Chapter Thirty-Five June 13
Chapter Thirty-five
“Is it just me or are people watching us?” I ask John on the bus ride home. We’re not even doing anything obvious in terms of PDA. He’s reading his book. I’m listening to music.
He puts his book down and sticks his head out into the aisle. “They are most definitely watching us.”
Except, I seem to exist a lot more whenever John’s around.
A shadow looms over our seats. I pause my music again, removing an earbud.
Claire stands in the aisle, peering down at us, a shiny foil package flickering between her fingers.
It’s like that time Dad and I got into a car accident.
A split second before impact we saw the car approaching ours but there was nothing we could do except brace for impact.
“You left this in the room. Thought you might want it back as a keepsake.” Her laugh echoes, silencing all other sounds around me, as the condom wrapper falls onto John’s lap.
I stand, pushing past John, and step into the aisle, causing Claire to trip backward in surprise.
“You are such a bitch!” The words fly out of my mouth before I can stop them.
“Chill the fuck down,” Claire says, the smile gone from her face.
“This is what you wanted, isn’t it? For me to react. Why else would you hold onto that and wait until this moment, in front of everyone, to slut-shame me?”
“It was a joke,” she says, all levity gone from her voice.
“I’m not stupid. I heard all the things you whispered to Maya when you thought I wasn’t paying attention. You’ve been judging me this entire trip.”
“You’re paranoid,” she retorts.
John is behind me, whispering something in my ear, but I’m too riled up to hear him. His arms wrap around my body, anchoring me in place, an attempt at defusing an already detonated bomb.
“I hate you.” The words spew out of my mouth as my fists engage.
When it looks like Claire is about to say something back, John steps in front of me, shaking his head at her. There’s a look in his eyes I’ve never seen before, and it’s a more powerful weapon than any of the words I could come up with. It manages to silence her.
She slinks back to her seat, and my focus shifts to the whispers and stares.
I bury my face in John’s shoulder but I can still feel all eyes on us.
I squeeze mine shut, trying, hoping, imagining myself somewhere else.
Anywhere but here. It’s only a matter of time now.
Before I hear her say my name. Before another outside force takes John away from me again.
I fall into my seat, making myself as small as possible. John turns to me, his body acting like a shield. Soon, another body hovers. The heat of her breath wedges its way into the spot between my face and John’s body.
“Lennon, you need to come with me.”
I shake my head. No! I want to scream. No, I will not go with you!
“I’ll come too,” John says.
“We’ll deal with you later, Mr. Brody. Right now, I need to speak to Lennon alone,” Mrs. Morales says.
I shake my head again.
“It’s okay.” John’s voice is gentle, soothing. “I’ll be right here.” His lips graze my ear as he whispers, “You didn’t do anything wrong. We didn’t do anything wrong.”
I peel myself off John and follow Mrs. Morales to the front of the bus. She asks the students in the row behind hers to sit somewhere else. As if there’s anywhere on this bus we could have a private moment.
“Lennon, do you want to tell me what happened?” she begins.
I’m seated next to the window, looking out. Cars passing. Greenery a blur. I flick my eyes up to catch the driver’s in the mirror, and he quickly returns his gaze to the road.
Mrs. Morales holds out her open palm, the condom wrapper glistening in it. “Does this belong to you?”
When I don’t answer again, she breathes out a heavy sigh.
“We trusted you kids to spend an afternoon exploring the city. Not each other.” She says those last words through gritted teeth, with a hiss.
“Do you know that I had a conversation with your father on the phone? That he called a few days before we left to make sure that you were in good hands? I promised him you would be.”
I stare down at my knees, where a small hole in my sweatpants exposes my pale skin. My head shakes but words don’t come. They’re all twisted in my stomach. The guilt, the shame, multiplying.
“Please don’t tell them,” I say in a meek voice, eyes still on the loose thread of my pants.
“I’m sorry, that’s not possible. You put me and Mr. Chang in a very precarious position.”
“Please. You don’t understand. My dad will lose it.”
“You should have thought about that before you and John…” She pauses and releases another labored breath. “I thought you were a good kid. I thought I could trust you.”
I slump in my seat as Mr. Chang comes to the front of the bus with the rest of my things.
I turn away from Mrs. Morales to read the message from John on my phone.
John: I’ll work on Morales. I’ll explain to her that it’s all a misunderstanding. I’ll get her to promise she won’t tell your parents. I don’t care what it takes. I’ll stay after school every day. I’ll wash graffiti off the bathroom stalls. I’ll do anything. I’m so sorry.
Me: it’s not your fault.
Me: and it’s too late. She knows the truth. She’s going to tell them.
John: We have five hours left of the ride. I can convince her.
Me: Don’t. I deserve whatever’s coming to me.
I close the message with John, find my earbuds, stick them in, and hit play until I can almost imagine myself somewhere else. Anywhere else.
My life, what I knew of it, that girl, she’s gone.
She may as well be dead.