by S. Walden
“Hi,” he whispered in her ear, and she shivered.
“Hi,” she replied.
“How are you, Clara?” he asked. He took hold of her hand, entwining his fingers with hers, and felt the flutter in his stomach when love is new and fresh and full of promise.
She didn’t reply. She wondered how she would eat her lunch with him holding her hand. She thought that maybe she didn’t really care to eat lunch. That she could fill up on the time she got to spend with him instead.
“Hey man,” Chris said. It was more of a question.
“Hey Chris. What’s up?” Evan asked. He released Clara’s hand and opened his soda.
“Just wondering what you’re doing later,” Chris said. He looked at Clara and gave her an uncertain smile. She smiled back just as uncertainly.
“I’m hanging out with my girlfriend,” Evan replied. He took a long sip of his Coke.
Chris looked dubious. “Okay man. That’s cool.”
“You can hang out for lunch if you want,” Evan said.
“Uhh . . .” Chris turned back to look at the students sitting at his regular table. “Uh, yeah. Okay.” He sat down tentatively across from Evan and Clara. “Sooo . . .”
“I can’t go to the movies Saturday, man,” Evan said. “I’m picking up a shift at work.”
“That’s cool,” Chris replied. He took a large bite out of his sandwich, chewing it as he looked at Clara.
“You a junior?” he asked with his mouth full.
“Yes,” Clara replied.
“Enjoy it,” Chris said. “Not that being a senior isn’t awesome. But man, anybody that tells you they can’t wait to graduate is lying. I’m scared shitless.”
Clara nodded.
“Where are you applying?” Chris asked Evan.
“I’ve already applied. Maryland, Duke, and Georgia Tech,” Evan said.
“You’re such a freakin’ nerd, man,” Chris replied.
Evan laughed. “Yeah, and you’ll be working for me one day.”
Chris chuckled. “I guess.” He looked at Clara again.
“You plannin’ on eating?” he asked eyeing her food.
She nodded and picked up her sandwich.
“Just let me know what you don’t want,” Chris said.
They ate and talked, with Clara listening for most of the conversation. She shared her fries and cookies with Chris. He acted like it was the most natural thing in the world, sharing food with her. She wasn’t sure what to make of Chris, but she decided boys weren’t all that complicated. He didn’t seem to care one bit that Evan was dating her, and the longer he sat at the table eating his food and hers, the more comfortable she became with him. He was nice. She wished girls were nice like him. Why were boys so much nicer than girls? Well, at least on the whole?
***
Evan didn’t spend the afternoon with Clara as he had intended. His father needed him to help with administrative work at his office. His father was an orthodontist, and Clara hoped never to meet him. She was self-conscious about her one crooked tooth and didn’t want Evan’s father to ask why she never had braces. Evan explained that his father was hoping he would go into orthodontics and carry on the family business, but Evan had zero interest in teeth. He preferred engineering. He liked to build things, not straighten them.
Clara walked into her house that afternoon to find Ms. Debbie sitting in the living room with Beatrice.
“Hi, Ms. Debbie,” Clara said, placing her book bag and purse on the floor next to the front door.
“Clara, it’s getting cold, and fast,” Ms. Debbie said urgently.
“We’re doing fine, Ms. Debbie,” Clara responded. “And please stop sending over food. It’s very kind of you, but I have things here to make for dinner.”
“Canned tuna and instant potatoes?! Please!” Ms. Debbie said. “I want you to come stay with me.”
“We’ve already discussed this,” Clara replied patiently. She sunk down in the armchair across from Ms. Debbie.
“I like what we’re doing,” Beatrice offered. “It’s fun. And very green.”
“Green?” Ms. Debbie asked.
“Yeah, like the green movement,” Beatrice explained. “Conservation. That sort of thing.”
Ms. Debbie stared at Beatrice then said, “What the hell are they teaching you in those schools?”
“Ms. Debbie, I promise we’re fine,” Clara said.
“I don’t believe it,” Ms. Debbie replied. “It’s getting cold and I know your bedrooms are cold at night. We made an arrangement, and I don’t see any lights. You know what that tells me? It tells me that you still don’t have electricity. And it’s getting cold.”
“It’s not that cold yet, Ms. Debbie,” Clara said.
“I’m an adult and it’s my responsibility—”
“Ms. Debbie, please stop,” Clara interrupted. How could Clara begin to tell her the obvious? Ms. Debbie had little more than they had. She lived on her measly Social Security check that barely covered her own living expenses. Plus, she was probably giving money to her church when she had no business doing so. And I’m sure they have no problem taking it, Clara thought bitterly. She felt instantly ashamed of silently condemning a church that just recently collected food for her and Beatrice, and said a quick prayer for forgiveness. Still, she knew Ms. Debbie could afford only to keep herself. She had no idea where Ms. Debbie found the money for her birthday earrings. She didn’t want to know. But there was no way in hell Clara and Beatrice were going to live with her and run up her electric and water bills.
“Clara, I know what you’re thinking,” Ms. Debbie said. She glanced at Beatrice. “Please do not say it aloud. I am still your elder and deserve respect, and I do have pride.”
Clara averted her eyes. “We’re okay,” she said softly. “I promise. But the minute we’re not, I’ll tell you. I swear I will. You’re very good to us. And we’re very grateful.”
Ms. Debbie stood up. She took a deep, labored breath and waddled to the front door.
“I’m baking you a pie for dessert,” she said, her hand clutching the doorknob. “Beatrice, I expect you over in two hours to pick it up.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Beatrice said. She couldn’t help but ask. “What kind, Ms. Debbie?”
“Cherry,” Ms. Debbie replied glancing at Clara, and left.
***
“Hi Clara,” Rebecca sneered.
Clara stood in front of the bathroom door about to leave. The door flew open, and Rebecca backed Clara against the far wall, two of her friends in tow.
“Why is it that shit always goes down in the bathrooms at school?” Rebecca asked laughing. She waited for Clara to reply, but Clara stayed silent. “You’ve been running your mouth about that incident at the restaurant, haven’t you?”
Clara shook her head.
“Bullshit. Why did Evan come up to me and tell me to stay away from you?” Rebecca asked.
“I didn’t tell him to do that,” Clara replied.
“Sure you didn’t,” Rebecca scoffed. “You just love being the good little victim, don’t you? Go cry to Evan and he’ll take care of it. You need to grow up and get a backbone.”
“I didn’t run to Evan about anything!” Clara yelled.
Rebecca ignored her. “I bet you two were having a great time laughing about my shirt.”
“No one gives a shit about your stupid shirt,” Clara snapped.
“And there’s your problem, Clara,” Rebecca said, arms folded over her chest. “You should care about my shirt. You should feel guilty for what happened. You should want to pay me back for ruining my expensive shirt. I mean, I know you don’t get it entirely because you’re poor and can’t afford nice, name brand things. But others of us can, and we get really fucking pissed off when a nice shirt gets ruined because of someone else’s little bitch sister.”
Clara felt the rush of rage. “You know I can’t pay you,” she said. “You said yourself I’m poor white trash.”
Rebecca
smirked. “True. But you don’t necessarily need to give me cash. I can think of other ways to make you pay up.” She whipped her hand out fast enough to grab Clara’s purse before Clara could stop her.
“Give it back,” Clara demanded. She reached for Rebecca, but Rebecca’s friends rushed to stand between them. “Give it back!” Clara cried more urgently.
Rebecca rifled through the purse until she found Clara’s wallet. She opened it and frowned.
“Three dollars, Clara? Are you fucking kidding me?” and she took the cash, stuffing it in her pocket.
Clara tried to push past the girls, but they kept her pinned against the wall.
Rebecca pushed open a stall door and dangled the wallet over the toilet.
“Stop!” Clara cried as she watched Rebecca drop the wallet. It splashed into the dirty toilet bowl.
“Let’s see. What else?” Rebecca asked.
Clara shook violently, an explosion hovering right on the edge of her skin, and she feared what she could do. She also welcomed it. It felt brave and sure and all of the things she usually wasn’t.
She wriggled out of one of the girl’s grasps and slapped her hard across the face. The friend howled in pain and backed away giving Clara the opportunity to pounce on Rebecca. And she did. She took her to the floor trying to wrestle her purse from Rebecca’s hands. Rebecca’s fingernails dug into her wrists, and she wrenched a hand free, wrapping it around Rebecca’s throat. She squeezed hard thinking she would kill her. She felt empowered for that second she saw terror in Rebecca’s eyes. It was short-lived, but it was glorious.
“Fucking bitch!” the other friend yelled grabbing Clara’s hair from behind. She pulled Clara backwards on to the tile floor. Clara cried out in pain and frustration. Her hands flew to her assailant’s trying to free her hair. Rebecca peeled herself off the floor, her face flushed with fury.
“I was just going to put your stupid wallet in the toilet, Clara!” Rebecca shouted. “But then you had to go and do that!”
Clara’s scalp screamed as the friend twisted her fingers harder in her hair. She jerked Clara’s head, forcing her to watch as Rebecca dropped her cell phone, sunglasses, car keys and lip gloss into the toilet bowl.
Rebecca threw Clara’s purse at her and bent low to address her. “I dare you to tell anyone about this. The principal. Your mom. Evan. You’d be wise to keep your fucking mouth shut.” Rebecca stood back up.
“She slapped me, Becky!” her friend said.
Rebecca looked annoyed. “Stand up, Clara.”
“Kiss my ass,” Clara said, then screamed when Rebecca’s friends hauled her off the floor.
Rebecca trapped Clara’s upper arm and addressed her friend Erin. “Well, here’s your chance. Hit her already.”
Erin slapped Clara across the face. It was so forceful that Clara saw white spots. She stood blinking trying to reorient herself to her surroundings, unaware that Rebecca had let go of her arm. Another swift slap but harder this time, and she grunted from the pain. Rebecca stood in front of Clara massaging her hand, looking satisfied and smug.
“Now you’ve paid up, bitch,” Rebecca said. She walked out of the bathroom with her friends following close behind.
Clara stood against the wall rubbing her offended cheek with one hand and her aching scalp with the other. She heard the door open again and tensed, balling her fists once more and readying herself for Round Two. She thought absurdly that she had lost the first round and needed to make up points in this one.
Florence rounded the corner and froze. “Clara?” She dropped her book bag and ran to Clara.
Clara relaxed and let Florence hug her then take an assessment of her.
“What happened to your cheek?” Florence asked.
“Nothing.”
“Bologna,” Florence said, and Clara winced at the word.
Bologna. Bologna sandwiches. That’s what got her into this mess to begin with. She wished she and Beatrice had never gone to that restaurant. Had never run into those girls. Had never engaged Rebecca in conversation forcing Beatrice to assault her with that fucking milkshake.
“Clara, tell me what’s going on,” Florence demanded.
Clara considered Florence. She thought she could trust her to keep a secret. Florence really didn’t talk to anyone at school except her anyway.
“Some girls were paying me back for something that happened,” Clara said. She walked into the stall and started the disgusting task of retrieving her personal belongings from the toilet.
“That’s all I get?” Florence asked. “That’s all you’re gonna tell me?” She watched Clara gingerly extract her dripping car keys and place them in the sink. “What the hell? Is your whole purse in there?”
“Just about,” Clara said, tossing her sunglasses and lip gloss in the trash.
“Clara,” Florence insisted.
“Florence, I will tell you,” Clara said patiently. “But you cannot tell anyone. And I mean it. If you so much as tell—”
“I won’t tell a soul!” Florence interrupted.
“Okay,” Clara said, then recounted the story at the burger restaurant and what just occurred in the bathroom while she cleaned her car keys, change, and license, ATM, and lunch cards with warm soapy water. She tossed her wallet and wrapped her ruined cell phone in a wad of paper towels. “I cannot believe I’m going to have to buy a new cell phone.”
“That’s what you’re upset about?” Florence asked, bewildered. “How about the fact that you were just assaulted?”
Clara shrugged.
“Clara, you can’t let those girls get away with that,” Florence insisted. She eyed Clara’s bright red cheek.
“Oh yes I can. And so will you. You promised, Florence,” Clara said sharply.
Florence sighed.
“It would be worse for me if I told, and you of all people should know that,” Clara said.
Florence bristled. “Yes, Clara. I know that nerds can’t stick up for themselves or it just comes back to bite them in the ass.”
“I didn’t mean to insinuate that you’re a nerd,” Clara said gently.
“Well, I am. And I don’t care. I was just thinking of you and how unjust it is. How unjust everything is,” Florence said. “I freaking hate high school.”
“Me too,” Clara said. She sighed as she dried her change with a paper towel.
“I won’t tell,” Florence said as she watched Clara gather her belongings. “But I hope you know that if Evan knew, he’d do something really awesome to defend your honor.”
“I don’t want him defending my honor,” Clara said wearily, opening the bathroom door for Florence.
“Clara, you’re a really smart girl and really stupid at the same time,” Florence said.
Clara thought she should be offended by the statement, but it made her smile instead. And then she winced when she smiled because her cheek still hurt.
“Who doesn’t want to be the princess that the handsome prince rescues?” Florence asked.
“I don’t know, Florence.”
Chapter 12
“The most wonderful thing has happened, Clara!” Beatrice squealed when Clara walked through the front door. Clara was tempted to ask if she was rehired by the ladies on Oak Tower Trail.
“Tell me,” Clara said heading to the kitchen for a glass of water.
“I auditioned for a solo in the school play, and I got it!” Beatrice danced around the kitchen clapping her hands.
“Bea, that’s awesome!” Clara said. She high-fived her sister. “So tell me all about it.”
“It’s a play that the third, fourth, and fifth graders are putting on at the end of this month. We’ve been practicing for a long time already, but they didn’t give out solos until today! It’s about celebrating different cultures, and oh, Clara!” Beatrice said dreamily. “I get to sing about Switzerland!”
Clara looked at her sister doubtfully. “Switzerland? Like skiing and hot chocolate?”
Beatrice noted her
sister’s sarcasm. “No Clara. Their culture,” she said.
“Like skiing and hot chocolate?” Clara asked again. This time she grinned.
“Don’t make fun, Clara! I’m singing a lovely important song about the Swiss culture.”
Clara opened her mouth to reply.
“And it doesn’t have anything to do with skiing and hot chocolate!” Beatrice exclaimed.
Clara closed her mouth and smiled. “So what about your costume, Bea? Do you have to wear anything special?”
Beatrice was reluctant to reply.
“Bea?”
“Ski gear,” she mumbled.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Clara said, and went out to collect wood for their fire.
***
Ms. Debbie stared down Clara at dinner that night. Clara felt her eyes and tried to ignore them.
“I cannot believe this weather!” Ms. Debbie exclaimed. “November and you’d think it was January.” She looked at Clara expectantly.
“Will you pass the potatoes, Ms. Debbie?” Clara asked sweetly.
Ms. Debbie grabbed the bowl with her pudgy hand and shoved it under Clara’s nose.
“I’m wrapped in three blankets in my bed, and I’m as big as a house!” she said.
Beatrice stifled a giggle.
“It’s quite all right, Beatrice,” Ms. Debbie said. “You can laugh. We all know that I’m a large woman.” She turned back to Clara. “The point is that I’ve got enough blubber on me to keep me warm in forty-degree weather wearing a bathing suit!”
Clara tried to block out the mental image of Ms. Debbie in a bathing suit.
“And I’m snuggling under mounds of blankets because even I’m freezing,” she went on.
Clara scooped the potatoes on her plate and dug in.
“I can’t imagine what it’s like for people living out on the streets,” Ms. Debbie said. “Or in houses with no heat.”
Clara rolled her eyes and put down her fork.
“Ms. Debbie, we—”
“Had a deal,” Ms. Debbie finished.
“I like sleeping next to the fire,” Beatrice said. “It’s very romantic.”