Good

by S. Walden

  Mark thought for a moment. “It’s just light. I don’t know how else to describe it. But I look at you, and I see something shiny and new. Like a treasure that I have to have. I mean, who doesn’t want a treasure, right?”

  I sat in silence. He took it as an invitation to continue.

  “I love your goodness. I love that you have a good heart.”

  “You can’t possibly know that,” I said. “And I’m not even sure that’s true.”

  “It is true. And I do know.”

  “How?”

  “Because you picked up coffee for your father a long time ago when you could have gone to Starbucks without him ever knowing. But you called him and told him where you were because you’re a good girl.”

  I squirmed. “Well, you’re very perceptive. But I don’t think I have such a good heart anymore. I’m lying to my parents. I sneak out and do things with Avery just so I can have a little freedom. You know what I did on my first night away from the house?”

  “Tell me.”

  “I went to Cold Stone Creamery.”

  Mark nodded.

  “Did you just hear what I said? I went to get ice cream. That was my big deceptive move.”

  Mark tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

  “And that’s exactly why I know you have a good heart, Cadence.”

  My stomach growled again.

  “And apparently an insatiable appetite,” he said, and chuckled.

  “That’s embarrassing,” I mumbled, and pulled my hand from Mark’s, placing it over my stomach.

  “What else can I feed you?” he asked.

  “Anything,” I replied. I climbed off his lap and walked to the kitchen.

  I felt better and less anxious to be in his apartment. I think that’s why he made me sit on his lap while we talked. He wanted us to get familiar quickly to make it easier for me, less frightening. And it was. I’d already stuffed my face in front of him. Plus he heard my stomach growl twice.

  “You can have whatever you want,” Mark said, opening the pantry door.

  My eyes immediately went for the Trix.

  “I’m having a hard time with this,” I said.

  “With what?”

  “You make a sophisticated shrimp dinner and eat kids’ cereal for breakfast,” I replied. “Weird.”

  “Cadence, I value your opinions. I really do. But don’t make fun of my cereal choices.”

  I turned to face him. He grinned at me.

  “I like Trix. I’m gonna have a bowl of them, actually. But before I do, will you do something for me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Will you hold me like you did in your classroom yesterday?”

  Mark didn’t hesitate. He wrapped me in his arms and picked me up. I liked being suspended, held like a baby doll. It was effortless for him, like I weighed no more than a bird. I buried my face in his neck, and he spun me slowly, round and round.

  “When will you kiss me?” I asked into his neck.

  “Soon, Cadence,” Mark replied. “But not today.”

  “Is it because my breath smells like garlic?”

  He chuckled. “Nah.”

  “I’ll be scared,” I said. “When you kiss me.”

  “So will I,” he replied.

  “But you want to kiss me, right?”

  “More than anything, Cadence.”

  He rocked me playfully side to side, and I relaxed my legs, letting them swing like cooked noodles.

  “I like you very much,” I said, resting the side of my head on his shoulder.

  “That’s good,” Mark replied. “Because I like you very much, too.”

  I hugged him tighter, and he backed me against the counter, setting me down, standing between my spread legs. He stood there for a moment, hands resting on my hips, studying me.

  “You have gorgeous skin,” he said after a time. “The prettiest I’ve ever seen.”

  “I do?”

  He smirked. “You know you do. And yes, it’s like porcelain.”

  I touched my cheek.

  “Don’t ever tan or anything like that. Don’t ruin your skin.”

  I furrowed my brows. “That’s a weird thing to say.”

  “No, it’s not. I’m just giving you some advice.”

  “Okay, Marie Claire,” I joked.

  “Who’s she?”

  “You’re such a guy,” I said, giggling. “It’s a girl’s magazine. About fashion and relationships and skincare and stuff.”

  He nodded and opened the cabinet above me. He pulled out a bowl and handed it to me, then walked to the pantry for the box of Trix.

  “For kids, right?” I asked playfully, taking the box.

  “Not funny,” Mark said. “Nothing about you is childish.”

  I squirmed, feeling a rush of something very not childlike between my legs.

  Mark watched me fill my bowl to the brim with cereal, and when I poured in the milk, some Trix spilled over the sides, scattering on the counter.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, and reached for them.

  “It’s okay,” he said, and picked them up, popping them one by one into his mouth. “I plan on sharing a lot of cereal with you. This is a good start.”

  I ate the entire bowl of Trix without talking. Mark watched me, and I should have been self-conscious, but I wasn’t. I didn’t care. It felt so good to eat and fill my belly. I’d been hungry for too long, I just didn’t know it until now.

  “Another?” he asked when I drained the last of the colored milk from my bowl.

  I knew I shouldn’t, but I nodded.

  “Note to self: Stock the pantry and fridge when Cadence comes over,” Mark said lightly.

  I smiled. “Why am I so hungry?”

  He poured another generous amount of cereal into my bowl.

  “I think it’s because you’re happy,” he replied.

  Was he giving himself props?

  “And I suppose you think it’s because of you?” I asked, trying for a playful tone.

  He leaned in and whispered in my ear. “I think it’s because you got a taste of something you like.” His lips brushed my earlobe. “That’s why you’re happy.”

  I won’t lie. I was a shaky, sweaty mess walking into class Friday morning. The euphoria I experienced while I was with Mr. Connelly yesterday quickly evaporated the minute I got in my car and headed home.

  What the hell was I doing?

  The more I mulled over the situation, the more intense my anxiety became—growing at an unnaturally fast rate until my heart was ready to burst. And not the good kind of bursting. The I’m-going-to-completely-ruin-my-life kind of bursting.

  I practically ran to my seat, tore my math book open, then sat perfectly still. That’s what animals do, right? They freeze to evade being seen. To avoid being attacked. I thought I’d try it. See if it’d work.

  Mr. Connelly walked by my desk on his way to the back of the room.

  “Good morning, Cadence,” he said softly.

  “Good morning, Mr. Connelly,” I whispered back.

  Okay. It didn’t work.

  I can’t do this! I can’t do this! I felt my heart aching to let go of the secret. I’m not joking. I had the hideous urge to scream my confession at the top of my lungs: “I visited Mr. Connelly at his apartment yesterday!! I sat on his lap!” Don’t ask me why. I don’t know. I think I could only blame it on this weird urge to tell the truth, something drilled into me since I was little. “Always tell the truth, Cadence,” I could hear my mother say. “The truth will set you free.”

  The truth will set me free. Hmm. I didn’t think it would alleviate the burden pressed on my heart. Telling the truth would only replace one excruciating feeling with another. So I sat in my seat fighting to bury the secret deep within my heart, telling myself over and over in a harsh, unforgiving way, “Don’t you dare open your fucking mouth, Cadence!” And that seemed to help.

  It also helped that I sat with my eyes glued to my math book all period
. I have no idea what Mr. Connelly said during class. I focused on reading the same sentence over and over for forty-five minutes until my eyes blurred. And when the bell rang, I jumped up and rushed out the door. I knew if I didn’t, he’d stop me, and I didn’t want him keeping me behind, asking me intimate questions, writing me yet another late pass for English. No, I wanted to get my ass to English as fast as I could. I’d never been so eager for a Chaucer lecture.

  “Cadence,” I heard softly from behind. But I kept moving. I had to keep moving.

  ***

  “What the hell is up with you today?” Avery asked, eyeing me curiously.

  “What do you mean? Nothing’s up with me.”

  “Then why are you acting all shifty?”

  “Shifty? I’m acting shifty?” I asked, eyes darting to and fro. I kept turning around to see if Mr. Connelly would walk into the cafeteria.

  “Yeah, shifty. And it’s really freaking me out,” Avery replied. “Are you in trouble?”

  Ha! Was I in trouble . . .

  “No. No trouble at all. Why would you think that?”

  “Oh my God. Never mind.” Avery went back to eating her sandwich. I continued to scan the cafeteria until I heard a loud slap! I jumped in my seat and turned to Avery. She grinned wickedly, her hand splayed out on the table centimeters from my lunch tray. “You little sneaky slut.”

  “What?!”

  “You’re sneaking around. You’ve got yourself a man, and you’re terrified of getting caught,” Avery continued.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said. My breathing came faster.

  “God, Cadence. You’re the worst liar,” Avery said. “You better work on that if you expect to continue seeing Mystery Man.”

  “There’s no mystery man!”

  Avery laughed, and then in the next breath, she turned deadly serious. “Cadence, I mean it. You’ve gotta lie better. I mean, I picked you out for a reason. I thought you were good at being deceitful.”

  “Why?” I asked. “Why did you ever think I was good at that?”

  “‘Cause you got high and robbed a store.”

  “And got caught!”

  Avery dismissed my statement with a grunt. “If you ruin this awesome thing I’ve got going on with Gavin, I will slice your throat.”

  “Oh my God. You’re a lunatic.”

  “Yes. I am. So stop acting like you’re guilty, and relax. You’ve got a man. There’s nothing wrong with that. And now you’ll be able to see him, too. Nothing wrong with that either, unless you screw the whole thing up. Stop. Freaking. Out!”

  “I’m not freaking out. I don’t know what you’re talking about!” I snapped.

  “Whatever.”

  Okay. Yes, I was acting really immature. I recognized my immaturity all the while I sat at the table watching for Mr. Connelly to walk through the cafeteria doors. But I couldn’t help it, and anyway, I’m SEVENTEEN! I didn’t know how I was supposed to act. Before Mr. Connelly, there were a few boyfriends. Stupid, silly relationships filled mostly with arguments because I guess teenagers are gluttons for drama. But now I was being invited into a different kind of relationship—an adult relationship—and I didn’t know how to handle it. Everything about him made me tingle and burn, trip over my feet, want to run away. And I had no choice but to react the way any normal teenage girl would.

  “Cadence, may I see you for a moment before you leave?” Mr. Connelly asked at the end of the day. I was at my locker, packing my bag as quickly as I could. He approached me in a sea of students. Why? Why would he do that?

  “I’ll miss the bus,” I mumbled, not looking at him.

  “It’ll be really fast,” he said. “I just have a letter that needs to get to your parents.”

  “Letter”? My ass.

  I nodded because I had no choice, and followed him to his room. He closed the door.

  “Look at me, Cadence.”

  I shook my head.

  “Cadence!”

  My head snapped up on instinct, and I stared him in the face.

  “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want. I told you that yesterday.”

  “I . . . I want to,” I said. “But I’m scared.”

  “Of me?”

  I shook my head. “Of getting caught.”

  “I’m a careful person, Cadence,” Mr. Connelly said.

  “It’s me,” I confessed. “I’m not good at lying. And I had this really weird impulse today in calculus.”

  “What impulse?”

  I was embarrassed to say it, but I did anyway. “I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs that I’m seeing you in secret.”

  Mr. Connelly froze. “Um, okay. Well, I’m really glad you didn’t act on that impulse, Cadence.”

  I shook my head. “It’s not normal. It’s freaking weird. I don’t know why I wanted to do it. Maybe because I was taught to always tell the truth.”

  “Life isn’t so black and white like that,” Mr. Connelly replied.

  “I know that,” I snapped.

  We were silent for a moment. I realized I’d already missed the bus and would have to walk home.

  “If this situation is too hard for you, I understand. I guess I shouldn’t have put you in it to begin with,” he said. “But I couldn’t help it, Cadence. I just want to be with you.”

  I relaxed at those words and felt a warmth creep through my limbs.

  “I want to be with you, too,” I said.

  Mark smiled. “I’m glad to hear that. But Cadence?”

  “Hmm?”

  “You can’t act on impulses to scream at the top of your lungs that we’re seeing each other.”

  I giggled. “I won’t.”

  “I’m not ashamed to be with you, but I’m not stupid either. I know how the world would react. I would lose my job. I would make life even harder for you. Those students. They would be relentless.”

  “I know, Mr. Connelly.”

  “Mark.”

  “No. At school you’re Mr. Connelly.”

  Mr. Connelly scowled. And then he looked at his watch. “Shit, I made you miss the bus.”

  “No big deal.”

  “Let me drive you.”

  “Are you out of your mind?”

  “Not all the way to your house. Just close enough.”

  “No, Mr. Connelly. Someone might see me getting in or out of your car.”

  “I feel awful.”

  “Don’t. It’s fine. I could use the exercise.”

  Mr. Connelly looked me over and rolled his eyes. He went to his desk and grabbed a granola bar and an unopened bottle of water.

  “Here,” he said, handing them to me. “I don’t want you passing out on the way home. I know you didn’t eat lunch today.”

  “What? Are you checking up on me?”

  “And just so you know,” Mr. Connelly said, ignoring my question, “I’ll be driving very slowly beside you to make sure you’re safe.”

  “I live two minutes from here.”

  “Yeah right.”

  “You cannot drive alongside me. That’s creepy and stalkerish. And I’m fine, Mr. Connelly. Really.”

  Mr. Connelly let out an exasperated sigh. “Cadence, what am I gonna do with you?”

  I grinned. “Let me leave so I can start walking.”

  “Fine. But I don’t like this at all.”

  “And what are our alternatives?” I asked.

  Mr. Connelly shrugged.

  “I will text you periodically. Does that help?” I asked.

  “Some.”

  “You’re sulking,” I said.

  “Because I’m pissed I made you miss the bus. I forgot you couldn’t drive today.”

  I smiled at him. “You really are a nice guy.”

  His face lit up. “Yeah?”

  “Mmhmm. Now I have to go.”

  This time the walk home wasn’t bad at all. In fact, I grinned the entire way. My cheeks ached when I finally got home, and Mom and Dad were already there.


  “Cadence, tell us if you ever miss the bus!” Mom cried.

  “And take your phone off ‘silent’ after school! We’ve been trying to call you!” Dad roared. “My God, Cadence. We were scared!”

  They were scared. I was shocked. I thought my parents hated me, or at the least, didn’t care what happened to me. This was unexpected and weird. And a tad bit flattering. But mostly freaking weird. How did I miss seeing all their calls when I was texting Mr. Connelly? I mean Mark.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I had to stay after school to ask Mr. Connelly a few math questions.”

  Dad pushed his hand through his hair.

  “No,” he said. “You don’t stay after school if it’s not a driving day. Why the hell don’t they run late buses?”

  Dad cussing. This was interesting. And frightening.

  “There are a lot of bad people out there, Cadence. You’re smart enough to know that. What would we do? How could we live with ourselves if something happened to you—if some predator got his hands on you?”

  I froze. All I could think of was Mr. Connelly, and not because I thought he was a predator but because if my parents ever found out about him, they’d go ballistic. They’d sure as hell think he was a predator.

  “Cadence, are you hearing what I’m saying to you?” Dad asked.

  “Yes, Dad. I’m sorry. I won’t stay after school anymore when I don’t have the car,” I replied.

  “We just want you to be safe, honey,” Mom said.

  I didn’t like the whole conversation. I kept picturing Dad trying to kill Mr. Connelly because he wanted to keep me “safe.” And I didn’t want to hear my parents verbalize their concern for me. I’d gone so long without hearing it that now it sounded strange. It made me uncomfortable. I didn’t want to talk to them. I only cared about talking to one person at the moment, so I politely excused myself to my bedroom.

  I threw my bag and purse carelessly on the floor and crawled into bed.

  “God, I don’t know what I’m doing,” I said out loud. “I don’t like my parents, and I’m not sure they really even like me. I think that whole show downstairs was fake. Like they were just reacting the way they thought they were supposed to as concerned parents.”

  I paused, feeling a slight pang of guilt for what I said. Was that God telling me to take it down a notch?

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered.