“You should really try to talk about your problems with the school counselor, Kaley.” He slams down the hatch, and I flinch. He climbs into his Tahoe without so much as a glance in my direction and drives off, leaving me alone in the darkened parking lot.
I try to ignore the hollow ache spreading through me as I trudge over to the student lot. What I wouldn’t give to have my car here so I could just drive home myself. Just as I’m about to turn the corner, Derek steps out in front of me, and I yelp. He doesn’t apologize for scaring me. Instead, he glares down at me with a fierceness I’ve never seen in him. He crosses his arms tightly against his chest, and I wait for him to speak, but he doesn’t.
“What, Derek?” I spit out. I often hide my dejection underneath anger, but I never thought it would be aimed at him.
“What the fuck was that, Kaley? Would you like to fill me in?”
I have no idea how to react to this side of him. So I do what I always do.
Save face.
“Look, I don’t know what you think you saw, but you’re way off,” I say to the best of my acting abilities. I try to remember everything I learned from the one semester of theater I took in eighth grade. Everyone knows I’m a terrible liar, but I’m not going to jeopardize Mr. Slate’s career. Derek’s ire crushes me, and I have to diffuse this fast.
“Do you think I’m a fucking idiot?” Derek only swears when he’s really angry, and this is two in a row—and to the highest degree.
“No! Do you think I am? He’s a teacher! That’s insane,” I say, trying to turn it around on him. “And I most certainly will think you’re an idiot if you start spreading around false gossip that could cause a man to get fired. That kind of thing is serious, Derek. You shouldn’t jump to conclusions.”
His jaw clenches as he shakes his head at me. “Unbelievable, Kaley.” He sighs and looks up at the night sky. A moment passes before he brings his attention back to me. The judgment in his eyes is sobering. “All right, fine. I don’t know exactly what I saw. But it was something. And I’ll be damned if I let you—”
“Derek!” Emily’s voice interrupts his tirade.
“What?” he calls over his shoulder.
“What are you doing?”
“Talking to Kaley!” he hollers. Apparently, Emily can see Derek’s back as we stand on the corner, but she can’t see me.
“Well, let’s go!”
Derek turns away, but I clutch onto his arm. “Please don’t say anything,” I plead. I’ve completely lost my bravado—I am desperate now. “You’re wrong about what you saw and there’s no reason to upset anybody—anybody.” I know we’re both thinking about our best friends.
He yanks his arm free and storms off without a word. Shit. I slip past his car, avoiding the sight of him and Emily, and knock on the passenger window of Tommy’s truck. Hold it together, hold it together. He looks up from his phone and unlocks the door. I climb into the cab and he pulls me close to him.
“Sit in the middle by me,” he says, grinning. He grips my thigh as I fasten my seatbelt. “We won,” he says as soon as we pull out of the parking lot.
“Yeah, congratulations,” I say, trying to sound upbeat. What the hell just happened? I’m still trying to catch my breath and register it all. “It was a great game,” I say without inflection.
“Yeah, we weren’t expected to win, but we pulled it off.” He repeats the same exact line Mr. Slate said, but without the smoldering intensity.
How am I going to show my face in class tomorrow morning? What if Derek tells the whole school about what he saw? What if he tells Tommy? Emily? There’s no way he’ll keep this to himself, right? Most people I know would spread this juicy gossip like a wildfire.
Mr. Slate’s cold voice plays in my head: You should really try to talk about your problems with the school counselor, Kaley. I feel the tears prick my eyes, but I push them back. Why does it feel like a breakup when there was never anything between us? But there was something, wasn’t there? Unless I’m completely delusional. It can’t be all one sided—he wouldn’t have reacted that way to Derek. And the way he was looking at me before Derek showed up . . . I can’t be imagining everything, can I?
No, I decide.
We crossed some sort of line.
Tommy’s wandering hand releases me from my tortured thoughts as it inches closer to the hem of my skirt. His hand is in an awkward position as he drives down the road, but it doesn’t sway his determination. My legs are crossed, blocking any access, and I don’t move them. When he pulls into my driveway, he shifts the truck into park and cuts the engine. Darkness washes over us, and I realize my parents forgot to leave the front porch light on for me—again. Seriously? I unbuckle my seat belt and give him a small kiss good-bye, but he holds on to me, slipping his tongue over mine.
When he comes up for air, he says, “What do you want to do this weekend?” With my legs now uncrossed, he slides his hand forward, boldly running his fingers over the front of my underwear.
“Not that,” I blurt out.
He pulls back, moving away from me.
“I can’t keep up with you,” he says, starting the engine. I can’t see his expression, but he’s clearly upset.
“I’m sorry—I didn’t mean for it to come out that way.” Am I seriously apologizing again?
His eyes avoid mine. “Don’t worry about it.” His voice is terse. “I’ll pick you up in the morning.”
I lean in to kiss him, but he makes no effort to kiss me back.
“I love you,” I say delicately. “I’m really sorry. I’m just . . . scared.”
He faces me. “Why would you be scared with me? I thought we were closer than that.”
“We are.” But as soon as the words come out, I know it’s a lie.
I don’t feel close to anybody right now. I can’t tell whether I’ve pushed everyone away, or if I’m being pulled in another direction. The guilt almost drowns me, flooding my heart. My actions are hurting everyone around me . . . even Mr. Slate.
Tommy lets me kiss him goodnight before I step out of his truck, but he doesn’t wait for me to get inside the house before driving off. I make my way onto the porch and fumble with my keys in the black shadows. It’s like the perfect metaphor for my life right now: A fumbling fool, alone in the darkness.
CHAPTER NINE
MY STOMACH IS IN KNOTS as I get ready for school. Last night was a disaster, and I’m tempted to stay home, but that would only draw more unwanted attention. I want to look nice today, but in a subtle way that doesn’t seem like I’m trying too hard, so I wear my dark-blue skinny jeans with my olive-green blouse that makes my eyes pop. Tommy’s horn blares from outside as I down the last of my coffee. I take one last glance at myself in the mirror before running out the door, my stomach on edge.
Tommy smiles as I climb into his truck. “You look good,” he says, leaning over for a kiss. He seems to have forgiven me.
“Thanks,” I say, returning his smile. This also means Derek hasn’t said anything to him about what happened, and I pray it stays that way.
Filled with trepidation, I grip my bag as we approach the main entrance. I can do this. I’m determined to stride into first period with my head held high. However, my pride quickly diminishes as I enter the building. After Tommy kisses me good-bye, I make my way down the hall and gather myself outside the classroom door. When I step inside, Mr. Slate is preoccupied at his desk, and I quietly take my seat.
Twenty minutes into class, he still hasn’t looked at me.
“Does anyone have the answer yet?” he asks the class.
Looking up from my calculator, I raise my hand. I’ll be damned if I am going to let him intimidate me.
He gestures to me without even glancing my way. “Kaley?”
“0.894?”
“Nope.” His tone stabs me in the gut.
So much for my very last drop of pride.
“Anyone else? Andrew?”
My gaze drops to my book. I wish someone would pull the fire alarm so I could run out of here without looking like a crazy person. Mr. Slate writes Andrew’s correct answer on the board and addresses the class.
“Look, if some of you aren’t getting this by now, you’re in trouble. I promise you this will be on the next test. If you can’t calculate the eccentricity of an ellipse this late in the game, then you’re not going to be able to finish the rest of the problem. You should have this down by now.”
His words sting, and I want to chuck my book at his face. Why did I practically throw myself at this man last night? My grade is dropping and for what? I can’t believe I let him knock me off my game. I sink lower in my seat. He’s sending me a very clear message. A message that says: Stay back, little girl.
I don’t pay attention for the rest of the hour.
AT LUNCH, I’M desperate for some light conversation and distraction from Mr. Slate. But as I take my seat at the table, Emily’s in the middle of complaining about him. It seems as if I’m not the only one who had to endure his wrath this morning.
She finishes her rant and turns her attention to me. “Seriously, what’s up his ass today? Was he pissed off in your class, too?”