message."
Matt was speaking in a lowered, shaky voice. He was feeling a leap of irrational hope.
Ursula said, still guardedly, "You know me, I guess? From school?"
"Ursula, sure. Sure I know you."
As if they hadn't been going to the same schools most of their lives.
Ursula said, "This hasn't been such a . . . great day for you, I guess."
"No, but--" Matt paused. He wanted to say, At least I'm home, not in jail. But that wasn't much of a reason to be grateful, considering he hadn't done anything wrong. "--I'm alive, anyway."
Was that meant to be funny? Matt laughed, but Ursula remained silent.
Matt had begun to sweat, this conversation was so pained. He hated calling girls on the phone if he didn't know them really well and if it hadn't been understood, more or less, that he was going to call, and was expected. He was even uneasy sometimes calling his friends. Which was why he liked e-mail. Maybe Ursula Riggs was the same way? Her telephone voice was unexpectedly hesitant, diffident.
Or maybe she just didn't like Matt Donaghy, personally. But had to talk to him for some mysterious reason.
Ursula began speaking rapidly, as if her words were prepared. "Look, Matt. I heard what you said in the cafeteria today. I was walking past your table, and I heard. I know you were joking, and there's no way any intelligent person could misconstrue your words or gestures. If it's taken out of context, maybe, but there was a context. And I can be a witness for you. I'll go to Mr. Parrish first thing tomorrow and talk to him. Or the police, if necessary."
By the end of this speech, Ursula was speaking vehemently. Matt wasn't sure he'd heard right. Witness? He felt like a drowning swimmer whose flailing hand has been grabbed by someone, a stranger, whose face he can't see.
He said, stammering, "You . . . heard me? You know I didn't . . . wasn't . . ."
"A friend of mine, Eveann McDowd, was with me. She heard you, too. I'll talk to her."
"You'd--be a witness for me, Ursula? Gosh."
Ursula said quickly, "You've been falsely accused. I'd do it for anybody." She added," I mean--even somebody I didn't like."
Matt was too confused to absorb what Ursula Riggs seemed to be saying. That she liked him? All he could say was to repeat, "Thanks, Ursula. I--really appreciate it."
"You're the only person who's contacted me, Ursula," Matt added impulsively. "I'm a pariah, I guess--is that the word? Like leper. Outcast." When Ursula didn't reply, Matt said, "I've been suspended for 'at least three day.' Till they can investigate me."
"Investigate you? They're the ones who should be investigated."
Ursula Riggs spoke so heatedly, it was as if, suddenly, she was in Matt's room with him and Pumpkin.
You're better than 'nice', you are 'good'. 1 individual in 1 million.A year post-Columbine, a boy gets blamed for threatening to bomb his school (as a joke) , and gets ousted as a social pariah. Only Ursula, or Ugly Girl as she calls herself, sticks up to defend him. Thus, an unusual friendship blossoms.