“What’d Lexie say when you told her what happened?”
I glance at him, raising an eyebrow. “Lexie?”
He nods, sipping his coffee.
“Shit! Lexie!” I crank my car. “I forgot to pick her up.”
Miller laughs. “Well, in your defense, you’ve had an eventful morning.” He leans in and kisses me. “I’ll see you at lunch.”
I kiss him back. “Okay.”
He grabs the door handle and goes to get out of the car. I squeeze his arm, needing to say one more thing. When he falls back into his seat and looks at me, I lift my hand to the side of his head, not knowing what words to use to convey how sorry I am for last night. I stare at him, my heart full of remorse, but I seem to have forgotten how to verbalize anything at this point.
Miller leans forward and presses his forehead to mine. I close my eyes, and he remains there for a moment. He brings his hand up to the back of my neck and caresses it. “It’s okay, Clara,” he whispers. “I promise.” His lips briefly meet my forehead before he gets out of my car and closes the door.
I am fully aware of what an asshole move that was last night. I’m still mortified by it. So much so I already know I’m not telling Lexie what happened between Miller and me. I’ll never tell anyone. And I hope someday we’ll have a redo of that moment, because I certainly did a great job of ruining it.
I was so early to school that when I finally made it to Lexie’s house, she didn’t even know I had forgotten her. She walked out of her house with a wrapped gift and a Mylar balloon that said “Get Well Soon” on it.
She does that a lot. Waits until the last minute until it’s too late to find the appropriate card, or balloon, or wrapping paper. Half the stuff she gives me is normally wrapped in Christmas paper, no matter what time of year it is.
I still can’t believe my mother forgot my birthday. At least Miller and Lexie remembered.
Even though I’ve only been seventeen for a few hours, I’m proud of my newfound maturity. When I walked into Jonah’s classroom half an hour ago, I made it all the way to my seat without punching him. Even when he told me good morning. Even when his voice cracked as he said it. I didn’t even make eye contact with him.
He’s been lecturing for about twenty minutes now, and I haven’t done a single thing I’ve fantasized about doing during the twenty minutes I’ve been in his class. I’ve wanted to scream at him, call him an adulterer, tell the entire class about his affair with my mother, hack the intercom system to tell the whole school.
But I haven’t done any of those things, and I’m proud of myself for it. I’ve remained extremely calm and composed, and as long as I keep my eyes off him, I think I might be able to make it through the entire class and escape without a confrontation.
Seventeen looks good on me. I’m practically an adult now, thank God, because I can’t rely on my mother to raise me anymore.
Lexie: Efren is growing on me. I’ll have my first Friday off since we’ve been talking and he just asked if I wanted to go on a date.
I smile when I get her text.
Me: What’d you say to him?
Lexie: I told him no.
Me: Why?
Lexie: Kidding. I actually said yes. I’m shocked. He’s so short. But he’s kind of mean to me, so it makes up for all the many things he lacks.
She’s the pickiest person I know when it comes to guys. I’m honestly very surprised she agreed to go out with him. Relieved, but surprised.
I start to type out a text to her when Jonah says, “Clara, please put your phone away.”
My chest heaves at the sound of his voice. It makes my skin crawl. “I’ll put it away when I’m finished with my text.”
I hear a couple of people gasp in the room, like I just cussed at him or something. I continue typing my response to Lexie.
I need to ask administration if I can switch classes. There’s no way I can look at Jonah for the rest of the year. I don’t want to be in the same room as him, the same house as him, the same town as him, the same world as him.
“Clara.” He says my name with a gentleness, almost as if it’s a plea not to make a scene. He can’t allow me to text when no one else is allowed to have their phones out. I understand his awkward predicament, not wanting to call me out but being forced to. I should feel bad, but I don’t. I kind of like that he’s uncomfortable right now. He deserves a dose of how I’ve felt since I saw his hands pawing at my mother while his tongue was in her throat.
God, I can’t get it out of my head no matter how hard I try.
I lift my eyes and look at him for the first time since walking into his classroom. Jonah is standing at the front of his desk, leaning against it, his feet crossed at the ankles. He’s in teacher mode. Normally I would respect that, but right now, all I see when I look at him is the man who cheated on my aunt Jenny. With my mother.
When he nods his head toward my phone with a pleading expression, silently asking me to put it away again, all I see is red. I grip my phone in my right hand, and I hurl it toward the trash can near the classroom door. My phone crashes against the wall and falls to the floor in pieces.
I can’t believe I just did that.
Apparently, no one else in the class can believe it either. There’s a collective gasp. I think one of those gasps is mine.
Jonah stands up straighter and walks to the classroom door. He opens it and points out into the hallway. I snatch up my backpack and push myself out of the desk. I march to the door, more than ready to leave this room. I glare at him as I pass through the doorway. I’m sure he’s about to walk me to the office, so it doesn’t surprise me when he closes the door to his classroom and follows me.
“Clara, stop.”
I don’t. I’m not listening to him. Or my mother. I’m done listening to the remaining adults in my life. I feel it might be counterproductive to my mental health.
I feel Jonah’s hand grip my upper arm, and the fact that he’s trying to stop me and have a conversation with me infuriates me. I yank myself from his grip and spin around. I don’t know what’s about to come out of my mouth, but I can feel the anger raging its way up my throat like a rapid.
Right before I can lash out at him, he closes the gap between us and wraps his arms around me, pressing my face against his chest.
What the hell?
I try to push against him, but he doesn’t let go. He just squeezes me tighter.
His hug enrages me, but it also causes me to lose focus for a moment. I wasn’t expecting this. I was expecting to be sent to the office or suspended or expelled, but I certainly wasn’t expecting a hug.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers.
I try one more time to push him away, but I don’t try very hard because he’s wearing the same kind of shirt my dad was wearing the last time he hugged me goodbye. A soft white button-up shirt that feels nice against my skin. My cheek is pressed against one of the plastic buttons, and I squeeze my eyes shut, not knowing what to do, because even though I hate Jonah right now, his hug reminds me of my dad.
He even smells like my dad a little. Like fresh-cut grass in a thunderstorm. When his hug doesn’t ease up at all, I start to cry. Even Jonah’s hand against the back of my head feels just like my dad’s. I hate myself for this, but I lean into him and let him hug me while I cry. I miss my dad so much. I feel more sadness than anger right now, so I let Jonah hug me because it feels better than fighting.