by Emma Nichols
With all the shit that had been tossed my way over the years by my classmates, it was a miracle I hadn’t dropped out years ago, but we’d promised my mom I’d make it through high school. Just a few more months, I reminded myself as I turned to my new teacher for direction.
His flicked his gaze between the rest of his students and me, his brows pinched in confusion. “Well, I wasn’t expecting that,” he murmured as he shuffled over to the large metal desk at the front of the room. “Why don’t you take a seat—” he scanned the room and pointed to an empty desk off to the side by the window “—over there by Miss Johnson.”
From behind a hulking dude I figured was probably a center or something on the football team, a delicate hand popped up. “Over here.”
I nodded, and took a few steps in that direction, but then stopped short, my breath coming fast and my heart thumping loudly in my chest. The girl who’d beckoned me over was the single most beautiful person I’d ever laid eyes on. Her beauty wasn’t tied to any one thing you could point out, but with her fresh face—wide hazel eyes and long, corn silk hair—she just radiated … something extra.
Something special.
You know how people will sometimes say a feeling hits you unexpectedly, like a bolt of lightning? This wasn’t like that. It didn’t hurt. It was more like the first time I stuck my tongue to a battery to see what type of jolt I would get. Except this jolt—this tingling awareness—was everywhere. My whole body practically vibrated with it.
When I heard a loud snicker from the back of the room, I snapped out of my daze. Two girls at the back of the room were whispering behind raised hands, their eyes darting between the blonde girl and me.
Before I could open my mouth to tell them to shut theirs, Mr. Harrison cleared his throat. “Yes, that seat right there, James. Thank you, Hope.”
Hope.
Not wanting to attract the teacher’s notice a second time, I attempted to settle my long body into the cramped desk space. Once in, I let my gaze find Hope’s a second time. She smiled shyly and then dropped her eyes down to the book on her desk.
“All right, class,” Mr. Harrison began, “Last week we discussed how microeconomics analyzes the basic elements of the economy, including individual agents and markets, their interactions, and the outcomes of interactions. This week, we’re going to focus on macroeconomics—that is, the entire economy and the issues affecting it, including unemployment, inflation, economic growth, and the public policies that address these issues. But before we get into our discussion, I’d like you to open your books to page one-oh-eight and read the short introduction by Professor Schneider from the University of Chicago.”
A collective sigh sounded in the room, and at all at once, everyone opened their books to begin. Everyone but me.
“Is there a problem Mr. Irving?”
I looked pointedly at my empty desktop and then back up to him. When his face flashed with aggravation, I realized he thought I was challenging his authority instead of pointing out that I didn’t have a book to read from. Before he could embarrass either of us, I said, “I don’t have a book. They told me they’d all be handed out in class.”
Mr. Harrison nodded. “Right, of course.” Quickly, he moved to the bookcase in the far corner of the room and scanned its contents. He crossed one arm over his middle and rested his elbow in his upturned palm. Tapping his cheek with the pads of his fingers as he searched for the right book, the class grew restless. Eventually, he sighed—his shoulders rounding in on themselves—and turned back to me. “I’m afraid I don’t have an extra on hand. I’ll be sure to ask Mrs. Hollandsworth to put in an order. In the meantime, please share with Hope.”
At the mention of her name, Hope’s head shot up. “What?”
By this point, most students had stopped reading, preferring instead to watch our exchange.
They really need better hobbies, I thought, scowling at a guy who was smirking like he knew something I didn’t.
“Hope, please share your book with James until we can get him one of his own.”
“Umm.” She hooked her hair behind her ears and shot a panicked look between me and our teacher. “I can’t.”
He tilted his head. “Come again?”
Her face turned scarlet. “I mean, I can—in class. But for homework, he’ll have to find someone else to share with. I can’t …” She trailed off, and the boy who’d been smirking let out a laugh as Hope turned even redder.
I might have felt guilty for inadvertently putting her in a position that made her so obviously uncomfortable, but I wasn’t going to let her discomfort supersede my own feelings. Frankly, I didn’t want to share books with someone who wanted nothing to do with me. Suddenly, all the warm fuzzies I’d been feeling about her evaporated. She might be beautiful on the outside, but it was clear her insides didn’t match. If they had, she wouldn’t be making such a big deal about having to befriend the new kid. Hell, I wasn’t even asking her to be friends with me. I just wanted to get the damn assignment done.
I slouched down in my seat and crossed my arms over my chest. “It’s fine. If she doesn’t want to work with me, I’ll just go to the library or something.”
Unlike me, Mr. Harrison wasn’t so quick to judge. His face softened, and his eyes turned sympathetic. “Ah, yes. Of course. I’ll have a word with your father. I’m sure it’ll be fine.” As if the subject was closed, he moved to the front of the classroom where he began writing on the whiteboard. “Tonight’s homework,” he instructed, “is to write a thousand-word essay on how you see both micro and macroeconomics playing out in our community.”
He turned back around to address the classroom, but when he opened his mouth to speak, the bell signaling the end of the period trilled. “And write to the margins, people! None of this two words per line malarkey I saw on the last assignment!” he called out over the noise of thirty students gathering up their things and chattering excitedly about whatever it was they were talking about.
With a heaving sigh, I pushed up out of my seat and turned to grab my coat.
“James?”
I glanced down at Hope, who was chewing on her lip nervously, her cheeks pink with embarrassment. “It’s not you,” she confessed, her eyes darting away.
“If not me, then who? You?” I was not in the mood for an ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ excuse from this girl, and I didn’t care if she knew it.
She looked around as if wanting to make sure no one had hung back to eavesdrop, and then whispered, “It’s my dad. He’s um … strict. I’m not allowed to talk to boys.”
I bent over to pick up my backpack, and when I hefted it on my shoulder, I paused. I didn’t know what caused me to stop and wait—manners, maybe?—but I wasn’t going to just walk away. I might have been a lot of things, but I wasn’t a rude asshole. You just didn’t just leave someone hanging when they were talking to you, no matter how much you might want to. What you could do, however, was call bullshit. “Sure, right. Whatever you say.”
“I’m serious.” This time when she looked at me, it wasn’t embarrassment coloring her features, but instead fear. “He’s … it’s not …” She sighed, a long, pained sound exiting her lungs in a soft gust. “I’m sorry. It’s a long story.” Her strawberry pink lips hitched to the side in a sad smirk. “I know this sounds trite, but it’s true. It’s not you; it’s me.”
I chuckled, but then immediately sobered. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know. I figured you were blowing me off because I’m the new guy.”
She scooted out of her seat and settled her knapsack over her shoulder. “I wouldn’t do that,” she said, coming to my side. She craned her neck back to look up at me. “I don’t have very many friends here, so I know what it’s like to be the outsider.”
Shit. Something dark and melancholy tugged at my gut. It was one thing for me to be ostracized—I could take it—but it made my heart hurt to see how sad and lonely she was. I’d missed it at first because I’d been too absorbed with my own sh
it, but looking at her now, it was plain as day.
“Come on. I’ll walk you to class, and we can be outsiders together.”
Her eyes darted to the door, and my gaze followed. “I don’t know.”
Tentatively, I set my hand to her shoulder as if to guide her out of the room, and she flinched. I pulled back like I’d been burned, and her eyes jumped up to mine. “He has people watching me.”
“Your dad?”
She nodded, and her eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “A couple of the students go to our church.”
I took a step back, and then another, putting several feet between us … even as my fingers itched to wipe away the single teardrop that had snaked its way down her cheek. “That …” I groaned. “Fuck. That sucks.”
She nodded. “I keep telling myself it’s only three more months, and then I can get the heck out of here.”
I smiled down at her. “I keep telling myself the same thing.”
She swiped her cheeks with the back of her hand, and the bell signaling the one-minute warning trilled overhead. “Crap. I better go.”
“Yeah, me too,” I said, letting her walk ahead of me. When we stepped through the door, she turned to head right, and I looked down at the schedule taped to the front of my folder. “Hey!” I called, and she turned around. “Which way to calculus?”
She smiled—her first real smile of the day—and it lit up her face. Honestly, it took my breath away. “Come on,” she called. “That’s where I’m going, too.”
In four long strides, I was by her side. “Looks like I’m walking you to class after all.”
She glanced up, suddenly shy again, and then back down. “Yeah, I guess you are.”
2
James
Even though Mr. Harrison had spoken at length to Pastor Johnson about his daughter sharing her books with me while the school waited for more to be delivered, he’d put his foot down on any after-school study sessions between his daughter and me.
For some strange reason, that made our teacher even more determined to pair us up. I didn’t get it, but I wasn’t going to complain. Over the past several weeks, Hope and I had developed an easy friendship, and any extra time that I got to spend with her—even if it was surrounded by our teachers and classmates—was a bonus as far as I was concerned.
In the month I’d been at Linwood, I’d made a few new friends, but Hope was the only one I felt completely comfortable with. Maybe it was because we both had home lives we were ashamed of others knowing about, but our personalities just seemed to mesh.
Whatever it was, I wasn’t going to question it. I hadn’t been this happy at a new school in years.
One day during third period, my name echoed over the school’s loudspeaker. Since I hadn’t done anything worthy of being called to the principal’s office, my first reaction was a bone-deep fear over my dad’s safety. His job could be dangerous, and people were hurt doing it all the time. That was how he’d come to get the position in the first place: the last guy had lost his hand in a freak machinery accident.
When I stepped into the office, the head secretary gestured toward Principal Grisham’s door. “Go on in. They’re expecting you.”
I raised my eyebrows. “They?”
Mrs. Lee didn’t answer. In fact, she wasn’t even looking at me anymore.
With my heart in my throat, I set my hand to the knob and took a deep breath. Don’t let him be hurt, don’t let him be hurt, don’t let him be hurt.
But even as the words echoed in my head, I was filled with guilt and shame. Because I wasn’t really worried about him. I was afraid that if he were hurt, I’d have to drop out of school to take care of him. My dad’s insurance hadn’t kicked in yet, and without a job to pay off any medical bills and get medicine, I’d have to pick up the slack. I’d always known this was a possibility, and while I hadn’t cared much before, things had changed.
If I left Linwood, I’d be leaving Hope behind, too, and I wasn’t ready for that. I didn’t think she knew how I felt, and I had no intention of ever telling her—especially since there was nothing either of us could do to change our situation. Knowing how much I cared about her would have only made things worse. I wouldn’t ask her to bear that burden.
With a deep breath, I tamped down my guilt and pushed open the door. I paused for a brief second before stepping in, surprise halting my progress. I’d expected a doctor or someone from the plant. Instead, Principal Grisham’s office was occupied by Mr. Harrison, Hope, and the school counselor, a woman I guessed to be in her early thirties who insisted students call her Jennifer instead of Miss Walsh.
“Ah, come in James.” Our principal gestured toward the only empty chair in the room. When I sat, he did as well, and then linked his fingers together on the large paper calendar that took up the majority of his desk space. “You’re probably wondering why I’ve called you in today.”
“Yes, sir. I wasn’t expecting the summons.”
His eyes flicked to Mr. Harrison, who shook his head minutely before he dragged his gaze back to me.
I swear, I didn’t mean to come off sounding like a dick, but sometimes the words that slipped out of my mouth just couldn’t be helped. What else did you call it when your name crackled over the loudspeaker, followed by a terse, “Please report to the principal’s office immediately.”? That was a summons, plain as day.
“Yes. All right.” He fidgeted with a pen on his desk, as if my answer had somehow thrown him off his game.
Mr. Harrison cleared his throat and leaned forward. “Our apologies for that. The attendance office had you in physical education in third period instead of …” He trailed off. “What class were you in, James?”
All heads swiveled toward me, and I felt heat creeping up the back of my neck. Had I been going to the wrong class for over a month? No, that couldn’t be right. Someone would have said something before now. Like, the teacher, perhaps? “World History with Mr. Keazer.”
Mr. Harrison shook his head and sat back in his seat, mumbling something about out-of-date computer systems and a lack of funding. Jennifer, meanwhile, studied both of us, her face a complete mask. I knew she was going for disinterested, but anytime a school administrator got that face it meant the exact opposite. She was watching me, watching my interactions with my teacher and principal, and I had no idea why.
Unless …
No, that was just me being paranoid. Hope had said there were people at Linwood who reported all of her activities back to her father. Was the guidance counselor one of them? That was crazy, right?
As inconspicuous as possible, I studied her. I didn’t really know what I was looking for—it wasn’t like the members of the congregation wore neon signs around their necks proclaiming their affiliation or anything. No, I thought when I spied a delicate gold chain partially obscured by the turned-down collar of her crisp shirt, but they do wear crosses around their necks. I couldn’t see if that’s what her necklace was, but I knew it would make me look like a creeper if I kept on staring, so I turned my attention back to the group.
Principal Grisham nodded and made a note on the pad of paper to his right. “I’m glad we got that settled. I’ll have Patricia make sure the records are updated accordingly. In the meantime, I wanted to talk to you about your grades.”
I sat forward, my attention on high alert. “My grades?” That didn’t make any sense. I might not have enjoyed going to school, but I was a solid B student. I’d never failed a single class. Hell, I’d never gotten less than a C on any test—ever. My grades couldn’t be a problem.
He shuffled some paperwork to the side and resumed his earlier pose. “Well, not so much your grades, but your coursework. With as many times as you’ve transferred schools, a few of mandatory courses for graduation have been missed.”
“That’s not fair!” It wasn’t my fault that had happened. Wasn’t it the school’s responsibility to make sure the student was being placed in the right classrooms, not the other way around? How
was I supposed to have known what I should have taken or not?
Mr. Harrison piped in. “No, it’s not fair. And I’m sorry things seem to have fallen through the cracks for you. What it comes down to is your previous school districts in California didn’t have the same requirements that we do. It’s a state mandate in Pennsylvania that to graduate high school, you have to have taken and passed certain classes. For example, health and wellness.”
“That’s a freshman course.”
He nodded. “It is. So how come it’s not on your transcripts?”
I clasped the back of my neck. How did you tell a room full of people that due to severe overcrowding, the school you’d once attended had been forced to limit class size by offering it only to those who were at risk of either becoming pregnant or knocking someone up? Since everyone at the school had known the girls there didn’t speak to me—much less want to fuck me—I was as low risk as they’d come. Instead, I’d been placed into a self-guided study period held in the large cafeteria. Me and all the other obvious virgins, nerds, and goody-two-shoes.
“Are you telling me I’m not going to graduate?” Dread settled heavy on my shoulders. Graduation was everything. I had plans that were already in place. They could not keep me here for another year.
“Normally, that would be the case,” responded Principal Grisham. “There are only two months left in the school year, and there’s simply not enough time for you to make up the courses you’re missing.” His lips formed a hard line, and he paused for a few brief seconds. I got the impression he didn’t approve of whatever was going to come out of his mouth next. “But I’ve been talking it over with Miss Walsh and your teachers—including Mr. Harrison—and we agree that you shouldn’t be punished for a system that failed you.”