by Henry, Mia
“Oh.” He tries to hide a smile. “’Cause, um, you know you still have ten minutes ‘till the first bell, right?”
“Right. Of course,” I lie. “Just wanted to make sure I was here in case anybody needed extra help. Need any extra help, Josh?”
“Nah. I’m good.”
“Okay, then. Well, I’ll take that as a sign that I’m doing my job.” I give him a quick smile, then dive into my classroom, slamming the door against the noise behind me.
“Well, well, well.” I hear Waverly’s voice before I see her, sitting with her coffee in the first desk by the window. Gwen’s sitting on my desk in a black shift dress and ankle boots, flipping through my textbook. “Look who’s not dead in a ditch somewhere, Gwennie!”
Gwen closes the textbook hard enough to make me jump.
“Oh, God. I’m—I should have texted you.” I glance back and forth between them. They both look pissed. “I just… I forgot, and then I fell asleep, and this morning I was running so late that I…” My protests sound pathetic, so I stop. Tuck my bag under my desk and slide next to Gwen. “I should have called. I’m really, really sorry.”
“Or even answered a text, Elle.” Gwen’s tone is harsh. “You could have been in trouble, and we wouldn’t have known until this morning. That’s really shitty.” Her eyes are glassy.
“I know. I just saw the texts a few minutes ago. I’m so sorry.” I rest my head on her shoulder and wrap my arms around her waist, squeezing tight. “It will never happen again.”
“We’ll forgive you,” Waverly says curtly, “if you tell us exactly where you were. And who you were with.” She crosses her legs, uncrosses them, then crosses them again. “Okay.” I straighten up and hop off the desk. No reason to be within arm’s length of either of them when I drop the bomb. “But don’t freak out. There’s more to this story than you guys know.”
“WE KNEW IT!” Waverly’s voice is shrill enough to crack a window. “You were with HIM? How could you go over there, after everything he did to you?”
I glance at Gwen.
“I kind of want to know the same thing,” she says sharply.
“I know, I know. It seems bad. But he’s not married and I just read the whole situation wrong and nothing happened last night. We were talking and we fell asleep. I swear, I’ll explain everything when we have time.” My eyes linger on Gwen. I know I should have called, but isn’t she overreacting?
“No wife?” Waverly’s nose crinkles. “Wait. What?”
“It’s not what we thought. Not what I thought. I’ll explain tonight. Let me make it up to you. I’ll make you guys dinner.”
“But he still lied to you, right?” Gwen asks.
“What do you mean, dinner? Like takeout?” Waverly says skeptically.
“No, I mean I’ll cook for you. And we’ll have dessert.” I ignore Gwen’s question. I know Luke lied. Or at least, he didn’t tell me everything. But to blame him for that would be hypocritical. And I want to believe that lies of omission aren’t really lies. They’re necessary survival tactics.
“What about booze?” Gwen narrows her eyes at me playfully. “Will there be booze at this apology dinner? Booze and dessert and groveling?”
“Wine. Cocktails. Chocolate. Groveling. Whatever you want,” I promise.
“Okay. We’re in,” Waverly announces as the bell rings. My door flies open and a student stampede spills inside.
“Gotta go. I’ve got AP Lit.” Gwen slides off the desk and points a finger at one of the students in the back. “Rob Feinman! That better not be gum in your mouth. And if it is, it better not be strawberry gum, because I will be forced to confiscate the rest of the pack immediately!”
A quiet dark-haired student in the back grins. It’s the first time I’ve seen him smile all year. “It’s just spearmint, Ms. Markley.”
“Gross. Never mind, then. Carry on.” When Gwen reaches the door, she turns around. “Ms. Sloane?”
“Yes, Ms. Markley?”
She lifts her planner to her lips, shielding them from the rest of the room. “Just…” She mouths the last two words. I can read them perfectly.
Be careful.
chapter twenty
Elle,
So… I’m thinking of going to visit Dad. I just can’t stand the thought of him there, in that cell. I keep picturing something out of a TV show, but deep down, I know it’s way worse. You must think I’m ridiculous, right? To want to see him after what he’s done? But even he doesn’t deserve to feel completely alone. There’s nothing worse in the world.
Love you for infinity,
A
I go for a quick run after school, then shower and change into leggings and a tank top I stole from Aria’s closet a long time ago. She’s several inches taller than me, with a dancer’s body, and I’ve always liked the way her shirts are just a little long on me. Plus, despite the fact that I’ve held the top hostage for years now, it still smells like her.
“Okay.” I fling open the refrigerator and unearth the bags of groceries I bought during my free period. I went overboard: fresh shrimp for enchiladas. Avocado, chiles, tomatoes, red onion, cilantro, and limes for homemade guacamole. Chocolate-covered macaroons for dessert.
I prep the enchiladas, shelling the shrimp and chopping peppers, onion, and garlic. Then I turn on the stove and pour myself a glass of cold white wine while the pan heats. I haven’t thought about Aria’s Email this afternoon, mostly because I don’t want to. Why the sudden desire to visit our father in prison? Because she pities him? I can’t stand the thought of Aria having to see the inside of that place. Not that I’ve ever been, or even plan on going. But the image of Aria, sweet, fragile Aria, sitting across from my father in an orange jumpsuit, or he wears, makes my heart ache.
My cell rings on the counter and I jump, sending wine over the edge of my glass. I toss a dishrag on the floor and nudge it around with my foot.
“Hello?”
“It’s so funny how we do that, isn’t it? Say hello even though we already checked the screen, and we know who’s on the other line, unless of course the call is blocked. And I don’t know about you, but I’m just not gonna answer a blocked—”
“Hello, Luke.” I cut him off with a laugh. “Yes, I knew it was you, and yes, I said hello anyway, because, well, I’m nice that way.”
“You’re nice lots of ways.”
“Oh, yeah? Well, so are you.” I slide the veggies into the pan, and they make a satisfying sizzle. “Like when you made me dinner last night. And then breakfast this morning. Did I thank you for that, by the way?”
“Probably. I just couldn’t hear it, with your tires squealing in my driveway.” He pauses. “Hey, are you okay? You sound like you’re crying.”
“I’m fine,” I say quickly. “Onions. I’m making dinner for the roommates, as an apology for going AWOL last night.”
“Partly my fault. But it was worth it.”
“Agreed.” I find a fresh cutting board and start to chop the avocado. “I didn’t see you at school today. You didn’t play hooky, did you?”
“I was there. Just stuck in my studio, working on stuff. Dr. Goodwin wants some more art for his office, so I told him I’d pull together a few things. His space is pretty bare right now.” I can hear him crunching on something. Tortilla chips, maybe. I find my own bag of blue corn chips and tear it open. “Am I invited for dinner, or am I doomed to eat leftover risotto?” He sniffs and lets out a shuddery sigh.
I turn down the heat, then add shrimp to the vegetables. “I think this should be a girls’ night. But after we finish up here, you could come over for coffee or something.”
“Nah, that’s okay. I was just kidding. I still have work to do. You guys have fun.”
“Don’t work too hard.”
“Won’t. Later, pretty girl.”
I end the call regretfully, staring at the blank screen long after we’ve both hung up. There’s a longing inside me that has only intensified with the sound of his voi
ce. Already, I miss him. Which is ridiculous, since we were just having breakfast together a matter of hours ago. But there’s something about being around him that makes me need him even more.
I unroll flour tortillas and spoon veggies, shrimp, and cheese into them. Then I pick some of the shrimp out again, to give Gwen a vegetarian option. After I wrap the enchiladas, I sprinkle more cheese on top and slide them into the oven, all the while thinking about Luke. I know there are issues: my lies, his ex and the fact that he has a daughter. But when I’m not around him, none of that matters. Or maybe I don’t want it to matter.
“Hello?” I hear the door open in the hall, and soon Waverly and Gwen are ditching their bags on the kitchen table.
“Ooh! Something smells kick-ass.” Gwen gives me an approving smile and reaches for the oven door handle.
“No. Way.” I swat her with my wine-soaked dishtowel. At least she’s back to normal Gwen, and doesn’t seem as pissed as she did this morning. “They’re enchiladas, and you can have them when they’re ready. For now, have some wine and the guacamole will be ready in a sec.”
“Deal.” Gwen pours two glasses and hands one to Waverly while I chop and mash and squeeze. “So without further ado, can you please tell us what you were doing at Luke’s last night?”
I tell them everything. Almost everything. I don’t mention the car crash that killed Luke’s parents, or the fact that his relationship with Ashley started with a one-night stand. I just tell them that he and Ashley met in college, and that she got pregnant unexpectedly. I speak quickly, almost desperately. I just want the story out there, and I want to know what they think. Or I don’t, depending on their verdicts.
“I’m sorry, but I just don’t see how this makes things that much better.” Waverly says when I’m finished. “I mean, okay, he doesn’t have a wife. Congratulations. But he lied to you. Are you sure you can get past that?”
My stomach churns. “He didn’t lie, exactly. He was worried what I would think. He wanted to find the right time to talk about it.” I finish the guacamole and we head outside to the patio. “It’s not like he owed me his entire life story in the first couple dates.”
“It’s a kid!” Waverly’s voice is shrill. I feel my body tensing in defense of Luke. “As in, a person! You don’t think he owed it to you to tell you that?” She lifts a matchbox from the table and strikes a match against the box so hard, it snaps in two. It takes her three tries to light the tropical-scented pillar candles in the center of the table.
“Eventually, of course! Obviously. But in the first couple dates? I don’t know.”
“Rationalizing,” Waverly diagnoses.
I bite my lip, hard.
“Okay. Okay.” Gwen takes the seat between us. “Everybody have some guacamole. Get drunk. Whatever.”
“What do you think, Gwen?” I cringe. “Do you think he’s an asshole?” I haven’t realized until now how much I care about what the girls think. It bothers me that Waverly doesn’t trust Luke.
“Hey. Not what I said,” Waverly huffs, stabbing the guacamole with a tortilla chip. “This guacamole is fucking awesome, by the way.”
“Thanks.” I rub my temples.
“I think everybody brings a life with them, you know?” Gwen says quietly. “Like, everybody has things they might do differently if they could.” She pinches the stem of her wine glass between her thumb and index finger and rolls it back and forth.
“You’re such a wise little yogi.” Waverly quips.
“My point is, we all have stuff in our life that we’re scared to show other people. That doesn’t make him a bad person. It just makes him human.”
I feel a lump forming in my throat. So I just nod.
“The important part is, what’re you gonna do with it?” Gwen tugs a few bobby pins from her hair and flicks them onto the table. Her topknot comes tumbling down. “Have you ever thought about dating somebody with a kid?”
I shake my head. “I’m not opposed to it, I guess. I just never thought about it before.”
“I can’t believe Luke Poulos is like, a dad.” Waverly draws her lips together in a tiny pout. I can’t tell if she’s disappointed or turned on.
I reach for the chips and scoop the biggest chunk of avocado from the bowl.
“It’s something you have to think about,” Gwen says.
“I know.” I can feel my chest getting tighter by the second. Of course it’s something I have to think about. I’ve been thinking about it nonstop since I found out.
“Disagree,” Waverly argues. “They just started dating. She doesn’t have to figure it out this very second.”
“But what if they fall in love, and then all the sudden she realizes she doesn’t want to be a stepmother, and then it sucks because they’re already in love and—”
“OHMYGOD!” I smack the table, making the dishes jump. “This is the most stressful dinner party I have ever thrown. EVER. Can we please not talk about this anymore? I’m sorry I didn’t tell you where I was last night, and it won’t happen again. Okay? Okay. Please eat your fucking guacamole.” I can’t tell if I’m about to burst out laughing, or burst into tears.
The girls are silent for a few seconds. Then Waverly stands up slowly, her lips twitching with the beginnings of a smile.
“Girl, somebody needs to get you another glass of wine. I’ll grab the bottle.”
“That’s her way of apologizing, you know.” After Waverly leaves, Gwen nudges me with a bare foot. “She doesn’t mean to be bitchy about Luke. She just wants to make sure you don’t get hurt. So do I, for that matter.”
“I know,” I say softly. The things Gwen said—about everyone bringing a life with them, about everyone having something they’re afraid to show—make me want to tell her everything. There’s a part of me that thinks she might even understand. And another part of me that knows no one could. Not Gwen. Not Luke. Because what I’ve done is incomprehensible.
“You know, I actually think Luke might make a pretty good dad.” Gwen pulls her long hair over one shoulder and starts to twist it in a single braid. “I bet that kid can produce some sweet finger paints.”
I laugh. “Yeah.” I imagine Luke sitting at his kitchen table with his little girl, hovering over her as she paints or draws. And then, suddenly, there’s a flash of my own father, reading to me before bed. We kept a paperback on my bedside table. Classics, mostly. I can feel my eyes starting to fill, and I blink away the tears.
“Hey. You don’t have to decide right away. You can give it some time.”
“I know. That’s not why I’m— I know.” I stop myself before it’s too late.
“One bottle of wine, coming up!” Waverly reappears outside with the bottle and three plates of enchiladas, stacked from her palm to her elbow. “And your enchiladas were ready, so I served the plates.”
“Woah. Where’d you learn to do that?” Gwen looks impressed. “Did you actually have a… job in high school?” She jumps up and relieves Waverly of two of the plates. I commandeer the bottle of wine and pour myself another glass.
Waverly snorts. “Please. I learned at summer camp. They made us help with the dishes and stuff.”
When we’re all seated with our food, Gwen raises her glass. “Everything looks really great, Ellie.”
“For sure,” Waverly says too brightly. Her way of smoothing things over, even though I’m not really mad. I’m not sure I have a right to be. If I had Waverly’s history with guys, I wouldn’t trust Luke either.
“Cheers.” We clink glasses.
“Okay, enough about this boy business. THIS is a seamless subject change,” Gwen announces grandly. “Hey, do you know what we haven’t taught Elle yet?” She catches Waverly’s eye and grins.
“Oh, I think I know what you’re referring to.” Waverly tosses her long blonde bangs away from her eyes, then whips her head toward me dramatically, soap-opera style. “This is a little game we like to call Guess What Happened At Work Today?.”
“The rule
s are fairly self-explanatory.” Gwen takes a giant bite and makes an approving noise.
“Basically, we all say something that happened today, and whoever has the most outrageous story wins,” Waverly explains. “And just a little heads-up, I usually win.”
Gwen nods. “Because drama kids do some weird shit.”
“Like your poetry freaks are any better?”
“True,” Gwen concedes. “Okay. I’ll go first. Today at work, I assigned an investigative reporting project to my Gazette kids, and—”
Waverly yawns.
“No, listen. This is really good,” Gwen insists. “They’re supposed to dig up a story on campus. So Liam Guthrie comes to my room after school and says he’s going to report on the secret lives of members of the Allford community.”
I freeze.
“Says he spent his free period going through teachers’ trash cans when they weren’t in their rooms, and—get this—he’s convinced that the new science teacher has some sort of freaky contagious foot fungus.”
Waverly makes a gagging sound. I force a laugh. This is all I need: a whole team of story-hungry student reporters, trying to sniff out my secrets.
“We had a little mini-lesson on ethics. I told him to stop digging through peoples’ trash,” Gwen concludes.
“Good,” I mumble.
“I’ve totally got you beat on this one.” Waverly leans back in her chair, nursing her wine. “Today at work, I saw a faculty member—who shall remain nameless—lip-synching to a Bieber song in the faculty lounge when he thought nobody was there. When I jangled my keys, he acted all flustered, like he didn’t know how that song was playing on his iPad.”
“Pretty good, pretty good,” Gwen nods. “And by the way, we all know you’ll spill the faculty member’s identity after another glass of wine.”
“Who needs wine? It was Dr. Fritz. Weirdo.” Waverly turns to me. “Your turn.”
“Ummm… okay. Today at work….” I rack my brain, trying to come up with something good. But there’s only one thought that keeps surfacing, over and over. Not to be ignored.