Page 107 of Icing Hearts

Disbelief sets in, and I open my student email. Our school sends far too many emails. Maybe a dozen a day. Daily announcements, student government updates, clubs on clubs on clubs, and student news. I stopped checking.

At first glance, nothing is out of the ordinary aside from hundreds of unopened emails. I type Mr. M’s name in the search bar, unsure of what I’ll find. He’s been concerned about me in class. At least to the point where he asked me if something was wrong after the third day in a row of me falling asleep with my head on the desk.

A recent email catches my attention. The subject line says: Roman Empire Essay. I open the email and see Mr. M’s response as a simple: Thank you. There’s an attachment and I open it up to find a completed eight-page essay.

Someone submitted the essay on my behalf. From my email account. Someone—or more likely, several someones—have been acting like Santa’s elves and doing my work for me.

A few weeks ago, I would’ve been numb to this epiphany. I wouldn’t have cared that they care about me enough to do the work so my grades don’t dip too much. But now, I feel guilty.

Chapter 65

Clara

By the end of May, Vince taps out. All the bravado and claiming he wouldn’t give up on me. Well, that lasted as long as it took for his ex-girlfriend to come back from college.

Last night was the first night I spent at home in a while. I forgot how much I loved escaping to my room. Though, it’s not the same anymore. It’s tainted now that the chief ruined it. Everything is tainted now. Even me.

It was a little easier when I had people in my corner for once. Even though I’m furious with Tory, he was trying to help me. He isn’t even speaking to me. Though he may be just giving me space. Now I scared Vince off. At least I have Jack.

I skip class and hide under a stairwell. There are four of them in school, and if I keep my crying quiet enough, no one will bother me. All at once, the urge hits me to see Tory. But he wasn’t in history today which means he’s skipping school. Just as he has been for weeks, now.

We’ve both been spiraling in our own ways. Neither of us desire to admit it. Until now. My seams are coming treacherously loose, and I feel everything spilling out onto the scuffed, cold, tile floor.

So I pull out my phone to text him, desperate for someone to hold me together. “I hate you. But I really need you right now, and I wish you were at school.”

“Where are you?” he texts back.

“Hiding under a stairwell.”

Three minutes later, none other than Victory Winner Amato rounds the corner wearing a leather jacket, holding his helmet in one hand.

He sinks to the floor beside me. A sight for the sorest of eyes. It’s silent for a few minutes. He listens as I cry, keeping his forearms folded over his knees. The bell rings and the noise in the stairwell grows deafening as people go to their next class. Then there are the stragglers. Then no one.

And it’s just us again. A reminder of what could have been.

“What happened?” he asks.

That’s all it takes for the words to spew like projectile vomit.

“I slept with him, Tory. I slept with him, and he dumped me,” I tell him through tears that refuse to quit.

This isn’t me. Clara Larsen doesn’t cry over boys, especially not the wrong boys. Maybe I’m not crying over Vince at all. But I tried to get over Tory. Tried to move forward—make the choice that wouldn’t gut me. And it blew up in my face. So, yes, I’m crying. Because it’s so much more than getting dumped. It’s me. It’s him. It’s everything, all crashing down on me at once. It’s standing on the precipice of a life-changing moment and now knowing how, exactly, things are going to change and feeling wildly, uncomfortably out of control.

“Did he dump you right after?” Tory asks carefully, his voice cutting through my downward spiral.

“No.” I sniff. “We did it weeks ago.”

“So, what happened?”

“He just said he couldn’t do it anymore. That I’m different, and he has to focus on the end of senior year. He’d been distant since his ex-girlfriend came back home last week and they’ve been hanging out. It could have something to do with that. I don’t care.”

“I’m sorry. Was it…was that your…”

“Yes.” She looks at him. “It was my first time, and it was the wrong person. I didn’t want to—”

“Wait, did he make you?” Tory leans forward, as if he’s about hunt down Vince if I respond in the affirmative.

“No, that’s not what I meant.”

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