Chapter Eight
The football team and cheer squad had decamped to the gym at lunch, and with Lindsey at the dentist, I had no one to join me.
I’d planned to eat in Mr. Hayward’s classroom—it was his planning period—but on my way across campus I spotted August perched on the low brick wall around the courtyard garden.
The air couldn’t decide whether to cling to summer warmth or hint at autumn’s chill. That cool breeze had dusted his cheeks pink, exactly the shade I loved, and the weak sunlight picked out the blonde roots of his curls. Before I realized it, I’d shifted my path until I was standing beside him.
He glanced up from his open lunchbox, squinting against the light.
“Hi,” I chirped.
“Hey,” he mumbled around a peanut butter sandwich, head tilted to the side.
“Mind if I sit?” I nodded at the empty space next to him.
He nodded back, eyes scanning the courtyard.
“Waiting for someone?” I asked, smoothing my brown wool dress before lowering myself onto the brick.
“My friends are in line for food,” he said.
I fished a pre-made salad and a bottled smoothie out of my bag. His gaze burned a hole in me.
“What’s up?” I asked, tearing open the dressing packet with my teeth.
“Why aren’t you sitting with the meatheads today?” he asked.
I glared through my long lashes. “Bullying is very uncool, August.”
He scoffed. “Do you give your boyfriend that same lecture?”
“Andy would never bully anyone,” I retorted.
The look he gave me made my throat go dry. I didn’t have any classes with Andy, so I wouldn’t really know how he treated people outside of our friend group. But given how much he hated his father for being such a violent prick, I couldn’t imagine he would be cruel to anyone else.
I tacked on for good measure, “You shouldn’t judge him just because he plays football. He’s actually really nice.”
He looked ready to reply, but a shadow fell across both our faces. Wyatt loomed over us, his too-tight sneer in place as he stood beside me. He was only a bit taller than me when I was sitting down, so he had the unusual pleasure of looking down at me when he asked: “What are you doing?”
I looked down at my salad, up at August who looked like a deer in headlights, and back to Wyatt.
“Curing Cancer.”
His beady eyes narrowed.
“I’m eating lunch, Wyatt.” I kept my tone as polite as possible.
“I see that, Barbie. Why are you doing it here.” He gestured to the general area around us, as if he owned it.
“Well all the seats in the bathroom were taken, so I thought here would be the next best thing.”
At that moment a girl in black skinny jeans, piled studded belts hanging low at her hips, and a heavy-metal tee came up beside August. Her dark hair gleamed purple in the sun. I was about to compliment the color but she opened her mouth first.
“Is this chick bothering you, August?” she asked as she moved to stand at his shoulder.
His eyes slid away from mine, and he cleared his throat—then nothing.
I snapped the lid onto my salad and rose to my feet causing Wyatt to jump back. “I was asking him about an assignment,” I said to the purple-haired girl, and she frowned as if ready to apologize, but I didn’t give her the chance.
I faced August. “I didn’t know I needed permission from the peanut gallery to talk to you. My bad.” I slung my bag over my shoulder and started for the main building.
“Bye, Barbie,” Wyatt mocked. I heard a grunt, like he’d been hit in the stomach but I didn’t look back.
The frilly collar of the button down under my dress was suddenly too tight around my throat. I tugged at it casually as I passed another student.
August’s voice came from behind me, calling my name. The heels on my Mary Janes were too high for me to risk running, and I didn’t want him to know that I was bothered. I forced a shaky breath, plastered on a smile, and turned. He caught up in two quick steps, breathing hard.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“It’s fine,” I replied, emotionless. “I just wish you’d told me you were embarrassed to be seen with me before I sat down.”
“I’m not embarrassed, Lola,” he sighed.
“No? So, you’ve told your friends you’ve been hanging out with one of the Barbies, then?” I pressed.
I didn’t know if other people were aware that my friends and I were familiar with their nicknames for us—The Barbies and The Kens. Sometimes we even used it ourselves, when one of us said something particularly dumb, or out of touch.
Like last year when Emily had cried when she lost one of her earrings, Lindsey had replied: “It’s okay Barbie, we’ll buy you a new fashion pack.
” Of course, we knew that Emily’s family didn’t have money to buy her nice things—the earrings had come from her boyfriend, Jack—and she was painfully aware of the value of things like that.
But she didn’t like to talk about those sorts of things in public—so instead, we joked.
“Well, we don’t really hang out, Lola,” he muttered.
I crossed my arms. “Then I guess I was wrong to think we were friends.”
I reached for the door to the main building, but he caught my elbow, and stepped in front of me. “Have you told your friends that we hang out?” he asked, echoing my words.
August’s green eyes were glowing, the image too distracting for me to maintain the amount of anger I wanted. “No.”
He raised an eyebrow at me, and I wanted to pluck every smug hair in it from his perfect face.
“But I’m not hiding it from them either.” I knew I wasn’t helping my case by whispering, but I would’ve rather not drawn attention to our argument by speaking too loudly.
He laughed, bitter. “Yeah?” He took a step toward me, and I moved back, my shoulders hitting the tall hedge just outside the doors.
At this angle no one in the courtyard could see us, and I wondered if he had done that on purpose.
His voice turned into something cold and teasing.
“So, you’ve told your boyfriend all about how you’ve so generously volunteered your time to help me with girls? ”
I swallowed tightly, unable to keep my eyes off his mouth, just inches from mine, as he spoke.
“Did you tell him about crawling across my couch, to sit just close enough that you could still say we didn’t touch?
Or how about how you told me you fake your orgasms, Lola?
Or is it safe to assume you’re hiding those parts? ”
My eyes stung as he pulled back a bit. I thought he might be done, but he put one last nail in the coffin when he added: “If you want to study together, that’s fine.
If you want to tell yourself we’re friends, that’s fine too.
But you don’t get to use me to inflate your ego in private, and then act offended when I don’t know what the protocol is when we’re in public.
So, my apologies for not being as well trained as your golden retriever, Sin. ”
His eyes flickered between mine and my mouth, as I bit down on my lip to stop it from trembling. He looked like he was waiting on me to say something, and when I didn’t he let out a humorless laugh and stalked away.
I yanked open the school door and hurried to Mr. Hayward’s room, desire and shame warring in my chest.
As I pushed open the classroom door, the scent of chalk dust and cologne drifted toward me.
Mr. Hayward sat behind his well-worn desk, a stack of essays to his right and a red pen poised in his left hand.
He tilted his head up over the top of his wire-rimmed spectacles just as I pivoted into the front-row seat, the metal legs scraping against the speckled linoleum with more force than intended.
I dropped my forehead onto the cool laminate surface and drew in a slow, steady breath.
“All is well in the paradise of hormones and high school then, I assume?” His graveling voice was clipped, but I knew there was genuine concern beneath the tone.
I rolled my head until my cheek rested on the desk, peering up at him through damp lashes. The button on the front of his vest was straining against his large belly while the overhead lights cast a soft glow on his salt-and-pepper hair.
“Just peachy,” I muttered flatly.
“Andy?” He didn’t look up from the paper, but I could hear the question in his voice.
I sniffed once. “No.”
“Your dad?” His voice climbed just a notch, the two syllables hanging in the air as if he might actually do something with them.
I sat up straighter, pressing both palms to the desktop.
“He bought orange dish soap.” My words caught in my throat.
“I’m only allergic to one thing—one fucking thing in the whole world—and he can’t remember to grab any other scent the damn Wal-Mart carries that won’t close his daughter’s esophagus. ”
Mr. Hayward’s red pen paused mid-air. He offered me a sad, understanding smile before returning his gaze to the essay in his grasp. “You’ve only got a few more months until you graduate,” he said softly, almost to himself.
I huffed, rolling my shoulders. “Then what? I still have until next fall before college starts. If I even get in anywhere.”
He lifted his thick eyebrows behind the lenses of his glasses. “You could move out before then. You’re eighteen.”
“With what money?” I laughed, but it came out hollow. “I’ve saved every penny I’ve earned hoping I’ll get into college, and I’ll still have to take out loans.”
He didn’t glance up. “You could move in with me after you graduate.” I stared at the age lines framing his face, searching for any hint of a joke in the gentle set of his mouth, but Mr. Hayward didn’t joke.
“Linda and I would love to have you,” he added when I remained silent.
“Shouldn’t you check with her first?” My voice was small.
He set the essay aside and finally fixed his attention on me. “Do you think I’d invite a teenage girl to live with me without asking my wife first?”
A real smile tugged at my lips. “You mean it?”
He nodded slowly, tight lipped. “Just for the summer, until you go to college—which you will get into.”
“Thank you,” I whispered, my chest tight with relief. I wanted to hug him, bury my face in his old-man cologne, but I knew he’d recoil.
He lifted the essay again, as if our conversation never happened. “Mrs. Deal told me you passed your quiz last week.” He sounded pleased, though his gaze was fixed on the paper. “I assume that means the tutoring is going well?”
“Yeah,” I said, but the word felt fragile.
“Good. Keep it up.” He returned to grading just as the bell clanged, shattering the quiet and signaling the end of lunch period.
I gathered my bag, hefting it over one shoulder, and offered him a final word. “Thanks, Mr. Hayward.”
He nodded once, slight and solemn, as though he didn’t realize he’d just given me the best news I’d ever gotten. I stepped into the crowded hallway, jostled by lockers slamming and voices rising, and headed toward the library with a newfound lightness in my step.