Page 14 of A Scandal in Homeroom
Deliberately, I picked up the phone again. If I didn’t respond, he would get the last word. Also, he would think he was right. That knowledge would give him power over me. I couldn’t let him have that.
Me: An act, huh? Why don’t you see for yourself? Come with me to the Fall Fashion show next Sunday. You can be my date.
Locke: I’m pretty sure I would make a lousy date.
Me: Now who is scared? Bawk, bawk.
Locke: Do you honestly think you can bully me into going with you?
Me: Yes?
Locke: Fine. If only to prove I’m on to you Adler.
Me: We’ll see.
This time I put the phone down very carefully on my desk. I looked around the room and considered what I’d done. Somehow I was going to have to prove to Locke that I wasn’t playing a part. That I was exactly who I let everyone see.
Would it be enough if I kissed him? Or was I going to need to do more?
Normally the thought of anything like that would make me sick to my stomach, but for whatever reason, I wasn’t worried about Locke. He was too controlled, too self-possessed. He wasn’t going to lose his cool if I started something and didn’t follow through. He also wasn’t going to push me for anything I didn’t want to give.
I don’t know how I knew that about him, I just did.
I heard the front door open downstairs and could hear the heavy footsteps of Mr. Sumner coming home. Instantly, my stomach growled. It was dinner time.
Tonight we were having meatloaf and Kraft Macaroni and Cheese.
So normal. Like a real family.
So utterly normal I could feel tears well in my eyes. I willed them away.
Then checked my expression in the mirror, making sure I looked happy and carefree before I went downstairs.
4
Friday Night Football Game
Locke
Iforced myself not to watch her…cheer, I suppose. Wasn’t going to note how high her leg kicks were. Or how her body bent effortlessly into a back bend. Until with a slight push of her hands she sent her legs up and over her body, only to land upright.
Lithe, limber, with an obvious rhythm some of the other girls lacked. I stood across the football field, behind the bleachers of the visiting section where I could watch unobserved like the creeper I was. The game didn’t interest me. Only she did. I let the questions roll through my head.
Why did she target me?
Why did she tell me about her mother?
Why did I tell her I didn’t want a girlfriend?
Why did I agree to take her to the fashion show next week?
A fucking fashion show? Really?
Fortunately, I was distracted from my endless run of questions by the arrival of a fellow student I’d been waiting for. He stepped under the bleachers looking around, I suspect, for a trap. I opened my arms wide to let him know I wasn’t hiding anything.
“You got the stuff?” he asked me.
“Of course. You have what I want?”
