Page 31 of A Scandal in Homeroom
It was a good thing I was very knowledgeable in chemistry, because this was another class where I was going to miss the entire point of the lesson.
Just a lead I’m following. I think he might be connected to the Freshman Bait List.
Why didn’t YOU kiss ME?
Note folded, I did an underhand pass behind me and flipped it on to her desk.
Waiting, I pretended to listen to what Crowley was saying even as I took in the room. Everyone was either focused on their own drama or the actual lesson. When I dropped my pencil again to retrieve it and the note under my desk, no one paid any attention.
Coyle’s an idiot. Trust me when I tell you there is nothing there regarding the List.
I don’t know. I wanted to. I guess I was afraid. And you’re going to say, I wasn’t afraid to show you…what I showed you. But that was different. Like I’d already done something for you. So it should have been your turn. But that sounds a lot like, boys need to make the first move and that’s sexist bullshit. You know what I think? I think we’re all just scared of rejection. Boys, girls. No one really wants to go first because no one wants to be told no. I guess it comes down to who is braver. That has to be you.
That has to be me?
We were in trouble then.
* * *
Reen
“Miss Adler, can you answer?”
I heard my name, but that was all I heard. I blinked and realized Mr. Crowley was calling on me to answer something. The whole class was looking at me, except Locke of course.
“I’m sorry Mr. Crowley. Can you repeat the question?”
“It’s Helium,” Locke answered, then turned to look at me over his shoulder. “Sorry, I couldn’t help myself.”
“That’s correct.” Mr. Crowley didn’t seem bothered by Locke’s interference. He turned back to the board and kept on with whatever he was teaching.
Locke had done it to save me in a small way, I knew. I was grateful. There was no way I could focus on the material. My head was too filled with…stuff.
It was easy to say it was Locke. Obviously, part of it was him. I was starting to like him. This thing between us wasn’t like anything else I’d done with any other guy. With every other guy, I was always firmly in control.
Beyond it being about Locke, I’d done something for the first time, last night. I’d shown someone my body. I’d felt a rush of warmth between my legs.
I’d been sexual.
I’d never done that before. Never allowed myself to do it.
At most, I’d kissed guys with calculation. I’d certainly never felt a reaction to anything. My lack of reaction made sense. My mom was a whore. I’d been exposed to sex too young to understand what it meant and that impacted me.
My sexuality.
There had been plenty of therapists at Thornfield Home. All of them had worked to both understand the level of trauma I’d suffered, and to help me work through the effects of it.
They grew even more concerned when I started making questionable fashion choices at age fourteen.
But wearing short skirts and wedge shoes wasn’t about sex for me. I didn’t feel sexy in them or want others to want sex from me.
I wore those clothes because I wanted to own my own narrative. I know what I looked like. How others perceived me. I wasn’t going to hide from that. Instead, I decided to make it mine.
That quickly transformed into the understanding that looking a certain way, behaving a certain way, gave me power over guys. All of them. Boys. Men. Fuck, grandfathers. It didn’t matter. I could manipulate them so easily.
It wasn’t as profound as the accumulation of cash, but it was still currency.
I didn’t ask anyone to take me out for steak. They asked me. I didn’t ask anyone to waive a detention, they just did it. I didn’t ask for any kind of special treatment, they just offered it.
