4. Penelope
four
penelope
It turns out, Debbie Ellis rents out the place that she and my mom—and, in turn, baby Ant and baby me—lived in once upon a time. The current tenants are there until the end of July, which makes my move-in date the beginning of August. Right in time for back to school. Awesome .
Better than nothing though. It just means that I’m crashing with Claire and Nathan for the time being, which works out perfectly, because he’s still at work every day, and she’s working on her counseling internship during the day. It leaves me alone, in this massive house, to plot. Granted, plotting most days looks like rereading craft books and staring at my character maps wondering where they’re supposed to go.
Today is a welcomed break. Everyone is back in town, and we’re having one more bash in Nathan’s old home before he sells it. We’ve been slinging back beers and playing board games all afternoon. Claire and Nathan just snuck off to “refill the chips”—we all know they’re screwing in the pantry—and Nathan’s phone has been going off nonstop the entire time.
“It’s Don,” Aaron says, mentioning our principal as he lifts the phone from the coffee table.
“Boss man?” Sam asks. “That can’t be good.”
Grim expressions travel around the room as the phone, silenced from a finished call, fires up again. Aaron hollers into the kitchen, and by the time Claire and Nathan are back, there are four missed calls on his phone.
“Hold on. I have an email,” Nathan says. The longer he reads, the paler he becomes. He glances up from his phone, then gets right to the point.
“The boiler system at Meadow Ridge Middle School failed yesterday morning. As they were investigating the damage, they found too much hidden foundational damage to deem the building safe for the upcoming school year.”
Meadow Ridge is where he works. Anthony. In the aftermath of Florida, not only did he break up with his girlfriend for a second time and switch districts, but he got a job in the same district as me. Luckily, our schools don’t often mingle, but at just the sound of his school’s name, I tense. My blood runs both ice cold and boiling hot, making me dizzy. The moment Nathan’s scanning gaze lands on me, his eyes almost as sympathetic as his head tilt, I know what’s coming before he has to open his mouth. Still, it doesn’t stop the floor from crumbling beneath me.
“Until further notice, they are splitting students and teachers across the boundary lines. We will have double the class sizes, and you will all more than likely have a co-teacher from Meadow Ridge in your class to accommodate.”
When it rains, it certainly pours .
I block out the pain the only way I know how: Shutting it down and replacing it with anger. Because I don’t need to ask the question I already know the answer to. Ant teaches eighth grade math, just like I do. It was one of the things we clicked over during that stupid vacation.
My body goes numb, and I’m surprised I can even bite out, “What does that mean?”
Nathan swallows, shaking his head as he pastes on a sympathetic gaze. One that says, I’d fix this if I had the power.
“You and Anthony will be co-teaching this year.”
I have to clarify, just to make sure I’m not stuck in some sort of fever dream.
“ My Anthony?”
“Yes.” He nods, and my heart hits my shoes. “ Your Anthony.”
I stand, and bolt out the door. I need the fresh air, and to be away from people so I can break down in peace. Thank God they let me.
The last time I had this feeling was the day I finally accepted that I was going to be left on read. The day I saw him tagged in a photo on Facebook with a woman who was not me, twelve days after he’d ignored my last message. Twelve days after we had confirmed a date to meet up and see each other for the first time since Florida. Twelve days after the third time I’d tried to call, just in case.
Desperate as always for attention, Penelope. Always chasing after guys who don’t want you, Penelope.
I guess you can say it stems from my daddy issues.
But the feeling right now is a carbon copy. My head is a tilt-a-whirl, my stomach rises up my throat, my head is filled with concrete, and my shoes are filled with helium. Somehow, I stumble onto the front lawn dry heaving, hands on my knees, wondering if I’ll throw up or pass out or both. It’s like those drunken college nights, when the culmination of too many mixing alcohols finally met in the middle. Only this time, I can’t puke my guts out and make it go away.
Because Ant and I are going to be co-teaching. Co as in together . As in sharing students. Sharing a classroom . Sharing a nine-to-five for the next hundred-and-eighty days. I wonder if it’s too late to take the open sixth grade position. Or to leave the state entirely.
I collapse onto my ass on the front lawn, head hanging almost to my lap, cradled weakly in my hands as I try to center myself. The last time I felt this way, it was an easier fix. I deleted him from Facebook, blocked his girlfriend to keep myself from internet stalking her, blocked his number to keep from sending desperate messages in the middle of the night, and buried myself in finishing my book. This time, it’s going to be like the Groundhog’s Day from Hell.
And I honestly don’t know how I’m going to survive.
“Hey, girlie. You ready for us yet?”
I don’t know how long I’ve been out here, but suddenly, my friends are approaching me like I’m a wounded, feral animal. I nod, weakly, wondering how pathetic I look.
He’s a guy, for crying out loud. Pull yourself together.
But it doesn’t matter who or what is bringing me down. Juliet, Lucy, and Claire surround me, one on either side and the last in front of me. Supporting me. Because that’s what good friends do.
“Tell us what you need,” Lucy says. “Time and space, wine, snacks, a dartboard with his face on it. You just say the word and it’s done.”
“Can one of you trade jobs with me for the year?” I whine. “I can teach reading. I’d do so well teaching reading.”
“Maybe, but I can’t teach math to save my life.” Juliet tilts her head with a sad smile.
“Do any of you have ties to like, the Army National Guard? I don’t even know who you would call to fix this in seventy-two hours. Does Ty Pennington still do Extreme Makeover: Home Edition ? I could definitely be a sob story.”
This earns me a laugh, but even that takes effort, the scrape of it painful against my lungs. I don’t want to laugh. I want to be free of the clutches of heartbreak.
We eventually settle on wine and pizza and horror movies—absolutely no hint of romance to seep in and poison the small bit of hope that was left in me.