Chapter Four
Dodging Hannah should be easy enough. Before this summer, we went years barely interacting and never had the same classes or the same friends. We don’t have any classes together this semester either. But seeing her in the hallway is still going to sting.
I smile and wave when I pass Kristen at her locker, and she does the same.
There’s no time to chat as I bob and weave in between students on the way to Mrs. Rubio’s classroom.
She’s the faculty adviser for the festival committee.
We started keeping in touch via email at the end of last semester when she realized the festival committee might die out.
A majority of the members graduated, leaving me and two other—not-nearly-as-committed—members to make up the entire group.
That practically guaranteed me the president position, but it failed to guarantee that the committee would survive.
Yet somehow, by the grace of God, we secured more members.
She emailed me last week to say a student reached out with their friends to join the club.
So she set a meeting for today, before homeroom, to fill me in on the details.
Every year, the festival committee plans two festivals, one for the fall semester and one for the spring.
In my opinion, the fall one is always more memorable.
The Squash the Pumpkin Festival is a night filled with carving and chucking pumpkins, painting gourds, navigating hay mazes, and playing timeless—kind of disgusting—games like bobbing for apples, all while collecting money and food for Thanksgiving.
Even though the high school sponsors the festival, the entire community shows up.
Kristen and I have gone every year since we were little and entered the pumpkin chucking together, and we always get our faces painted—even though we end up in the company of little kids.
Needless to say, I’m more than excited to return as president of the committee and throw myself headfirst into festival planning.
“Clarity!” Mrs. Rubio beams, standing up from behind her desk.
“Hey, Mrs. Rubio. How was your summer?”
I admire her blue-and-white floral-print dress and the bikini-strap tan lines I see peeking out on her shoulders.
“Relaxing,” she admits, momentarily staring off into her memories. “Mr. Rubio and I took a late honeymoon.”
Late as in two years late. They got married when I was a sophomore. The wedding, the dress, and every other detail were something the entire female student body of Ridgeway High couldn’t stop talking about.
“How was your summer?” she asks.
I laugh, stifling the butterflies and bile creeping up my throat.
“It was… fine,” I say, hoping I don’t start nervous sweating. “Nothing exciting.”
Mrs. Rubio considers me for a moment, but then something catches her eye over my shoulder.
“Oh, great,” she says, smiling.
I turn around and—
“Hannah?”
“Hey, Clarity,” she says, a smile consuming her face.
I open my mouth even though I have no idea what to say.
“You guys know each other?” Mrs. Rubio asks, the understatement of the century. “That makes this so much better.”
“Makes what better?” shoots out of my mouth faster than I intend.
I pointedly don’t look at Hannah, nor do I notice how her honey-blond hair is up in her typical ponytail and the zit that had been bothering her all summer is gone—which means she probably took my advice and started using toner—but that’s beside the point.
I don’t look at her. I don’t think she’s cute.
I don’t like her perfectly proportionate, sun-kissed forehead, or how she has no tendrils when her ponytail is fresh, so nothing hides her gentle hazel eyes.
“Clarity, last week Hannah managed to recruit the entire field hockey team to help out with the festival committee! Because of her, we don’t have to shut down.”
Of course. I should be happy. However, the only reason this happened is because this summer happened. After Mrs. Rubio sent me the initial email about potentially having to disband, who did I turn to? Who did I whine to in the middle of the night when my thoughts were consumed with panic?
“That’s great,” I say, forcing myself to smile. If only I’d kept my big mouth shut.
“I think it’s fair that since Hannah recruited more than half of our new members that we give her the position of copresident. That way, you both can work together.”
All. Year. Long.
“Yay.” I try to sound happy, but it comes out half-hearted.
“I don’t want to step on any toes,” Hannah jumps in. “I mean, Clarity has been in this club way longer than I ever will be.”
Truth.
“Even so, it might help balance things if we have you in a leadership position since you know the new members well,” Mrs. Rubio counters, making complete sense… the same way Mrs. Patricia was making complete sense as she dug my grave just yesterday.
Mrs. Rubio looks at me, raising her eyebrows in hopes of backup.
Even though it’s the last thing I want to do, even though I’ve been working my butt off to be president (notice how there isn’t a “co” in there), I say, “It’s fine, Hannah. Thank you for saving festival committee.”
Without missing a beat Mrs. Rubio turns around and grabs two folders off her desk. She hands one to each of us, and I notice how Squash the Pumpkin is written in bright orange Sharpie, Mrs. Rubio’s neat cursive unmistakable.
“So, the first meeting is next Tuesday. If you can start coming up with ideas for decorations, venues, and a schedule, that would put us in good shape. We only have nine weeks!”
First bell rings, leaving me with no choice but to accept this reality if I want to make it to homeroom on time.
“Thanks, Mrs. Rubio,” we say on our way out of the classroom.
“Clarity, wait,” Hannah says, fighting to keep up with me as I push through the current of students in the hallway.
“I’m going to be late to homeroom,” I reply over my shoulder, making a point of not turning around all the way so that I don’t have to look at her face again.
“Clarity, we have to talk.”
“Right now?” I whirl around.
We’ve stopped in the middle of the hallway and students eye us as they move to avoid bumping into us. This is exactly what I didn’t want, drawing attention to Hannah and me together. I grab Hannah’s wrist and lead her to the corridor Kristen and I usually meet up in before homeroom.
When I turn to face her again, she’s smiling at me. A deep, sly smile, one that reaches her eyes and makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
“I wasn’t talking about that. I was talking about festival committee,” she admits, as if it’s some inside joke.
Right.
I swallow the embarrassment creeping up my throat and close my eyes for a moment.
“I know this isn’t ideal,” she says, her voice soft. “It was supposed to be a surprise; save the club and create a way for us to hang out at school without drawing attention.”
“This isn’t—” I start to say.
But Hannah cuts me off. “You didn’t want festival committee saved?”
“I didn’t want us to be thrown together like this.”
“Since when—no, wait.” She shakes her head. “Don’t answer that. I already know,” she says, her tone turning cynical. “Because I’d bet that before all that stuff went down, this would’ve been great. Me being on festival committee factors into our plan perfectly.”
“Hannah, there is no plan.” The reminder of what we were supposed to be, how in an alternate universe this corridor meeting would be a secret moment for us to share before class, makes it hard to breathe. “I gotta go.”
“Look, Clarity,” Hannah says, shifting so that she’s firmly between me and the hallway.
I can’t tell if she’s blocking me or shielding me, but I’m forced to look up at her either way.
“I still want to be wi—” She stops short, glancing over her shoulder before refocusing on me.
Her eyes lock on to mine, direct but soft.
“I still want to do what we talked about. I know that what happened at camp was scary, but it doesn’t have to change things.
“So, the offer stands. Be my girlfr—be… mine. Think about it and let me know by the end of today.”
She turns to leave but pauses. “No matter what you decide, the team is down for helping your committee. I know how important the festival is to you.”
I watch her walk away, disappearing into the flow of students finding their lockers and rushing to homeroom. I could yell for her to come back, give her an answer right now. Tell her that I’m not going to change my mind; I just want her to drop it.
But that might not be true.