“Promise me you’ll be okay,” he said.
I nodded. He kissed my cheek. I hoped it would start up again, the desperate kissing, but this was soft and sweet. Then he pulled back and got up, and that was it. I knew I wasn’t allowed to touch him again. I watched him, thinking how odd it was that a few minutes earlier I’d had my hands all over him and now I couldn’t so much as touch his shoulder.
I stood up once I’d gotten ready.
“I can’t quite believe I managed to make your birthday worse,” he said. “These are my talents.”
“You made it better,” I said.
He shook his head. “I wish that were true.”
—
When I got home, I stood in the bathroom and looked in the mirror until I had studied my face for so long that I couldn’t tell whether I was attractive or ugly anymore. It was like saying a word over and over again until it became a meaningless jumble of letters. I tried every expression I could think of, but none of them fit.
“You slut,” I said to my reflection. “You seduced your teacher.” I touched my chin, which was bubble gum pink from his stubble.
There was a knock at the door. I opened it reluctantly. It was my dad.
“Hi,” I said.
“Hi,” he said. “Where have you been?”
I pursed my lips. “Lots of places. Are you mad at me?”
He sighed and rubbed his hand over his beard. “You took your mom’s car. And you missed…” He leaned in closer to me. “Have you been drinking?”
I blushed. “A little.”
“And you drove home?”
I blushed more. “Yes.”
He massaged his forehead as if I were physically hurting him. “You realize you’re lucky you didn’t kill someone.”
“I know,” I said quietly.
“Or get yourself killed.”
I sat down on the toilet lid. “I know,” I said again.
“Or wreck your mom’s car.”
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“And you won’t do it again,” he said. “Ever.”
“I won’t,” I said. I felt like I was about to cry again. “Am I in trouble?”
“You’re eighteen now, Charlie,” he said. He sounded tired. “I’m not going to punish you.”
“You’re not going to punish me?” I said.
“No.”
“Why not?”
He tilted his head to one side. “Do you want me to punish you?”
I paused, and then I heaved a breath that hitched into a sob, and then I was crying again. I was sick of crying. “I’m sorry, Daddy,” I said.
“Oh, kiddo,” he said. He knelt down in front of me and put his hand on my knee. “I’m sorry about this morning. That had to be traumatic.”
I half laughed, half sobbed. “You have no idea.”
“I’ll pay for the therapy if you want,” he said.
“Okay,” I said. “I might take you up on that.”
He pulled the end of the toilet paper so it spooled out, more and more of it until it mounded in my lap like whipped cream, until I laughed, and then he delicately dabbed it at my eyes. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s get you some cake.”
He did show up the next day. I didn’t look at him, so I couldn’t tell whether he was avoiding me too. I’d considered not coming in—it was the day after my birthday and I was entitled to a hangover—but I’d decided to prove how little he and Lila had affected me.
“Uh, right,” he said after the bell rang. “Where did we leave off the day before yesterday?”
“Deciding whether Persuasion is crap next to Pride and Prejudice,” Asha said.
“Oh, yes, okay,” he said. “I did have a passage I wanted to read out loud to see if I could—pardon the wordplay—persuade you, Asha.” He glanced back at his desk. “But I don’t seem to have my copy. Where is…?” He got up—his chair squealed—and started rummaging through his brown leather bag. “Nowhere,” he muttered. I thought of the pile of books on his couch, the ones he’d scattered everywhere so I could sit next to him. Had that been one of them? He ran his hand through his hair. “Can I borrow someone’s copy for a minute?”
I looked down at the book I had, the one my mother had given me. I wished I could hide it, but it was too late now; it stuck out, large and regal, among the tattered used copies everyone else had.
I looked up again. He was watching me, his eyebrows raised, his expression tentative. I nodded slightly.
He moved toward me like he was afraid I’d run if he came over too quickly. “Thanks, Charlie,” he said softly as I held it out by the edge, to make sure our fingers wouldn’t touch.
“Okay,” he said as he walked back to his chair. “I know a lot of you think Austen is just a social comedian, but I think she was more self-aware than you’re giving her credit for. You remember when Anne is arguing with Captain Harville about the nature of men and women?”
There was a general murmur of assent.
“All right.” He gently eased open my book and then turned it over, admiring it. “Nice edition,” he said. He flipped to the section he wanted, letting his fingers slide over the pages. “Here it is. Captain Harville is being a blowhard, as usual, and he says, ‘I do not think I ever opened a book in my life which had not something to say upon woman’s inconstancy. Songs and proverbs, all talk of woman’s fickleness. But perhaps, you will say, these were all written by men.’ ”
A couple of people booed, and Drummond smiled a little without raising his head. “Yes, sure,” he said. “Okay, but listen to Anne’s response. ‘Yes, yes, if you please, no reference to examples in books. Men have had every advantage of us in telling their own story. Education has been theirs in so much higher a degree; the pen has been in their hands. I will not allow books to prove anything.’ ”
The same kids laughed. Everyone was in a good mood that day; it was nearly the weekend and no one could sit still. Drummond glanced at me, and for a second I felt so punishingly lonely that I couldn’t look back.
“Asha,” he said, “what do you think?”
“I think Austen’s talking about her own book,” Asha said. “She wrote her own story. Persuasion refutes his argument.”
“I think you have a point,” he said. He paused, still staring down at the book. He flipped through the pages and then put his palm against the cover with his fingers spread out. “All right,” he said eventually, “enough talk. Who wants to watch the movie?” Everyone cheered this time. “Frank, can you set it up?”
The class started chattering as Frank got up. After a minute, I could feel Drummond come over. He slid the book back to me, but he didn’t say anything. I put my hand on the cover where his fingers had been. When I raised my head, he was watching me again. We looked at each other for a long time, and I looked down at the book, and I knew he wasn’t coming back.
The next day, Dr. Crowley announced that he’d had a family emergency and wouldn’t be returning for the rest of the school year.
One weekend I found my mother in her study. I didn’t know what I wanted from her, but I couldn’t stand being alone in my room crying anymore.
“Charlie,” she said when she saw me. “What are you doing in here?”
I sat down on the sofa. “I can’t visit my loving mother just because I want to?” I said.
“You generally don’t, no.” She took off her reading glasses and folded them carefully. “What’s going on?”
I inhaled shakily. “You think I’m pretty, right?”
She got up and sat down next to me. “You’re beautiful, sweetheart. What is this about?”
“I don’t—” My voice cracked. “Do you really think so or are you just saying that because you have to?”
“Because I think so,” she said. “I think if you’d just let me—”
I shook my head. “No, no qualifications.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “You are beautiful. No qualifications.”
I looked away. I didn
’t believe her. She was beautiful herself and had the luxury of bestowing compliments on others, knowing they would be returned. I had to jealously guard every compliment I got and worry it until it was gone.
“What happened?” she said.
“Nothing.”
“So you’re asking me these questions for no particular reason?”
“Yes.”
She put her hand on mine. “I’m not going to pry, but I want you to know I love you no matter what.”
“Even if I did something really bad?”
“Even then.”
“Even if I totaled Dad’s car?”
“You wh—” She stopped when she saw I was smiling. “That wasn’t funny.”
“Sorry,” I said. I got up and wandered around the room, running my fingers over her books. “Did you have a boyfriend in high school?”
“Yes,” she said. “It wasn’t serious, but we dated for a while.”
“Did you have sex with him?”
She looked startled. “Uh, no, I didn’t.”
“Yes, then?”
She smiled a little. “None of your business.”
“We’re a little bit past you pretending that you’ve never had sex.”
I could see her reddening. “Yes, I had sex with my boyfriend,” she said. “Where’s this going? Are you having sex with someone?”
“No,” I said automatically, though my mind flashed back to that night with him, the warm, solid feeling of knowing how much he wanted me. I’d been alone for so long it was hard to think of myself as anything other than chaste.
“Are you pregnant?”
“No! This isn’t…Sorry, I think I need to go to bed.”
“Charlie,” she said. “Please talk to me.”
I sat down. “I just wish…” I had to force the words out. “I just wish I were beautiful.”
I waited for her to try to argue me out of it, but she didn’t.
Finally she said, “It’s not fair.”
Suddenly I was crying. It felt better for her to acknowledge it than it would have for her to reassure me.
“Oh, honey,” she said. “I didn’t mean—”
“No, it’s not— They’re good tears,” I said. “Thank you for being honest with me. And for not telling me it’s just as hard being pretty.”
She was silent as I cried. Then she said, “I wish I understood you better.”
I wanted to tell her she did, but we both knew that wasn’t true.
“Thank you for trying,” I said.
Lila’s mother always greeted me with a smile. I couldn’t tell whether Lila had told her anything about our fight. “Hi, hon,” she said. “Come on in.”
“Hi,” I said. “Is she in?”
Her mother gestured to the stairs. “She’s in her room.”
“Thanks,” I said, and went up to the second floor. Lila’s door was open and she was lying on her bed with her bulky headphones on. I could hear tinny music leaking from them.
I waved to get her attention, and she looked over and then reluctantly turned off her music.
“Hey,” I said. Our argument felt so long ago that I could barely remember why I’d been angry at her. I sat down on her bed.
“I thought I wasn’t supposed to speak to you ever again.” She played with the headphone cord, not looking up.
“Something happened with Drummond. I have to tell someone or I’ll go crazy.”
She looked up sharply, then away again when she realized she’d betrayed her interest. “I thought maybe something had,” she said.
“What an idiot.”
She readjusted herself on the bed so she was sitting up. “You or him?”
“Both, I guess. Do you think anyone else suspects?”
Lila shook her head. “Nah. I mean, there are always rumors, but I haven’t heard any about you.”
“I’m kind of offended,” I said.
She smiled, but she looked tired. “So what happened?”
“You’re not going to believe me.”
“I will.”
I hesitated. “We almost had sex.”
“Motherfucker!” She put her hand to her mouth. “Sorry. I just wasn’t expecting that.”
“I told you,” I said. We both started giggling.
“Oh my God, Charlie,” she said, looking horrified and delighted. “Start from the top. Don’t skip anything.”
I told her. When I was finished, she leaned back against the wall and said, “Is it incredibly wrong of me to find this hot?” She laughed. “You are so red right now.”
I hit her. “It’s embarrassing.”
“It’s really not,” she said. She sighed. “All that bullshit about feminism and then he gets it out as soon as he sees an opportunity with his jailbait student.”
“I’m legal now, all right?” I said. “And you’re one to talk. You tried to kiss him.”
“That was months ago,” she said. “I’ve matured. Plus he turned me down.”
I snorted softly. “I know he should have turned me down too. But…”
“Dude, I don’t blame you. I would have done it too.”
“Bet he wouldn’t have fled with shame after he had sex with you,” I said.
“Charlie,” she said. “He was a coward to do that. It wasn’t because of you.”
“I guess,” I said.
“Anyway,” she said, “you made a grown man give up his job for you. That’s power.”
I shook my head. “I don’t want that kind of power. I want something more…I don’t know…permanent.”
She fiddled with the headphone cord again. “So you haven’t heard from him?”
“No,” I said. “Nothing.”
“He could be in love with you, you know. Pining away tragically.”
My throat tightened. “He isn’t.”
She glanced at me but didn’t press for details. “So was he good?”
I looked at her out of the corner of my eye. “Yes.”
“Yeah, but better than my toothbrush?”
I laughed. “Well, it didn’t vibrate.”
“Shame. They need to fix that.”
We were quiet for a few minutes. It had started to rain outside.
“So, uh, I had something I needed to tell you too,” Lila said.
“You broke up with Jason, didn’t you?”
She laughed. “No, but—I got into Stanford. So probably yes.”
I stared at her. Then I realized I needed to speak. “You’re kidding! That’s amazing!” I said. I wasn’t sure whether she wanted me to hug her, so I put my hand on her shoulder. She looked down at it but didn’t move away. “When did you find out?”
She was trying not to smile. “A few weeks ago.”
“Oh,” I said. I realized how big a gap had opened between us in so little time: she’d been celebrating for weeks and I hadn’t even known. Was that what it would be like from now on? “Well, congratulations. Chatham Valley is going to be crushed.”
She smiled. “I’m keeping them as a safety in case this falls through.”
“Lila—” I said. I hugged my knees to my chest. “I’m…”
“I know,” she said. “I am too.”
I laughed. Then I said, “Why are all our fights over guys?”
“Not all of them,” she said. “Sometimes we fought over Asha too.”
“That’s true. You know it’s because women are subjected to—”
“Please don’t try to make a feminist argument when you’ve still got stubble burns from your English teacher on your tits.”
My jaw dropped in mock indignation and I hit her with her pillow. She laughed and pulled me to her, and I let her.
“Your bosom is soft,” I said. “And stubble-burn-free.”
“I use protection.”
“I missed you.”
“I know.”
“Can we please never fight again?”
“As long as you’re able to never be wrong again.”
“Promis
e.”
After he left, Truth Bomb was covered by a rotating cast of substitute teachers. One day when Asha and I walked in, Ms. Anders was sitting behind his desk, rummaging through her bag.
“Hi,” I said. “Are you covering today?”
She looked up, startled. She was still as nervous as a bird. “Oh, hi, Charlotte. I didn’t realize you’d be here. Yes, I’m covering. Though I’m not sure why this activity wasn’t canceled.”
“Ah,” I said. “I think it’s because we haven’t actually produced an issue all year.”
Ms. Anders frowned. “You haven’t produced an issue?”
Asha sat on a table and I slid down next to her. “We were close,” she said, “and then Drummond left and we haven’t been sure what to do.”
Ms. Anders’s frown deepened, folding her forehead up like a concertina. “But why hadn’t you produced any issues up to—” She sighed. “But you kids loved him. Never mind. Where are we, then? Is it just you two?”
Dev and Frank appeared at the door.
“These guys sometimes,” I said, “when there’s food.”
Ms. Anders heaved her bag onto Drummond’s desk. “I think there might be mints in there if you desperately feel the need.”
Frank looked at her bag and then raised his eyebrows at us. Asha shrugged.
“All right,” Ms. Anders said. “Let’s press on. Can one of you show me where you are?” She stood up and moved toward the bank of computers.
We watched her for a minute, no one moving, and then Frank said, “I’ll go. I like brusque women.”
“Thanks, Frank,” I said, and he saluted me as he walked off.
Dev sat down next to Asha without looking at me.
“Don’t get too comfortable,” Ms. Anders said, craning around to look at us. “You’ll need to come help in a minute.”
“Okay,” I said. I turned back to Asha. “I’m failing trig.”
She laughed. “I almost miss Drummond.”
I winced. I hated discussing him, but that was all anyone had wanted to talk about for weeks.
“I definitely miss him,” Dev said.
“I know you do,” Asha said. “I still think he got fired.”
“Why would they fire him? What did he do?”
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