Sweet Nothing(27)

“So here we are.” Dr. Goodwin’s voice booms through the hall, and the students fall silent. “Standing at the edge of a new school year. Every fall, we experience something that most people in fields other than education don’t get to experience very often. What we have—students and faculty alike—is a remarkable opportunity to begin again.”

A shiver runs through me. If this were a movie, the entire auditorium would erupt in cheers. Instead, somebody’s cell spews a Rihanna remix.

“We have the chance to start over—to ask ourselves how we can be better. Stronger, as individuals and as a school community. A very wise thinker once said that we should not say ‘I am’, but rather ‘I am becoming’, because we have never fully arrived at the best version of ourselves. We are always a work in progress.”

“Got to give it to him,” Luke murmurs. “The old man can give a speech.”

I nod.

“So as we begin this new school year, I want you to ask yourselves: Who am I becoming? How can I reach my goals, and help others around me to reach theirs as well? We are, truly, works in progress, my friends. And I am honored to be here to witness each of your transformations.”

It feels like Dr. Goodwin is speaking directly to me. Giving me permission to move away from the shame of my old life into the new version of myself. I want to believe him now more than ever.

At the end of the assembly, one of the other art instructors pulls Luke aside to talk curriculum. He mouths an apology, and I escape into the sunshine, bobbing and weaving through the crowd to avoid Waverly and Gwen. I need to be alone in the sterile white quiet of my classroom. I need to think. My mind is cluttered with images and words and thoughts and feelings, each of which seems to contradict the next. This morning, I’d known exactly what I needed to do. Forty-five minutes sitting knee-to-knee with Allford’s Sexiest Teacher Alive, and I’m more confused than ever.

I’m relieved to slip inside my classroom, to close the door against the adolescent gossip in the hall. I close my eyes and lean against my door, hearing Dr. Goodwin’s words echoing in my mind. Who am I becoming? Am I going to let the old Elliot hold me captive? Or am I going to become someone new, someone better, someone who isn’t drowning in her own shame?

I kick off my shoes and pad across the cool wood floor. Collapse into my desk chair, wishing I could talk this through with Aria. But that would mean telling her the truth: that I’m hiding in plain sight in Miami. That I’ve changed my name enough to make it unrecognizable. That I can’t possibly tell anyone here who I am, or what I’ve done. She’d hate me if she knew I was lying about who I am. She’d hate me if she knew I was going by her nickname for me—that Elle was no longer hers alone. But it’s not her choice. It’s not her life.

Something unfamiliar at the edge of my desk catches my eye, and I reach for it. It’s a photograph of me. It’s slightly blurry, but I recognize the image right away. It’s the picture Luke took last night. He must have left it on my desk before the assembly. In the photograph, I’m sitting on his couch, my feet curled beneath me. I can almost see the flush in my cheeks, even though the picture is black and white. My bangs are wispy and wild around my eyes. At the bottom, Luke has scrawled a message.

So you can see what I see. --L

I study the picture. Objectively, it’s a beautiful image. I trace the lines and shadows of it. The girl in the picture is me, but not me. There’s a part of her I don’t recognize, but it’s not the new hair color or the glasses or the bangs.

For the first time in too long, she looks happy.





chapter eleven



Elle,



You’ll never believe it—David and I got together to talk last night—and GUESS WHAT? We got back together! Long story short, I’m headed to the Hamptons with him and his family this weekend!!!!!! Kind of like a last minute vacay before school starts next week. I know it sounds crazy after how pissed I was when D broke things off. But if he loves me enough to stand by me with everything that’s going on… isn’t that real love?



Love you for infinity,



A





The rest of the week stumbles by in starts and stops, smooth in some places (no more parent phone calls or near firings!) and rough in others (sixty percent pass rate on my first quiz!) And through it all, nothing from Luke. After I’d found the photograph on my desk, I’d texted to thank him. He’d responded—something brief—but in the past two days, I’d heard nothing. No calls, no texts, no impromptu classroom drop-ins. Nothing but radio silence.