Good

by S. Walden

  “I get picked on all the time at school. But I can guarantee you when he comes back to school, no one will pick on him. He’s the cool guy everyone loves. It’s completely unfair. He’s a total drug addict loser, and I’m the one who gets flour dumped in my locker. I’m the one who’s called a whore and a murderer. I don’t even know what that means. We didn’t kill anyone!”

  “Life is unfair, okay? You’ve gotta deal with it. Girls can’t get away with the kind of shit guys can.”

  “You just cussed in church,” I pointed out.

  “Whatever. The point is that you’ve gotta be able to deal better.”

  “Are you really saying that to me right now?” I folded my arms over my chest.

  “Don’t you dare, Cadence. We’re a team. Drop those arms and put on your game face. Your armor, because we’re going in,” Avery said. And then she smiled and added, “Put on the armor of God.”

  I narrowed my eyes at her.

  “What? We’re at youth group. It totally fits.”

  “I hate your guts.”

  “Yeah yeah. You can hate my guts while you’re suiting up. Belt of righteousness. Sword of truth. All that good stuff.”

  “It’s belt of truth and sword of the Spirit,” I scoffed. “And you’re a student leader?”

  “Just shut up,” Avery replied, and led me once more inside.

  Gracie looked put out. I guess she thought this was my desperate attempt at making amends, or maybe she thought I was doing everything possible to be around her as much as I could. The truth was that I missed her terribly, but my feelings were hurt. I had to accept that she didn’t want my friendship any longer, and I had to move on. No easy task considering we had been friends since second grade.

  Dean glanced at me then averted his eyes. Good. He didn’t want to be around me any more than I wanted to see his face, so maybe I could survive the excruciating awkwardness of being back. I steeled myself, expecting a lot of judgment and nasty looks, but everyone greeted me warmly. A little too warmly. Abbey Clemish actually linked her arm with mine and led me to a seat beside hers. I grew instantly suspicious. These people were being too nice, and then I realized it was because they were just talking shit about me.

  I pulled the earbuds from my book bag, nestling them snuggly in my ears and plugged the cord into the computer. I figured that since I’d already finished the Excel assignment, I could reward myself with Youtube. Ours was probably the only high school that hadn’t blocked the site. Teachers argued they needed it for instructional purposes, and somehow they won their case. I never figured out why the school allowed access to everyone. They could have just restricted it to teachers, but I’m not complaining.

  “Midnight in a Perfect World” by DJ Shadow. I typed in the song title and pulled up the official music video. I had no idea what instrumental hip hop was, but it sounded more exciting than the stuff I listened to. Edgy, urban—everything I wasn’t. I didn’t really see Mr. Connelly being those things either, so I pressed PLAY to find out.

  The song was smooth, fluid, and sensual. Perfect, in essence, and I thought that this should have been the song God listened to when he created the universe. I closed my eyes imagining him pointing here for clouds, there for trees, shaping mountains and rushing rivers while DJ Shadow scratched complementary beats in the background.

  And then I stopped thinking about God in favor of Mr. Connelly and how he was exactly this song. Walking sensuality. Fluid movement at the white board as he painted a picture of cosines with his black dry erase marker. Smooth gray eyes. Hip and edgy clothes, and everything a seventeen-year-old girl would think was totally hot.

  Well, that was decided. This was more than a silly schoolgirl crush. This was deeply disturbing infatuation.

  I felt a rapid tapping on my shoulder once I approached midnight at the end of the song. I was reluctant to open my eyes; I wanted to keep fantasizing about Mr. Connelly and the things he did at home while this song played. The tapping persisted, so I cracked open one eye and pulled out one earbud.

  “This isn’t playtime, Cadence,” Mrs. Jenner said.

  “I finished the assignment.”

  “Then you find me to see what else you can work on,” she replied.

  “Oh.”

  Mrs. Jenner leaned in to look at the computer screen.

  “And there’s no such thing as a perfect world,” she said.

  “Tell me about it,” I muttered, and she smirked.

  She turned to walk away but hesitated. She looked at me once more and leaned over.

  “Cadence? I know it hasn’t been easy for you the past month.”

  I tensed and let out a dramatic sigh.

  “Now, wait a minute,” she said. “Just hear me out.”

  I nodded.

  “I know students are picking on you,” she said.

  “It is what it is,” I replied. It was my attempt to stay uncommitted to the conversation.

  “I hope you know you can come and talk to me whenever you need to,” Mrs. Jenner said.

  Why would she think I would tell her anything? Just like teachers to want to be in everyone’s business under the guise of helping. I wasn’t telling her a freaking thing.

  “Okay.”

  “I mean it. I . . . I was there, too,” she said softly. “I know what it’s like.”

  Okay. I felt a little guilty for my previous thoughts. Maybe Mrs. Jenner didn’t care about gossip. Maybe she actually cared about what was happening to me. I didn’t like where the conversation was headed. I thought it was getting too intimate, so I tried for a joke.

  “Mrs. Jenner!” I exclaimed. “You did a stint in juvie, too?”

  She looked at me flatly.

  “You know what I mean, Cadence. I was bullied like you,” she said.

  “Why?” I asked.

  “You wanna discuss this here? In the middle of class?” she asked.

  I shook my head. No, I didn’t.

  “I’ll tell you sometime,” she said. “When you want to talk. Now get your things together. The bell’s about to ring.”

  ***

  I stood at his door before lunch straining to hear the rhythmic beats pulsing low and steady from his laptop. The song was mellow and monotonous—understated sophistication—and I thought I should be having an intellectual conversation with someone while it played. I wanted it to be with Mr. Connelly, but the 59 percent on my math test suggested the conversation would sound more like this:

  “Cadence, there are special classes for students like you.”

  “Huh?”

  “You need to be in a special class for math.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Exactly.”

  I considered walking away. I was extra nervous to be near Mr. Connelly ever since the wet wipe incident. I still couldn’t figure out what he was doing. He had been just as remote and distant after the wet wipe incident as he was during the weeks that followed my lunch from Moe’s. Back and forth. Back and forth. He was giving me a headache.

  In any case, I needed help. I could not fail math. I had to graduate, so I pushed through the door before I lost my nerve. He looked up from the stack of papers in front of him, throwing his pencil carelessly on the desk. Like everything he’d been working on was suddenly unimportant.

  “What’s up, Cadence?”

  “It’s obvious I don’t understand anything,” I said, slapping my test in front of him. “I’m not stupid, though. I mean, just because I don’t understand derivatives doesn’t mean I’m a freaking idiot.”

  I shuffled my feet and hung my head low, biting nervously on my bottom lip.

  “No one said you were an idiot,” Mr. Connelly replied, turning off the music.

  I looked up and saw a slight grin on his face. Glad he found me amusing.

  “Well, a 59 percent sure does look stupid,” I said sulkily.

  “We’ll make it better,” he said.

  “How?”

  “I’m starting tutoring s
essions next week after school on Tuesdays and Thursdays,” he replied.

  I bit my lower lip harder. How could I stay after school? I had no ride home and was not asking my parents to pick me up. They both worked anyway and wouldn’t be able to.

  I shook my head and shrugged. “Oh well.” Again with the instant tears. I had a knack for being out-of-control emotional around this guy.

  “What does that mean?”

  “I can’t stay after school. I have no ride home.” My lower lip quivered.

  “Hmm.” He swiveled in his chair and scratched his cheek. “Well, you can’t fail calculus or you won’t graduate. And I suspect you wanna graduate and get the hell out of here.” He looked up at me expectantly.

  I nodded, fighting the tears. I thought about Oliver’s intramural soccer game this weekend and how boring it’d be. There. That seemed to work. I felt my eyes drying up.

  “Don’t worry, Cadence,” Mr. Connelly said. “I’ll work something out.”

  “How?”

  “Don’t worry about it. Just leave it to me,” he replied, then took a sip of his Orange Crush.

  I smiled. “I’ve never seen anyone over the age of eleven drink Orange Crush.”

  “Well, my friends in college gave me hell over it,” he replied. “Apparently in college you drink iced lattés. That’s what you do.”

  “Duly noted,” I said.

  Mr. Connelly cleared his throat and looked down at the papers on his desk. I took it as a signal to leave. I turned around, then froze at his words.

  “I’ve got something for you,” he said.

  “You do?” I asked, turning back around to face him. He dug around in his messenger bag.

  “Yeah. Just give me a second to find it . . .”

  I stood nervously pulling on the buttons of my shirt. My girlish heart and brain thought it might be a flower or a box of chocolates. I was an idiot, okay?

  “Here we go,” he said, and pulled out a CD. He handed it to me. “I remember you said you couldn’t get on the Internet. Thought you might wanna listen to ‘Midnight in a Perfect World’ since you were curious about it.”

  I blushed, hanging my head so that he couldn’t see. This was way better than chocolates or a flower.

  “I did,” I whispered. “In computer class.” I didn’t have to tell him that, but I wanted to. I wanted to hear his reaction.

  “Oh? When you were supposed to be working?” The question came out as a flirty admonishment. And that’s the reaction I wanted.

  I shook my head. “I finished my work first.” I looked up at Mr. Connelly.

  “And what did you think?” he asked.

  “I thought it was . . . perfect.”

  His stare made me uncomfortable and extremely excited. I wanted to know what he was thinking, but I wouldn’t dare ask. It looked utterly private and off limits.

  “Would you like to keep the CD for a while?” he asked.

  “You won’t miss it?”

  He shook his head. “I’ve got an iPod.”

  “Okay. Thanks,” I replied, and tucked the CD securely in my bag. “Who were you listening to when I came in?”

  “DJ Premier,” he replied.

  “Another DJ?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “What’s the song called?”

  “‘Teach the Children’,” he said with a smirk.

  “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

  Mr. Connelly chuckled. “I’m really not. The song is called ‘Teach the Children’.”

  “So what? Is that, like, inspiration for you when you’re planning out your lessons?”

  He cocked his head slightly and considered me. “You’re funny. And yes, maybe it is inspiration.”

  I swear his eyes burned holes into my face. He was so . . . intense. But a quiet, stable kind of intense, if such a thing could exist. I stood awkwardly, waiting for him to dismiss me.

  “You should go to lunch, Cadence,” he said, a faint smile playing on his lips.

  “I should?”

  “Mmhmm.”

  “Okay.” I turned to leave.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Mmhmm,” was all I could say.

  ***

  The phone rang after dinner, and Oliver picked up.

  “Miller residence,” he said, then paused, listening politely to the person on the other end. He looked at me and grinned. “Hold on just a minute, sir,” he said, and called for Dad.

  Dad took the receiver, and Oliver sidled over to me, the grin still plastered on his face.

  “What?” I barked.

  “Did you get in trouble today?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “Then why is your math teacher calling?”

  My heart plummeted to the floor. Why was Mr. Connelly calling my house? And then I remembered our conversation earlier. Tutoring sessions! Oh God! I never showed my parents that test grade!

  I hurried over to Dad, hovering near him like an irritating gnat.

  “I understand,” Dad replied, trying to shoo me away. “No, no. I’m glad you called.”

  Was he?

  “We’ll work something out,” Dad went on. “She’ll be there Thursday. Thanks so much for the call, Mr. Connelly. Take care,” and Dad hung up.

  I bounced from foot to foot, dying to get it over with. My punishment for withholding that awful grade from my parents. What would they take away from me next? I had only my cell phone left. Surely they wouldn’t make me part with it. They used it to track my every move, call me incessantly, make sure they knew exactly what I was doing.

  Dad stood staring at me. I couldn’t stand it any longer. “Here!” I shoved my phone into his hands.

  “What are you doing?” Dad asked. He pushed my phone away.

  “I know I’m in trouble,” I said. “Just take the phone. I know you’re going to anyway.”

  Dad shook his head. “You’re not in trouble.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief.

  “But you could have told me you were having trouble in calculus,” he said. “Mr. Connelly told me he spoke with you today during lunch. He’s offering free tutoring sessions.”

  “Yeah, after school starting next week,” I said. “I can’t stay, Dad, or else I’d miss the bus.”

  Dad thought for a moment. “Suppose I let you drive to school on Tuesdays and Thursdays.”

  My mouth dropped open.

  “You think you could handle that?” he asked.

  I nodded, mouth still hanging open. Dad smirked.

  “Close your mouth, Cadence,” he ordered, and I snapped it shut. “I’m taking a risk here, letting you drive so soon.”

  Drive so soon? I hadn’t driven in close to a year, but I didn’t argue.

  “Don’t make me regret it,” he warned. “You get two days. Do you understand me? The rest of the week you take the bus. Once we work out a part-time job, we’ll see about reinstating your driving privileges.”

  I flung my arms around him.

  “Oof!” he cried, then wrapped me in a hug.

  It was the first time Dad hugged me since I left for juvie. It felt strange and wonderful.

  I squeezed his neck hard and heard him laugh.

  “Two days, young lady,” he said, lips pressed to my forehead.

  I’d take whatever I could get.

  ***

  I walked into Room 212 Thursday afternoon at 3:30 sharp. I expected to see a few students but wasn’t prepared for a packed room. Every single girl from my class was there, and I snorted. Suddenly we were all bad at math, even the ones I knew were making A’s and B’s.

  Mr. Connelly looked overwhelmed. I don’t know why. He should have been flattered. He was eye candy—he had to know it—and every one of his female students had an insatiable sweet tooth. Apparently fifty minutes with him in the beginning of the day just wasn’t enough.

  I chuckled and walked to the back of the room. My usual seat was already occupied.

  “Kaitlin, you scored a 9
2 on your quiz,” Mr. Connelly said softly to the brunette occupying my seat.

  “Well, I know, Mr. Connelly,” Kaitlin replied. “But I think it was just, like, a fluke or something.”

  Mr. Connelly looked at her suspiciously. “I’m not sure you can score a 92 on a math quiz involving derivatives if you’ve no idea what a derivative is.”

  Kaitlin pouted. “I’m just thinking that I need some reinforcement of the material we covered today.”

  “We went over the quiz today,” Mr. Connelly replied. “The quiz you scored a 92 on.”

  Kaitlin twirled her hair and cocked her head. “I don’t know,” she mumbled.

  “How about you take Cadence’s seat?” he suggested. “I need her up front to be a little more engaged. And you seem to be comprehending the material just fine.”

  Kaitlin whirled around to look at me. I shrugged, watching her glare. She collected her books with a huff and walked over to me.

  “Bitch,” she whispered when I got up from the seat.

  I ignored her and slid into my desk. And then I opened my notebook and tried to pay attention as Mr. Connelly went through each of the quiz problems one by one before putting us into small groups to work a few additional problems. Thank God I wasn’t with Kaitlin. She hated my guts now, and I expected her to do something awful to me in the near future.

  It wasn’t my fault Mr. Connelly wanted me to sit front and center. My heart gave a small jolt at that realization. He wanted me up front. Not her. And then I shook my head and remembered that Kaitlin was doing just fine in calculus. I, on the other hand, was failing miserably.

  Whatever. He loaned me his CD.

  The girls didn’t really want to include me in the group, but they also didn’t want to come across as complete bitches in front of Mr. Connelly. Apparently everyone was working hard to gain his attention, and being mean to me would certainly be a turnoff. I stifled a laugh when Alaina leaned over and explained the third problem to me. It just so happened to be at the exact moment Mr. Connelly approached our group to listen in and offer assistance.

  “So, I think the answer is 6x + 7. Do you see, Cadence?” she asked sweetly. And then she looked up at Mr. Connelly. “Oh, Mr. Connelly! I didn’t know you were there. Did I work this one right?” She held up her notebook.