Page 47 of This I Know
“We’re going to be late,” she says to Ethan.
“Sure. You sure you’re okay, Avery?”
I give him a bobble-headed nod.
He doesn’t respond. He probably knows I’m lying.
Before they leave, he smiles at me, that special grin of his, the one that draws one side of his mouth up his face in picture-perfect beauty. Then they leave, and I’m left alone in the middle of the hallway.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he liked me. Even with Julia Crane practically attached to his arm. Bold son of a bitch.
Ethan
“Why don’t you see him again?”
It’s my mom, interrupting my after school snack. I’m sitting at the kitchen table where I thought I’d find some peace while she reads her Food Network magazine in the living room. Doesn’t she know I’ve been waiting all day to eat these Cheeze-itz?
“Who?” I say, my mouth full of cracker.
“You know who.”
I know who. But I’d rather pretend I don’t for the sake of delaying the answer. I pick up my bowl and I stand, ready to retreat to my room the second this conversation ends. I shrug while picking at a few of the crackers in the bowl. “I don’t want to.”
She uses a damp rag to wipe the counter where I was just sitting, scrubbing in circles like I’m contaminated. She’s always working. She should stop that.
“I didn’t know you don’t want to,” she goes on. “You were pretty eager the last time.”
“The last time was the last time,” I say matter-of-factly.
“I stand corrected.” She keeps wiping.
I’m just waiting for her to get whatever she wants off her mind so I can go to my room and waste the rest of my time on the computer. I don’t mind talking to her, but any conversation that broaches the topic of my father is a different matter.
“Did he say something?” she asks delicately.
I nod, still picking at my snack. “He said lots of things. Nothing sane, though.”
“I see. Well,” she stops, tossing the rag aside. It lands clumsily near the sink. “I told you it’s your decision. If you don’t want to see him again I’ll tell the prison to stop letting him call.”
I almost choke. “He’s been calling?”
“Well, you know how it is. He’s beentryingto call my cell. I haven’t accepted any of them. But,” she holds her hands up, “if that’s the way you want it, I’ll leave it at that.”
I’ve already started to leave. And I’ve almost reached the first stair with my precious bowl of crackers when I reply, “That’s the way I want it.”
I swing open the door to Chemistry without a care in the world. As I walk, I thumb some papers in front of me, trying to sort them out in the midst of all my messy homework. There’s a lot of crap here, and our group project is due today. I’ve done my part. I didn’t do it until just before midnight last night, and I had to forfeit a video gaming session, but still … it got done. At least my teammates can’t yell at me for slacking off.
Speaking of teammates and anger – I’ll be surprised if I make it through class without another tension-fueled conversation with Avery. It seems no matter what I say to her, it’s always wrong.
I slide the piece of paper we’ll need out of the folder. Just as the paper leaves the front of my face, exposing the area in front of me, I see her. I guess I should have been paying more attention to where I was going, because she’s right there. I’m on the verge of invading what could be considered her personal space.
She’s in the same seat as always, and our desks are already fitted together into a square. It looks like she was the first to arrive, given that she’s sitting all along, and I can’t help but wonder if that change in her behavior had anything to do with that I said about noticing her. She holds my eyes for a second and then darts them away, down toward her own papers.
If she was a blusher, I’m pretty sure I’d see some rosiness right about now. But there isn’t a hint of redness there.
I sit across from her and check the clock on the wall. We’re four minutes early. There are a few other kids here, too, slumped with bored looks on their faces. Mr. Miller has already begun writing his lecture notes on the chalkboard, his back to us.
To pass the time, I pretend I’m paying attention, even going so far as to hold my pen in place over a blank piece of paper in preparation for note-taking the second that bell rings. I’ve never been one to give class any more of my time than necessary, being what you’d call a C student, but when it starts, I’ll need a distraction. Because my heart is racing at her presence out of the corner of my eye.
