Page 148 of Heartache Duet

I chose the table at the back corner of the room because I don’t even know what this class entails and the less attention I get, the better. “I didn’t sleep well,” I tell him, and it’s true. I spent most of the night staring at my phone, at the blinking cursor of the empty message addressed to Ava. I couldn’t think of anything to say. In my mind, I knew that I’d said everything I needed to. But it didn’t stop the hurt. And every time I closed my eyes to try to sleep, all I saw was the pain in hers when I told her how I felt.

But I don’t regret it.

I can’t.

Because everything I said was fact.

Oscar says, breaking through my thoughts, “You better shake that shit off by lunch. We got that pep rally in the gym, remember?”

I groan, slam my head on the desk.

“Welcome to multimedia,” Miss Salas announces, standing at the front of the class. “I hope you guys are ready to work this semester because there’s a lot to get through!”

The classroom door opens, and it’s just like the first time I saw her: a baby bird leaving the nest for the first time, a discombobulation of limbs. “Sorry,” Ava mumbles. Her hair’s down today, wild curls bouncing around. She hands the teacher a piece of paper, her eyes downcast. “I have a note from Miss Turner.”

Miss Salas looks at the note, her nose scrunched. “Will you be late after every session with the school psychologist?”

The class erupts in quiet giggles, and I ball my fists, my jaw ticking. The kid in front of me, Roy, calls out, “At least it’s not Alcoholics Anonymous like her mom.”

I kick the back of his chair. Hard. He rag-dolls against the edge of the table and screeches out in pain. Then he turns to me. “What the fuck, Ledger?”

I seethe, “How about you watch your fucking mouth?”

“How about you both watch your mouths!” Miss Salas shouts. Like she can talk. Who the fuck is she to throw Ava’s business out like that?

Okay.

So clearly, I’m still in love with the girl. That’s not going to change. I just need to find a way to shut out those feelings so I can move on with my life. And not with or for someone else, but for me. Because I’m drowning in those feelings, slowly, and it’s killing me.

“Go on and find an empty seat,” the teacher tells Ava.

Ava starts for a seat in the front row.

Good.

Distance.

That’s exactly what I need.

Next to me, Oscar stands, shouts, “I forgot my contacts today, so I need to move… to the front.” It takes me a moment to realize what he’s doing, but by the time I do, it’s too late. He’s already there, and Ava’s making her way toward me.

She sits down next to me, gripping her bag to her chest.

The teacher starts going through the class curriculum for the rest of the year, and Ava lowers her bag to the floor and kicks the back of Roy’s seat to get his attention. “Psst. Roy!” she whispers-yells.

He turns to her, a glare in place.

She says, her voice calm and filled with clarity, “Just FYI, my mom’s not an alcoholic. She doesn’t even drink. She went to war, to fight for your country, and she was hit with a grenade. It blew off half her arm and half her face, and because of that, she has fucking brain damage. And that brain damage is the reason why she slurs her words. Not alcohol.” She takes a breath, her nostrils flaring. “So, the next time you want to say something about her because you think it’ll get you a few cheap laughs, just… take a moment and imagine if that happened to your mom.”

Roy blinks and blinks, and he stares at Ava as if it’s the first time he’s seeing her.

Meanwhile, I stare at Ava in awe.

“Hey,” Roy says, “you’re kind of hot when you’re feisty.”

I kick his chair again. Harder this time.

Ava scoffs. “Fuck you.”

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