And there it is again.
Her words sting, regardless of how true they are. Is that the real reason he puts up with me? Because I’m the only girl who won’t sleep with him? He’s always been a good friend to me, but I’m starting to wonder if I’m just some sort of prize. I push the thought away.
“Honestly Ems, I’m stressed about the future, my grade in math is plummeting, and my parents’ fighting has gotten really bad.”
There, I did it. Finally pulled the “fighting parents” card.
Her expression is sympathetic. “How bad?”
“Really bad. They keep me up almost every night. . . . It’s why I’m always tired.”
“I’m sorry Kay, why didn’t you tell me?”
“I don’t know. It’s embarrassing for some reason.” I look down. “I feel like it’s my fault.”
She touches my shoulder. “Why would it be your fault?”
“I finally confronted my parents about everything the other night, and my mom told me they’ve just grown apart. She confessed they were never really great together, but got pregnant senior year and chose to do the ‘right thing.’ I guess they focused on me for most of their marriage, but now that I’m older, they’re forced to face each other again.” A lump forms in my throat. “I’m the reason they got married. I’m the reason they’re miserable.” My voice cracks, and I press the back of my thumbs under my eyes to stop the tears as the reality of my words cut into me.
“I can’t believe she said that to you,” says Emily in a soothing voice.
“Yeah, it pretty much made me feel like crap.”
She strokes my arm. “You poor thing. Thank you for finally telling me. I’m so sorry. Are you sure you don’t want to come with us? You can stay the night at my house. Someone else can drive—you deserve to blow off a little steam.”
“No, Ems. I really need to just go home. Please.”
“Okay,” she says. “Hey, we’ll grab a ride with one of the guys, okay? Just go home from here. And call me if you need anything.”
“Thanks.”
After a long hug, we step into the hallway and join everyone in the living room.
Emily addresses the crowd. “Hey, can we get a ride with one of you to Jeff’s party? Kaley needs to go home.”
All eyes fall on me, including Mr. Slate’s.
Tommy rushes to my side. “You okay?”
I appreciate his genuine concern, but it makes me feel guilty as well. The situation with my parents is weighing heavily on me, but it isn’t the main reason I want to crawl into my bed right now.
“Yeah,” I reply. “I’ll talk to you about it tomorrow, okay? Have fun tonight, you deserve it.”
He kisses me, then takes me by the hand and leads me outside. I wave good-bye to everyone, but they’re all talking amongst themselves. Mr. Slate is the only one looking my way, but he doesn’t wave back.
“You’re not mad?” I ask Tommy as he takes me to my car.
“No, it’s okay. Do you want to talk about it now?”
“Not really. Just go to the party.”
He leans me against my car and pulls me in for a kiss. I can’t believe he’s being so chill about me bailing. He hasn’t had that much to drink, and it was hours ago. He wraps his arms around my waist, kissing me slowly. His tenderness pulls at my guilt-ridden heart.
“So, prom’s coming up,” he says after ending the kiss. His arms are still tightly wrapped around me. “A bunch of us are getting hotel rooms in downtown Phoenix.”
“Oh yeah?” Ah. Now I know why he’s being so sweet.
“Yeah.” He says, kissing me again—as if his kiss has magical powers that are going to convince me. “You interested?”
His eyes remind me of a puppy dog begging for table scraps. In fact, he’s making me feel like table scraps right now as he paws at me.
“Tommy, I’m not losing my virginity on prom night. That’s so cliché.”
He releases his hold on me. “So when exactly do you have it planned?”
“I don’t have it planned. I’d prefer it to be spontaneous.”
He scoffs. “How can it be spontaneous when you never allow us to be in a spontaneous situation?” His voice is starting to rise. He’s gone from puppy dog to pit bull in under six seconds flat.
“Well, this behavior isn’t going to get you what you want, I can assure you.”
“What do you expect, Kaley? Am I supposed to wait forever?”
“What is that supposed to mean? I can’t believe you’re saying this right now! You know I’m—”
“Everything okay?” Mr. Slate’s voice slices through the tension as he strolls down the driveway. I didn’t even hear him come out of the house.
“Yes,” I say without looking at him.
“Why don’t you call it a night, Bradford,” he warns.
When Tommy doesn’t budge, he stops at the end of the driveway and faces us.
Tommy drags his eyes from me and pins them on Mr. Slate. “Everything’s cool, Slate.” His words don’t match his defiant tone.
Mr. Slate’s expression hardens as he folds his arms.
“Can we have some privacy?” Tommy’s says, his voice crisp. “I’m talking to my girlfriend.”
Mr. Slate’s eyes flash to mine for a split second before returning to Tommy’s. “No, I think you should go cool off.”
Tommy turns his body away from Mr. Slate, focusing his attention back on me. I meet Tommy’s eyes, unable to look anywhere else. My throat tightens as the pressure builds between them.
“Bradford, I’ll give you two choices,” cautions Mr. Slate. He relaxes his stance. “You can either walk away right now, or you can stay with me after practice on Monday and run stairs until you can’t see straight.”
Tommy sets his jaw, keeping his back to Mr. Slate, and I chew on my inner lip, wincing when I accidently draw blood.
Just when I think Tommy’s going to mouth off again, he quickly spins around, causing me to flinch, then charges up the driveway and into the house. I look back at Mr. Slate, but he’s already stepping into his Tahoe. I stand under the streetlamp for a moment, feeling an empty space burgeon inside of me. Mr. Slate pulls onto the street, and I glance back at the house, half-expecting Tommy to return. Not wanting another encounter, I slide into the Chevelle as the Tahoe disappears around the corner.
Tears roll down my cheeks as I drive home, the engine’s roar serving as a backdrop for my thoughts. My life feels like it’s being shattered to pieces, and I’m the one holding the hammer. I’m the cause of every disaster in my life. Tommy and I constantly bicker. Why? Because of me. My parents exchange verbal blows nearly every night, and their marriage is falling apart. Why? Because of me. With Emily, Derek, and Mr. Slate, there have been fights, tension, and anger. Why? Because of me. I just want everything back to how it used to be. Back to when my parents were happy, and I wasn’t a walking tornado. Back to when I was content with surface-level Saturday nights and light-hearted conversations. Back to spring break when Tommy was my whole world, and I was headed to California for college . . . back when life was easy, and I was in control.
When I pull into my driveway, I cut the engine and lean back in my seat. Somehow, I have to set the hammer down and glue the pieces back together. . . . Is it too late for that? Taking a deep breath, I draw my phone from my bag and send Tommy a text:
I’ll think about prom night, ok? Call me later. I love you.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I’M TRYING. I REALLY AM. But the week drags on as I hide my despondency underneath mechanical smiles and empty laughter. Emily and I are getting along great—even Tommy and I have made up, but we’re still fragile. Derek is still cautious around me, however, and Mr. Slate continues to act as if I don’t exist. He doesn’t even look at me when I hand in my test on Wednesday.
Relief greets me Friday morning, promising an end to a tiresome week. I’m anticipating the weekend more than usual because the boys are busy with extra baseball practices as they gear up for the playoffs, and the team is staying at Derek’s all weekend. Emily will be gone as well. Her parents are taking her up to Flagstaff for the weekend to check out NAU. She’s still positive about getting into USC, but her parents are making sure that she explores all of her other options. The four of us have plans to hang out tonight, of course, but other than that, I’ll be enjoying a solitary weekend alone where I won’t be required to perform.
Mr. Slate passes back our tests at the end of class, and there it is, written in harsh red ink.
An actual D.
If I’m not mistaken, this brings my overall grade down to a C. I know I’ve been struggling, but this is getting out of hand. Underneath the D, is a note from Mr. Slate in his annoyingly perfect handwriting:
YOU ARE BETTER
THAN THIS!
It’s such a slap in the face. I overhear some of my classmates freaking out over their grades and talking about going to tonight’s study session. I’d rather perform naked cartwheels in the cafeteria during lunch than go to Mr. Slate’s study session, but this is getting serious now. I need to pass this class to graduate, and once you fall behind in math, it’s nearly impossible to catch up.