by S. Walden
“Who would join, Florence?” Clara asked, moving on to the next problem.
“I don’t know,” Florence said. “We could put up some flyers on the bulletin boards.”
“And where would we have it? How often would we meet? Who would decide on books and discussion questions?”
“I don’t know, Clara. I haven’t figured out the details,” Florence said annoyed. “Maybe we could meet at your house if you led the group.”
Clara tensed. She wasn’t really interested in a book club anyway, but now she definitely thought it was a bad idea.
“Who has time to read more than what we’ve already got to for English class?” Clara asked as she thought of more questions to discourage Florence.
“Oh my gosh. I don’t know,” Florence replied. She placed her pencil on the table and looked towards the classroom door. A book club suddenly seemed like too much work. “Perhaps not a book club,” she said, and Clara smiled relieved. “But we need to be doing something.”
“Why?”
“Because we’re supposed to be doing things in high school besides just going to school,” Florence explained.
Clara caught herself. She was about to say that she had more than enough to keep herself busy without adding clubs and after-school activities to the list.
“Like what?” Florence would undoubtedly ask.
“Oh, I don’t know. Things like being a stand-in mother and breadwinner for my sister since my mom ran away. Things like that,” Clara would respond. And then she could see Florence’s eyes go as big and as round as saucers.
“Why should popular kids get to do everything?” she heard Florence ask.
“Because they’re popular,” Clara replied. “And they’re not joining book clubs, I can tell you that.”
Florence grunted and shrugged. She picked up her pencil again and started to work.
“Why did Evan go up and talk to you in the cafeteria?” she asked suddenly.
Clara stiffened. “I don’t know.”
Florence smiled a wicked smile. “I think he likes you, Clara,” she said quietly.
“I don’t think that’s true at all,” Clara replied. She did not want to discuss Evan with Florence. She wasn’t sure why Florence was even talking to her about it.
“Well, cool guys don’t just randomly go up to nerds and start talking to them unless they like them,” Florence continued.
Clara bristled. She didn’t like being referred to as a nerd.
“Do you think he’s going to ask you out?” Florence asked.
“No,” Clara replied, then asked the teacher if she could be excused to the bathroom.
Clara stood in front of the bathroom mirror assessing herself. She thought about Florence’s words, how “cool guys don’t just go up to nerds and start talking to them.” She wondered if perhaps she was a nerd. She preferred to have no label at all, but that was hard in high school. Everyone was grouped somehow, some way. She might just be a nerd, and it angered her.
She looked at her eyes. She saw her mother staring back at her. The same hazel color with long, thick eyelashes. Nothing else about her physical appearance was like her mother. She was shorter than her mother, standing at five feet five inches. Clara didn’t know where she inherited her dark, wavy hair. Her mother’s was blond and straight. Her dad’s hair was blond. My God, did she have an affair? Clara thought suddenly. It would make sense. The more she stared at herself in the mirror, the less she saw in common with her sister, mother, and father.
She thought she could stand in front of that mirror all afternoon thinking about her mother, all of the ways she was like her and all of the ways she wasn’t. All of the possible reasons why her mother left and if she would ever come back. She wondered if her mother truly understood what she did, leaving Clara with all of that debt. Did she assume the girls would be turned over to the state, and why would she let something like that happen? Why would she think that was a better alternative? Clara couldn’t allow herself to believe that her mother didn’t care about them. But then why did she leave, leave without an I love you or I’ll be back soon?
She heard the bathroom doors open and turned on the faucet to wash her hands. She stared at the running water as she listened to the chatter of two girls standing at the far sink.
“It’s not that big of a deal,” one girl said. Clara thought she recognized the voice.
“I don’t know. It seems kind of gross,” another replied.
“Well, how do you expect him to do it to you if you won’t do it to him?”
“But isn’t it different for them. I mean, they like it, don’t they?”
Clara thought it was time to dry her hands and leave.
“Of course they do,” the first girl explained. “And no, most girls don’t like it. But they do it because that’s part of the deal. God, you’re so naïve.” She huffed and looked over at Clara. “Maybe you could tell us about it,” she said nastily, looking at Clara throw her paper towel in the trash.
Clara looked up and met Brittany’s eyes. “I don’t know what you mean,” she said heading for the door.
“Blow jobs. Do you like giving them?” Brittany asked. She grinned maliciously. “I mean, aren’t you blowing Evan? Isn’t that why he talks to you?”
“Leave me alone,” Clara said, reaching for the door handle. Brittany jumped in front of her.
“Does your mom know you’re blowing him?” Brittany asked. “She’d probably be pretty pissed.”
“Please let me leave,” Clara said patiently. She felt a bead of sweat trickle down her right side and only then noticed how badly she was perspiring.
“I think maybe the guidance counselor needs to know about you, Clara,” Brittany went on. “I mean, such low self-esteem. You don’t need to blow a guy to get him to like you.” Her words were laced with phony sweetness and concern. “I’ll go to the counselor with you. We can talk about it together.”
Clara shoved past Brittany and exited the bathroom. The bell rang signaling the end of class. She hurried down the hall to science for her books unaware that Brittany was on her heels.
“God, Clara! I’m just trying to be your friend,” she yelled from behind. “I’m telling you that you don’t have to give blow jobs to get guys to like you!” She emphasized “blow jobs” as loudly as she could.
Clara heard students gasp and giggle as they passed by her. She wanted to whirl around and punch Brittany in the face. If she were someone else—someone brave and confident—she would do just that. But she was Clara, so she hugged her body close, bent her head low, and continued down the hall towards science class hoping that only a few people heard Brittany’s cruel words.
Chapter 6
“Did you ever figure out what book you were reading in the cafeteria?” Evan asked sliding into a desk beside Clara’s. She looked up from her notebook. “I mean, I know it’s been awhile.”
Clara looked around her. She noticed the furtive glances and tried to ignore them.
“Um, Far From the Madding Crowd,” she said quietly.
“Oh yeah,” Evan responded. “That book by James Patterson.”
Clara’s mouth turned up in a grin. “Or Thomas Hardy,” she corrected.
Evan thought for a moment. “I think I saw a poster advertisement for him at work,” he said. “He’s got a new one coming out next month, right?”
Clara giggled.
“What?” Evan asked. He pushed a hand through his unruly locks.
“He’s been dead for awhile,” she explained.
“Ohhh.” Evan opened his notebook, and Clara suddenly realized that he planned to stay in the seat next to her. She grew instantly nervous.
“And what are you reading now?” he asked noting the book laying on her desk.
Clara looked at him. “You’re not really interested,” she said.
“I am,” Evan replied. He looked at her, eyebrows raised, awaiting her response.
“Collected Poems by W. B. Yeats,” she sai
d. “He’s my favorite poet.”
“Is he dead or alive?” Evan asked.
“You don’t know a thing, do you?” Clara asked laughing.
“Not a damn thing,” Evan said. “Now why is he your favorite poet?”
Clara considered the question then opened her book. She flipped to a particular spot, placed her bookmark in it, then closed the book and handed it to Evan.
“When you get a chance today read ‘The Fisherman,’” Clara said. “And you’ll understand why.”
“Okay,” Evan replied taking the book.
“And then I want my book back,” Clara said.
Evan grinned. “You should probably work at a bookstore instead of me,” he suggested. “I think I told a customer the other day that she could expect the eighth installment of the Harry Potter series next month.”
Clara chuckled.
“There’s no eighth installment is there?” he asked teasingly.
Clara shook her head.
“Well, ask me anything you want to know about quantum mechanics and I can point you in the right direction,” he said.
Clara’s eyebrows shot up.
“Okay, that’s a lie,” Evan said. “I was just trying to impress you. I don’t know anything about quantum mechanics or where to find books about it in the store. But I am pretty good with calculus and I do know where those books are located.”
Clara nodded.
“Wow, I really feel like I’m talking a lot,” Evan said. He ran his hand through his hair again. “Am I talking a lot?”
“Maybe a little,” Clara replied. “But I don’t mind.”
Their faces turned a mutual shade of pink.
“What’s up man?” Clara looked up at the boy who addressed Evan.
“Oh, hey Chris,” Evan replied. They clasped hands in a kind of inverted handshake.
“You comin’?” Chris asked.
“No, I’m gonna hang out here,” Evan said.
“Okay man,” Chris said indifferently. “See you later,” and he walked to a seat on the other side of the room.
Evan turned back to Clara. “So I know your favorite poet. Who’s your favorite author?”
“I don’t have a favorite,” Clara replied. “There are too many good ones I like.”
“I imagine mine would be Stephen King,” Evan said. “If I had a favorite.”
“I can’t read scary stories. They terrify me. But I guess you like them?” Clara asked.
“He writes scary stories?”
The tardy bell drowned out Clara’s laughter as the remaining students hurried into class. She tried to concentrate during the lecture, but it was hard with Evan sitting so close. She wanted him to keep saying silly things to her to make her laugh. She loved feeling the laughter all throughout her body, making her warm and giddy. It made her forget about her troubles. It made her feel special.
She didn’t understand why he chose to sit beside her today. He always sat with his friends on the opposite side of the room. Were they wondering, too, why he chose to hang out with a nobody? She would not get caught up in the ridiculous idea that he liked her. But he did make a point to walk over to her and sit with her in the cafeteria. In front of everyone. And he did say she was pretty. Well, the exact words were, “You’re too pretty to say something so blasphemous.” He couldn’t know that she’d been mulling over those words since the moment he said them. And now he sat beside her in class when he never did that.
He was like the cat they used to have years ago that showed up one day, kept coming around for food but was never pushy about it, and before Clara knew it, the cat was sleeping with her in her bed. The image changed to Evan sleeping with her in her bed, and she jumped in her seat.
“Are you okay?” Evan whispered leaning over close to her.
She nodded, afraid to look at him. She was convinced her eyes would give away her secret thoughts.
Evan sat back in his seat and continued taking notes. He glanced at Clara from time to time, but she never once looked his way. He wondered what happened in her brain to make her jump like that. He hoped she realized that he liked her. How could she not figure that out by now? Still, he wanted to take things slowly with her. She seemed so scared and uncertain all the time. He wished he could take it out of her. Maybe if he kept talking to her like he was doing now and giving her space when he felt she needed it, she would eventually come around. He wanted into her life. He was dying to be invited.
When the bell rang, he wished her a good day and then left.
***
Lunch was much less frightening once Clara learned that Free or Reduced Lunch cards didn’t matter. No one paid any attention to her in line, and she began looking forward to the time when she could melt into the background of the large cafeteria, eat as much as she wanted, and read her books. She was not prepared for visitors today, but they came uninvited anyway, and they came with questions.
“Is your name Clara?” one of the girls asked. She was tall with strawberry blond hair. She looked nice enough.
“Yes,” Clara replied.
The three girls plopped down at Clara’s table and looked at her intently.
“Okay, I’m getting it,” another girl said. She had her dark hair styled in a crazy pixie cut, pieces shooting out in all directions.
Clara remained silent.
The third girl piped up, “Yeah, me too. Look at her hair.”
Clara instinctively touched her hair in an attempt to smooth the waves about her face.
“I’m Jen,” the strawberry blonde said. “And the pixie here is Katy. And that’s Meredith.”
“Hi,” Clara said.
“So we were trying to figure out what in God’s name you’ve done to Evan,” Meredith said. “But now we know. It’s your hair. I think he wants to sleep with it.”
The girls giggled. Clara just stared.
“Clara, stop looking so scared,” Jen snapped. “We’re not here to make fun of you or threaten you or anything.”
Clara relaxed her face and tried for a smile.
“Not all the girls in this school are total bitches,” Katy explained. “Like Brittany,” she added. “No one believes for a second that you’re going around giving guys blow jobs. She’s such a fucking bitch.”
Clara swallowed but said nothing.
“So are you his girlfriend?” Meredith asked. She leaned over the table staring at Clara with sparkling, mischievous eyes.
“No,” Clara responded.
“Ah, so he’s still fair game,” Jen said. She laughed as she observed Clara’s face fall. “I’m just kidding with you! I’ve got a boyfriend.”
Clara smiled meekly.
“Has he asked you out on a date yet?” Katy pressed.
“No.”
“Well, he will. He’s smitten with you probably because you’re all mysterious and everything. How come you never talk to anybody? You’re always sitting in here reading your stupid books. You need to socialize more, Clara. Get to know people,” Jen said. Her directness was unsettling.
“I prefer to be alone,” Clara confessed. She picked up her book hoping that the girls would take the hint and leave. They didn’t. In fact, Katy snatched the book from her hand and carelessly tossed it aside.
“Clara, do you know that you’re a really pretty girl?” Katy asked. “And you’ve got a really hot guy who likes you. Why are you being weird about it?”
“I know why she’s being weird about it,” Meredith offered. She bore her eyes into Clara’s. “She doesn’t think she’s good enough.”
“Oh, and here we go with this,” Jen said letting out a great big dramatic sigh. “Clara, do you see us hanging out with the popular girls?”
“No,” Clara said.
“Exactly,” Jen replied. “And do we care?”
Clara shrugged her shoulders.
“Of course we don’t care!” Katy said. “And even though we’re not popular like those cunts over there, do you think we can’t still have fun an
d look pretty and date cute boys?”
Clara stopped listening after the word “cunt.” All she could think was, Did she really say “cunt”?
Jen snapped her fingers in front of Clara’s face. “Clara, listen to us!”
Clara shook her head and refocused. “I’m sorry.”
Meredith grabbed a cookie off of her tray. “You can’t be bothered by other people and what they say or think,” she said shoving the cookie in her mouth.
What is up with people taking food off of my tray and eating it? Clara thought.
“Exactly,” Katy agreed. “You’re a rock star. And rock stars put bitches in their places. So go over there and tell Evan how you feel!”
“No!” Clara cried. A few students at the end of the table turned to look at her. She lowered her voice. “No. I can’t do that. I’m not like you all. I can’t go up to him. He makes me nervous.”
Jen and Katy grinned at each other.
“Oh, Clara,” Jen sighed. “We’ve got a lot to teach you about being a progressive woman.”
Clara stared wide-eyed at the girls as they giggled with glee. She felt the fluttering in her heart as the realization dawned that she was about to become a pet project.
Evan came to her at the end of the day. She had just closed her locker and was about to leave.
“Here’s your book,” he said handing it to her. “And may I just say, ‘Wow.’ I didn’t understand what I was reading, but I knew I was reading something important.”
Clara smiled.
“Will you explain that poem to me sometime?” Evan asked.
She thought she would die to, but perhaps he was just being nice. Did he honestly want to sit down and listen to her analysis of a poem?
“Sure,” she said, trying to sound like she understood that they would never talk about it.
“I mean it,” Evan said. “I want to understand it. I think it might help me understand you.”
Clara felt instantly shy and averted her eyes.
“Okay then,” Evan said. “I’ll be seeing you, Clara,” and he walked away.
Clara looked down at her book. She flipped through the pages but could not locate her bookmark.
He took it.
