The Force of Gravity(19)

“Sorry about that, girls,” he says, sliding into the driver’s seat.

“No worries, Mr. Slate,” says Emily

I ignore the irrational stab of jealousy as I recognize Emily’s flirtatious tone. I buckle my seatbelt, refusing to acknowledge him, and stare out the window.

“Hey,” he says, tapping the back of his seat. I turn my gaze from the window and find a folder in my face. He’s holding it behind his head as he sits forward in his seat. “Will you set this back there?”

I snatch the folder out of his hand and set it next to me.

Emily directs him to her house and chats nonstop. She even asks him about a few algebra problems from her homework before turning the conversation to baseball. Mr. Slate and I make brief eye contact through the rearview mirror when she brings up last night’s game. I focus out my window as the two of them discuss the details. I hate being trapped in this backseat—I want to be somewhere else. Anywhere else. Yet, deep down, there is nowhere else I’d rather be. The regret of my foolishness last night is eating away at me, and I flip my hair to the side, attempting to hide my face.

We come to a stop, and I realize we’re already at Emily’s. She thanks him for the ride, and I steal another glance in the rearview. My heart springs into my throat when I see that he is already looking at me. He casts his gaze away, and I push open my door and jump out. I close it gently behind me and follow Emily into her house without looking back.



EMILY GLANCES UP from her phone. “Change of plans Saturday night.”

“Why, what’s going on?” We’re sprawled out on her bedroom floor, going through magazines and eating cookie dough. Well, Emily’s eating it, I’m nibbling. The ride home still has me queasy.

“Well, if the boys win Friday night’s game, they’ll make it to the playoffs. And if they do, the coaches are going to throw a barbecue for the whole team—girlfriends are invited.”

Coaches . . . Mr. Slate.

“Uh, yeah I think I’m going to bail on that.”

Emily waves her hand disregarding my statement. “You’re going. It’ll be fun. And all the other girlfriends will be there—you’re not humiliating Tommy.”

Her concern for Tommy irks me, but I try to let it go. “I can’t believe you’re excited about a party with supervision. Where’s it being held?”

“Coach Miller’s house,” she says, retrieving another text from Derek. “And bring your bathing suit.”

You have got to be kidding me.

“We’re swimming?! It’s only April. I need the temperature to hit at least ninety-five before I swim.”

“It’s supposed to be ninety on Saturday, princess. And if that’s still too cold, he has a spa,” she says, smirking.

I’m silent.

“Kaley, you cannot turn this down!” She sends Derek another text. “I told him we’ll be there.” She reads his reply and hesitates before looking up at me. “We want to have a couple drinks before we go. Will you drive us?”

I roll my eyes and toss a magazine aside. “Fine. But this is weird, isn’t it? Hanging out at a teacher’s house on a Saturday night?”

“You know how close the team is with the coaches. And they all say that Mr. Slate’s a really cool guy. It’ll be fun!”

Right.

“Fine,” I say.

It’s bad enough having to face Mr. Slate during first period, but to hang out with him socially? No thanks. Hopefully it won’t be too difficult to avoid him. I’ll just be sure to socialize with whoever is farthest away from him. Probably won’t be too hard, since he’ll most likely be the one avoiding me.



WHEN EMILY PULLS into my driveway, I’m relieved to see my car parked on the side of the house. Finally! As she drives off, I unlock the front door and step into a shouting match between my parents.

Just when I didn’t think this day could get any worse.

They’re in the kitchen, so I make sure to slam the front door closed as hard as I can.

Silence.

Yep, I knew that’d do it.

What I really want to do is hide upstairs in my bedroom, but I’m sick of this. I drop my bag at the bottom of the stairs and march into the kitchen.

With my hands on my hips, I stand in the entryway, my face hard. “So what are we going to do about this?”

My mom’s face is streaked with red blotches. “We didn’t know you were home, sweetie. I’m sorry you had to hear that.”

“You’re sorry I had to hear that,” I repeat coldly, folding my arms. “Are you both certifiably insane?”

My dad turns to me. “Excuse me?”

“Do you think I live in a soundproof bedroom?”

“Watch your tone,” my dad warns.

“It’s okay,” my mom assures him. “We’re sorry, Kay.”

“I hear you every damn night,” I say, enunciating each word slowly.

My dad’s face inflames, and he raises his voice. “Watch your mouth. You don’t talk to us that way, do you understand?”

I raise my voice to match his. “Do you understand that I can’t get a good night’s sleep in my own house? Do you even care that it affects me?” I pivot and storm off to my bedroom, hollering as I stomp up the stairs. “I can’t wait to move out of this house and away from this fucked up family!”

My dad charges up the stairs after me, but I slam the door in his face. When he swings open my door, I hear my mom yelling after him, but he ignores her. He’s wearing a face that I once feared. But he doesn’t scare me this time—I’m too livid.

“Kaley . . .” He keeps his voice low, but the vein on his forehead swells as he points his finger in my face. “Don’t you ever use that language again. You are so out of line, young lady.” His voice shakes with controlled rage, and I know he’s trying to restrain himself.

I feel my chin tremble as his intense glare strikes my armor . . . and I start to break. Tears well up in my eyes, and I collapse on my bed with my head in my hands.

His arms are around me in a flash and my body stiffens.

“We’ll be fine, Kay,” he says, rubbing my back.

“I can’t take this,” I cry.

“Everything will be fine. It’s just a little bump in the road.” He holds me for a moment as I choke back tears, then squeezes me tightly before letting go.

As soon as I hear the door click behind him, I break down.

I don’t know how long I sob into my hands, but I eventually force myself to stop. If I don’t, I’m afraid I’ll cry forever. I send a text to Tommy telling him I don’t need a ride tomorrow. Then add: And thanks for ditching me today.

I couldn’t help myself.

My mom pokes her head in and treads lightly to my bed.

“I want to talk to you,” she says with a gentle voice. She sits next to me and strokes my hair the way she always has since I was a little girl.

She slips me a tissue, and I wipe my nose.

“What’s going on with you and Dad? I’ve never heard you fight—now that’s all you do. I don’t understand.”

She takes a deep breath. “You know, Kay, lately I’ve been noticing how much you’re growing up. You’re a young woman now. So, I’m going to be honest with you.” She pauses. “Your father and I have never had a great relationship.”

I turn to her. “You haven’t?”

Her eyes become glassy, making them appear almost doll-like as she struggles to steady her voice. “We’ve just always been able to ignore it, I suppose . . . until recently.”

“So what’s changed?”

“I think it’s because you’re eighteen now and growing up, getting ready to spread your wings. We’ve always had you as a distraction, I guess, but now it’s like we have to face each other, and it’s been . . . difficult.” She takes a breath. “Your father and I married right out of high school . . . after we found out I was pregnant with you at the end of our senior year.”

“What?” It feels like the air has just been suctioned out of the room.

“We wanted to do the right thing, so we got married right away.”

I spring off the bed. “You got married because of me? So . . . this is my fault?”

She grabs my hands. “Of course not, sweetie. You are the best thing that has ever happened to us. This is just life, Kaley. It’s not perfect.”

I’ll say.

I slip my hand through my hair and pace the room.

“I’m sorry, Kay. But I thought you deserved to know.”

I stare at her. I want to ask her why I deserve to know. Why she feels the need to tell me this. I’m trapped somewhere between wanting to be an adult and still wanting to be sheltered from reality. But her troubled eyes deflate me, and I flop back into my desk chair.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” I say. “I didn’t mean to swear at you guys. I don’t want you guys to be unhappy; it’s just been hard on me.”

“You had every right to say what you did, Kay. I’m sorry we’ve been selfish.”

“So what now? Are you going to go to counseling?”

She pauses. “Your father has been going, actually.”

“But not you?”

She shakes her head. “I’m just not ready yet.”