God, this hurts. It all hurts so much that I just want out of here. Out of this building. I want to go home. I should have never even considered applying for a job here. What teenager wants to spend all day, every day with their mother?
I turn and rush down the hallway, attempting to hold back tears until I make it outside. I’m ten feet from the door.
“Morgan?”
I freeze at the sound of my name. I spin around on my heels, and Jonah is standing in his doorway. He can tell immediately that I’m not okay. “Come here,” he says, motioning me into his empty classroom. A huge part of me wants to keep walking, but a small part of me wants to take refuge somewhere, and his empty classroom seems like a good place to do that.
He presses a hand to the small of my back and ushers me to a seat. He hands me a Kleenex. I take it and wipe at my eyes, pressing back the tears. I don’t know where it comes from, but it’s as if the last few weeks of feeling like I’m losing control of Clara hit me, and I’m forcing Jonah into being my temporary therapist. I just begin to ramble.
“I always thought I was a good mom. It’s been my only job since I was seventeen. Chris worked at the hospital, and my job was to raise Clara. So every time she did something good or surprised us in some way, I felt a sense of pride. I cultivated her into this wonderful little human, and I was so proud of her. Proud of myself. But since the day Chris died, I’m starting to think maybe I had nothing to do with all the good parts of her. She never acted out before he died. She didn’t do drugs or lie about having a boyfriend or where she is. What if all this time, I thought she was so great because I was a great mom, but this whole time, Chris is the one who brought out the best side of her? Because now that he’s gone, she and I just bring out the worst in each other.”
Jonah was leaning against his desk when I started saying all that, but now he’s seated in the desk across from me. He leans forward, clasping his hands between his knees. “Morgan, listen to me.”
I suck in a breath and give him my attention.
“You and I are in our thirties . . . we expect a fair amount of tragedy in our lives. But Clara is only sixteen. No one her age should have to deal with something this damaging. She’s lost in grief right now. You just have to let her find her way, like you did with me.”
Jonah’s voice is so gentle right now I actually find a semblance of comfort in his words. I nod, appreciative he pulled me into his classroom. He reaches out and squeezes one of my hands reassuringly in both of his. “Clara isn’t struggling because Chris is no longer here. She’s struggling because he’s never coming back. There’s a difference.”
A lone tear slides its way down my cheek. I wasn’t expecting Jonah to actually make me feel better, but he’s right. He’s right about Clara, and it also makes me think what he’s saying applies to me. Chris’s presence wasn’t nearly as affecting as his absence has been.
Jonah still has both of his hands wrapped around one of mine when the door to his classroom opens. It’s Miller. He walks into the classroom and stops a few feet from me. He’s looking at me like Clara might have gotten hold of him and told him how much I upset her in the hallway.
I raise an eyebrow in warning. “I hope you aren’t about to tell me how to raise my daughter.”
Miller takes a sudden small step back. His eyes dart from me to Jonah. He looks uncomfortable when he says, “Um. No, ma’am? I’m just . . .” He points at the desk I’m sitting in. “You’re in my seat.”
Oh. He’s here for class.
I look to Jonah for confirmation. Jonah nods and says, “He’s right. That’s his seat.”
Can I mortify myself any more today?
“It’s fine, I can sit somewhere else,” Miller says.
I stand up, motioning toward the chair. Miller hesitantly walks to it and sits down. “I’m not crazy,” I say to Miller, excusing my behavior just now. And maybe even my behavior in the hallway earlier. “I’m just having a really bad day.”
Miller looks to Jonah for confirmation. Jonah nods and says, “She’s right. She’s not crazy.”
Miller raises an eyebrow and sinks into his chair, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket, wanting out of our conversation completely.
More students begin to file into the room, so Jonah walks me toward the door. “I’ll be over later to finish taking the door off the hinges.”
“Thank you.” I start to walk out but realize how much I dread going home alone to think about the embarrassment of the day. The only thing that could get my mind off everything is Elijah. “Do you mind if I get Elijah from day care? I miss him.”
“He’d love that. I already have your name on the pickup list. I’ll be over as soon as school lets out.”
I smile, tight lipped, before turning away. I walk to my car, regretting that I didn’t hug Jonah or give him more of a thank-you. He deserves it.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CLARA
Miller slides his tray onto the table next to me. “Your mother hates me.” He casually opens a can of soda and takes a drink.
I’m not going to sugarcoat it and tell him he’s wrong. “That makes two of us.”
He swings his head in my direction. “You both hate me?”
I laugh, shaking my head. “No. My mother hates both of us.” I mindlessly spin my water bottle on the table. “We got into an argument after you walked away. Not about you. Just about . . . stuff. She kind of hurt my feelings.”
Miller isn’t so casual now. He can see I’m bothered by it, so he turns toward me, ignoring the food in front of him. “You okay?”
I nod. “Yeah. We’re just in a rut.”
He leans forward and presses his forehead to the side of my head. “I’m sorry this year sucks for you.” He plants a quick kiss on the side of my head and then pulls back, grabbing the pickle spear from his plate and putting it on mine. “You can have my pickle. Maybe that’ll help?”
“How do you know I like pickles?”
Miller smiles a little. “I’ve spent three years trying not to stare at you while you eat lunch. Creepy, I know.”
“But also sweet.”
He grins. “That’s me in a nutshell. A sweet creep.”
“Such a sweet creep.”
Lexie drops her tray onto the table across from us. “I want a sweet creep. Found me a boyfriend yet?”
“Not yet,” Miller says. “It’s only been four hours since you put in a request.”
Lexie rolls her eyes. “Listen to you, talking about time like it matters. You’re the one kissing my best friend within minutes of dumping a girl you dated for a year.”
I groan. “Be nice, Lexie. Miller doesn’t know you well enough yet to be the butt of your sarcasm.”
“It’s not sarcasm. He literally dumped his girlfriend and jumped right into a relationship with you.” She looks at Miller. “Is that inaccurate?”
Miller doesn’t look like she’s pushing any of his buttons. He pops a chip into his mouth. “It is quite accurate,” he says. He looks at me and winks. “Clara knows what’s up, though.”
“Well, I don’t,” Lexie says. “I don’t know anything about you. I don’t even know your middle name. Is it also a brand of beer?”
I turn to Miller when her question sinks in. “Oh, wow. I didn’t realize your first and last name are brands of beer.”
“It wasn’t intentional. Miller was my mother’s maiden name.” He faces Lexie. “It’s Jeremiah.”
“So normal,” Lexie says, seemingly disappointed. She eats a spoonful of pudding and sucks on the spoon for a second. She pops it out of her mouth and points at Miller. “Who’s your best friend, Miller Jeremiah Adams? Is he hot? Single?”
“They’re all hot and single,” Miller says. “What exactly are you looking for?”
Lexie shrugs. “I’m not picky. I prefer blond men with blue eyes. Someone with a dry sense of humor. A little rude. Hates spending time with people. Doesn’t mind a girlfriend who has a shopping addiction and likes to be
right about everything. Athletic. Taller than six foot. And Catholic.”
I laugh. “You aren’t even Catholic.”
“Yeah, but Catholics are strict and have to confess a lot, so he might sin less than, say, a Baptist.”
“Your reasoning is so, so flawed,” I say.
“I know just the guy,” Miller says, standing up. “Want me to go get him?”
“Right now?” Lexie asks, perking up.
“I’ll be right back.” Miller walks away, and Lexie looks at me, wiggling her eyebrows.
“Maybe I do like your boyfriend. He cares about your best friend.”
“I thought you said I wasn’t allowed to refer to him as my boyfriend yet.”
“There was a pause when I said that word,” she states. “I like your boy . . . friend.”
We watch Miller as he takes a seat at his usual lunch table. He’s talking to a guy named Efren. I know him from theater, but he doesn’t match any of Lexie’s requests. Or demands, rather.
Efren has black hair, he’s shorter than Lexie, and he’s certainly not athletic. He moved here from the Philippines before starting high school a few years ago. Efren smiles at Lexie from across the lunchroom, but she groans and lifts a hand to her face, hiding her view of him.
“Is he serious right now? Efren Beltran?”
“I was in theater with him. He’s really nice. And cute.”
Lexie’s eyes widen, like I’m betraying her. “He’s like five seven!” She peeks through her fingers and sees Miller walking Efren over to the table. She groans and drops her hand but doesn’t hide her disappointment with Miller’s selection.
“This is Efren,” Miller says. “Efren, this is Lexie.”
Lexie’s eyes narrow in Miller’s direction before she drags them to Efren. “Are you even Catholic?”
Efren takes a seat next to her. He seems more amused by her reaction than insulted. “No, but I live half a mile from a Catholic church. I’m not opposed to converting.”
I already like him, but I have a feeling it’s not going to happen so easily on Lexie’s part. “You look kind of inexperienced,” she says, almost accusingly. “Have you even had a girlfriend before?”
“Does online count?” Efren asks.
“No. It most certainly does not.”
“Then . . . no.”
Lexie shakes her head.
Miller pipes up and looks at Efren. “I thought you and Ashton dated for a while. That counts, right?”
Efren indicates it doesn’t count with a shake of his head. “Fizzled out before it even started.”
“Bummer,” Miller says.
“How tall is your dad?” Lexie asks him. “Do you think you’re finished growing?”
“I don’t know,” Efren says, shrugging. “My dad left when I was three. I have no idea what he looks like.”
I can see Lexie’s eyebrow rise, albeit very subtly. “Mine too. Christmas Day.”
“That explains the attitude,” Efren says.
Lexie shrugs. “I don’t know. I think I had this attitude before I was three. It’s probably why he left.”
Efren agrees with a nod. “Probably. If we start dating, don’t get used to me being around, because I’ll probably get tired of your attitude and leave too.”
Lexie tries not to smile at that, but I’m pretty sure Efren’s sarcasm is sexier to her than his height would be, if he were tall.
I honestly didn’t expect this to go anywhere, but they’re on equal ground when it comes to the jabs. Maybe she’ll actually let him take her out on a date.
I turn away from them and face Miller. He smiles mischievously before crunching on another chip. “He’s a really good guy,” he whispers. “She might be surprised if she’d just give him a chance.” He takes a chip and holds it up to my mouth. I eat it, and then he leans in and kisses me.
It’s just a peck—lasts maybe two seconds—but it’s two seconds too long because a moment later, someone is tapping us on the shoulder. We both look up to see the lunchroom monitor glaring at us.
“No PDA in the cafeteria. Put up your trays and come with me. Lunch detention.”
I look at Miller and shake my head. “I’ve been dating you fourteen hours, and you’re already getting me in trouble.”
Miller laughs. “You were doing illegal things with me long before fourteen hours ago. You forget about the sign?”
“Let’s go,” the lunch monitor says.
She follows us as we put our trays away. Miller swipes the bag of chips off my tray when she’s not looking and shoves them into the front of his jeans, covering them with his T-shirt.
The monitor leads us to the library, where she signs us in for lunch detention. I have literally never had lunch detention in my life. This is a first, but I’m actually a little excited about it.
We take a seat at an empty table. The teacher who’s monitoring detention is playing a game on his phone while his feet are propped up on the desk. He doesn’t pay us any attention.
Miller begins to move his chair a little bit at a time so that it goes unnoticed. It reminds me of how he’s been moving the city limit sign.
He’s eventually sitting so close to me that our thighs and arms are touching. His proximity is nice. I like the way it feels being close to him. I also like the way he smells. Normally, he smells like bodywash. Axe, maybe. Sometimes he smells like suckers. But right now, he smells like Doritos.
My stomach growls, so Miller leans carefully back in his seat and sticks his hand in the band of his jeans. He removes the bag of chips and coughs a little when he opens them to cover the noise of the crinkling bag.
The detention monitor looks in our direction. Miller stares down at the table and tries to look innocent. When the guy goes back to playing his game, Miller holds the bag of chips toward me. They’re all crushed, so I take the most solid one I can find and slip it into my mouth before the teacher notices.
We eat the entire bag this way, taking turns sneaking chip fragments, sucking them until they’re soggy so we don’t crunch too loud. When the bag is gone, I wipe my hands on my jeans and raise an arm. “Excuse me?”
The detention monitor looks up.
“Can we get a book off the shelf to read?”
“Go ahead. You have sixty seconds.”
A few seconds later, we end up on the same aisle, and Miller’s mouth is on mine, my back against a wall of books. We’re laughing while we kiss, making every attempt at being quiet. “We’re gonna get detention again,” I whisper.
“I hope so.” His mouth meets mine again, and we both taste like Doritos now. His hands slide from my cheeks down to my waist. His tongue is soft, but his kisses are quick. “We better hurry. We only have thirty seconds left.”
I nod but wrap my arms around his neck and pull him even closer. We kiss for about ten more seconds before I push him away. His hands remain on my hips.
“Come to the theater tonight,” he whispers.
“You working?”
He nods. “Yeah, but I can get you in free. I’ll make fresh popcorn this time.”
“Sold.”
He pecks me on the cheek and grabs a random book off the shelf behind me. I grab one, too, and we both return to our seats.
It’s hard to sit still now. He got me all worked up, and I want to hold his hand or kiss him again, but we have to settle for playing footsie instead. After a while, he leans over and whispers, “Mind if we trade books?”
I look at his book, and he closes it so I can read the cover. An Illustrated Guide to the Female Reproductive Cycle.
I cover my laughter with my hand and slide him my book.
When we’re back at my locker after detention, Lexie appears. She wedges herself between Miller and me. “He’s funny.” I think she’s talking about Efren. “Short, but funny.”
“You two should come to the movies with me tonight,” I offer.
Lexie makes a gagging sound. “In all the years you’ve known me, have I ever gone to the theat
er with you?”
I think about that, and she hasn’t. I’ve just never questioned it.
“Do you have something against movie theaters?” Miller asks.
“Uhhh, yeah. They’re disgusting. Do you know how much semen is on a theater seat?”
“Gross,” I say. “How much?”
“I don’t know, but they should probably research it.” She pushes off the locker and walks away. Miller and I both stare at her.
“She’s interesting,” he says.
“She is. But now I’m not so sure I want to come to the theater tonight.”
Miller leans in toward me. “I clean that theater, and it’s spotless. You better show up. Seven?”
“Fine. I’ll be there. But if you could Lysol the entire back row of every room, that would be great.” Miller leans forward to kiss me goodbye, but I push his face away with my hand. “I don’t want detention again.”
He laughs while he backs away. “See you in six hours.”
“See ya.”
I don’t tell him there’s a chance I might not be there. I haven’t talked to my mother about it yet. After what happened in the hallway today, it’s clear she doesn’t want me dating Miller. I’ll probably hang out at Lexie’s after school for a while and then lie to her and tell her we’re going to the movies.
I’m getting pretty good at lying to her. It’s easier than telling her the truth.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
MORGAN
Jonah knocks softly on the front door before opening it.
I’m on the couch with a sleeping Elijah when he lets himself in.
“I picked him up right before they were about to lay him down for a nap,” I whisper.
Jonah looks down at Elijah and smiles. “They sleep so much at this age. I kind of hate it.”
I laugh quietly. “You’ll miss it when he starts refusing to take naps.”
Jonah nods toward the garage. “I didn’t have time to run home after work. Mind if I try to unlock Chris’s toolbox?” I shake my head. Jonah heads in that direction, and I put Elijah in his bassinet. I move it to the far side of the living room so that the noise from the kitchen hopefully doesn’t wake him.
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