by S. Walden
“Oh,” was the only thing Clara could say.
“We’re sorry about everything,” Katy said. She waited for Clara to respond, but Clara stood motionless, the words stuck in her throat. “Well, I guess I’ll see you around,” Katy said after a time and turned to leave.
“Okay,” Clara replied and watched as Katy strolled down the hallway. She regretted that she may have ruined a chance at being good friends with girls who turned out to be nice after all, and for a split second thought about calling out to Katy to ask if she’d like to sit with her at lunch. But then she remembered that she had secrets to keep. She cursed softly and made her way to health class.
Her mood lifted when she saw Evan. She loved sitting beside him in class. Sometimes he talked a lot; sometimes very little. But he always greeted her, and he always said her name. She thought that maybe he just liked saying it, the way the back of his tongue hit the roof of his mouth to make the “k” sound, and how it rolled forward so that the front of his tongue pressed against the back of his upper teeth to form the “l” sound. Perhaps that’s why he said her name so often. He liked what it did to his tongue.
She said very little to him in class. It was mostly because of the other students. They didn’t gawk anymore, but she still sensed their confusion. And anger. The anger was palpable, and it bothered her. Were they all on Amy’s side? And why? She broke up with Evan, Clara thought. Why would she care so much about me?
“What are you doing this afternoon?” Evan asked Clara as she took her seat beside him.
“I have to work,” Clara replied.
“And when do you get off?”
“Eight.”
“When is Beatrice finished with her dog walking?” Evan asked.
“Five thirty or so,” Clara said. “What’s with all the questions?”
Evan grinned. “I thought about bringing over takeout,” he said. “Chinese food. What do you think?”
“That’s really nice of you, but we’re okay,” Clara said. Chinese food! she screamed inside, and felt her stomach twist in knots, begging for one small taste.
“Well, suppose I just bring it over anyway,” he said.
Clara smiled. “It would be late, though, when you got home from dinner.”
Evan laughed. “Clara, I’m eighteen and a senior. And I work at a bookstore that stays open until eleven. And sometimes I have to work until eleven . . . on a school night!” he exclaimed affecting shock, and she giggled. “I think my parents will be just fine.”
“Okay.”
“I want to tell you something right now so that you can think about it all during class,” Evan said.
Clara nodded and listened.
“After class is over, I’m going to walk with you to your locker,” Evan explained.
“Okay.”
“And I’m going to hold your hand while I do it,” Evan said. “So you just think about that.”
Clara’s face turned several shades of red. She instinctively balled her hands into fists and then splayed them out on the tops of her thighs. She kept them there throughout the entire lecture, afraid to take notes, afraid to let him see them, thinking that if she hid her hands from sight he might forget about his plan.
He didn’t.
As soon as the bell rang, Clara jumped up from her seat and headed for the door. She wasn’t fast enough.
“Oh, no you don’t!” Evan said, blocking her way.
“Please, Evan,” she said, and in that moment he wanted to crush her against him.
“I just want to hold your hand, Clara,” he said, then sang the famous Beatles line.
Clara laughed.
“I know, I know. I’m tone deaf. And I play the guitar!” he said.
“So you don’t know anything about books but you work at a bookstore, and you can’t carry a tune but you play the guitar,” Clara teased. She cocked her head to the side.
“I know. I’m constantly at odds with myself. Do you realize how difficult it is to exist like that?” Evan asked. He held out his hand for her. “Are you ready?”
She didn’t know what he meant by that statement. Ready for what? Ready to hold a boy’s hand for the first time in her life? Ready to face the bewildered stares of students walking down the hall? Ready to jump into something with him? Something romantic?
“I’m just holding your hand, Clara,” Evan said softly.
She felt his long fingers wrap around her hand. The tips were calloused from playing guitar, and she realized that he must play all the time. She liked the roughness mixed with the softness of his palm. He squeezed her hand lightly, sending shock waves up her arm and led her out of the classroom.
She let Evan escort her down the hallway. He walked with confidence, saying hello to friends he saw as he passed by them. She kept her head down to avoid the certain stares of passing students, but she could not avoid what they said.
“Oh my God. Are you seeing this?” she heard a girl ask.
“I need glasses,” another girl replied.
“He’s holding her hand!” someone squealed from behind her.
They continued down the hallway, and Clara made the mistake of raising her head for the briefest moment. Amy was to her right, standing with a group of her friends, looking outraged as she watched Clara pass by. Clara thought she saw Amy mouth the words “fucking bitch.”
“I’m uncomfortable,” Clara said, her face turned up to Evan’s.
“Don’t be,” Evan replied. “They’ll get over it.”
She felt mildly panicked. “I don’t know,” she said.
They reached Clara’s locker, but Evan did not release her hand.
“Please let go, Evan,” Clara pleaded, pulling at her hand. She was scared outright. Evan released it, oblivious to her fear.
“That was the best moment I’ve had so far this year,” he said.
Clara wished she could say the same, but she couldn’t shake the image of Amy staring at her in disgust. She was afraid of her.
“Clara?” Evan asked.
“What?” she said a little too harshly.
“I don’t care what they think. What they say. Do you understand me?”
“I know you don’t,” Clara replied. “You don’t have to.”
“What do you mean?”
“They like you no matter what.”
Evan considered this as he ran a hand through his dirty blond hair.
“But me?” Clara went on. “They don’t like me. At least they don’t like me holding your hand.”
Evan didn’t know what to say. She was right, and he had no words to encourage her, to make her believe that it didn’t matter what the other students thought.
“I’ll see you tonight,” Clara said gathering her books from her locker. “If you still want to come over.”
“I do,” he said to the back of her head because she was already walking away.
***
“Clara!” Beatrice sobbed running into her sister’s arms. Clara hadn’t even made it through the front door before Beatrice’s face was buried in her chest.
“It’s okay,” Clara said. She shut the door and moved into the living room with Beatrice clinging to her like a barnacle. She noticed that Beatrice had started a fire in the fireplace.
“The most terrible thing has happened!” Beatrice wailed.
“Bea, you can’t start fires when I’m not here,” Clara said. “You can only light candles. Remember?”
“Oh Clara, listen to me!” Beatrice cried. “My life is over!”
Clara took a deep breath and sat down on the couch with Beatrice hanging on her.
“Tell me,” Clara said gently. She looked at the clock hanging in the kitchen. Evan would be there any minute.
Beatrice cried into Clara’s shirt. “I lost my job, Clara. And it was terrible. I’m the worst dog walker in the world,” she said between sobs.
Clara’s heart dropped. “Tell me what happened, Bea.”
Beatrice sat up then and wiped clums
ily at her face. Her tears made her blue eyes translucent, and Clara thought that her sister was the only person in the world who looked beautiful when she cried.
“I . . . I w-was w-walking Penelo-lope,” she stuttered.
“Stop,” Clara ordered. “Take a deep breath.”
Beatrice drew in her breath and held it in her chest for a few seconds before breathing out. Clara handed her a tissue from a box on the coffee table.
“Blow.”
Beatrice obeyed and blew her nose. She balled up the tissue in her fist and continued.
“I was walking sweet Penelope,” Beatrice began. “And another dog—a hateful, vicious dog—started walking towards us. It growled at us and made Penelope intensely angry.”
“Uh huh.”
“And as we were passing by this dog, Penelope pulled on the leash really hard. She wanted to get to the dog to let him have it.” Beatrice’s eyes welled up with fresh tears. “And she did. She got away from me and attacked the dog.”
“Oh God,” Clara said. “What happened?”
“She bit the dog!” Beatrice cried. “That hateful dog who deserved it! And the owner was furious!”
“What kind of dog was it?” Clara asked.
“A Chihuahua,” Beatrice replied.
Clara looked at her sister flatly. “The hateful, vicious dog was a Chihuahua?”
“Yes, Clara.”
“And did Penelope kill the Chihuahua?” Clara suddenly felt irritated.
“No, but the owner demanded I tell her whose dog I was walking. And then she stormed over to Mrs. Johnson’s house and screamed at her. She demanded Mrs. Johnson pay the vet bill and didn’t want to see ‘that little girl walking that dog again.’ And then Mrs. Johnson got angry with me and told me I couldn’t walk her dog anymore because I was irresponsible. And she told me to go home and not bother with walking the other dogs because she was going to tell Mrs. Peterson and Mrs. Levine about it.” Beatrice took a deep breath. “And I begged and pleaded and said I would never drop the leash again and that the Chihuahua was the one that started the fight, and she said it didn’t matter and that it was my responsibility to walk her dog safely and not let her bite other—”
A loud knock interrupted Beatrice.
“Oh Clara! They’ve come to take me away!” Beatrice screamed. “I’m going to jail because Penelope bit that dog!” She clutched at her sister desperately.
Clara rolled her eyes. “Bea, it’s Evan. He brought over dinner,” she said, and Beatrice let her go.
Clara opened the door to find Evan holding two big bags oozing the delicious aroma of Asian cuisine. She was immediately hungry.
“Hi Clara,” he said, and she moved aside to let him in.
He walked to the kitchen and placed the bags on the table. There were lit candles everywhere, but the house was still cast in a yellow glowing darkness. He didn’t like it and meant to ask Clara when they would get their electricity back on, but he refrained from saying anything when he noticed Beatrice’s tear-stained face glimmering in the firelight.
“Beatrice, you look like you’ve had a bad day,” Evan said gently, walking over to sit beside her on the couch.
“It was dreadful,” she replied. “I lost my job.”
“How?” Evan asked.
“I dropped the leash.”
Evan looked over to Clara for clarification, but she only shook her head.
He thought for a moment. “Are you hungry?” he asked Beatrice.
Beatrice shook her head. “I’ll never eat again,” she said dramatically.
“Hmm,” Evan replied. “That’s too bad because I ordered just about everything on the menu.”
Beatrice didn’t reply.
“I don’t know how your sister and I will eat it all,” Evan continued. “I guess we can try, though.”
He walked back to the kitchen with Clara. She set the table and poured them all glasses of water from the sink. She sat down with Evan and waited for Beatrice to join them. She knew Beatrice would. The smell of the Chinese food was too much, even for an emotionally shattered girl who said she’d never eat again.
“Thank you for dinner,” Clara said as Evan unpacked the bags.
“Anytime, Clara,” he said setting the trays of food out in a kind of buffet style. He looked at her and smiled.
They dug in, piling their plates with various flavors of chicken, steamed vegetables, and fried rice. Clara couldn’t imagine how much Evan had spent on it. He brought over eight different trays.
She watched as he picked up a piece of Kung Pao chicken with a pair of chopsticks. He was an expert with them, and she found it fascinating.
“How do you eat the rice with those?” she asked after a moment.
He looked up at her. “You scoop it.” He demonstrated by positioning the sticks slightly apart and then running them through the rice. He lifted his hand to show a neat clump of rice sitting atop the ends of the sticks.
“It’s really an inferior utensil,” Evan said. “But I’ve convinced myself it helps me play guitar better. Fine motor skills or something like that.”
Clara nodded and took a bite of her egg roll.
“Did you have a nice day at school today, Clara?” Evan asked. There was a playful smile on his lips.
“Yes,” she answered, uncertain where he was going with the conversation.
“And did anything special happen?” he pressed.
Clara blushed. “Maybe.”
“So tell me,” Evan said between mouthfuls of vegetables.
“Someone held my hand,” Clara said, not understanding how to flirt, but thinking that she may just be doing it now.
“And did you like it?” Evan asked.
“Yes,” Clara whispered forgetting all about Amy’s ugly face and the remarks made by students as she walked down the hall. “Very much.”
Evan leaned into the table, his voice low and tender. “Well, I liked it too. Very much.”
She felt on fire, like her body lit up and his voice was the spark. She never felt a strong desire to kiss anyone. There was never anyone at school she cared about. But he was different, and she was afraid of herself around him, how he drew her to him with just the sound of his voice. It was deep and hungry for her, and she wanted to lay herself out on the table for him and let him taste her everywhere like something out of a vampire fiction book.
She shocked herself with her thoughts and quickly looked over at Beatrice who was watching them like a hawk.
“Beatrice, you can grieve and still eat,” Clara said, happy for the distraction.
“Can I?” Beatrice asked.
“Yes,” Clara replied, and Beatrice jumped up from the couch and ran over to the table.
“I think Chinese food might be my favorite,” she said excitedly as Clara scooped a bit of everything on a plate for her.
“And here I thought it was yogurt,” Clara muttered.
Evan chuckled.
“Evan, I want to eat with chopsticks, too,” Beatrice said.
“No, Bea,” Clara said. “We’ll be here all night.”
Evan ignored Clara and pulled two sets of chopsticks out of the bag. He snapped them apart, rubbed them in between the palms of his hands, and gave a set to each of the girls.
“You kind of hold them like you would a paintbrush,” he began, and Clara decided that she really wouldn’t mind sitting at the table with Beatrice and Evan all night.
***
The warmth she felt while Evan was there quickly vanished once his car pulled out of the driveway. She lay in bed that night thinking about Beatrice losing her job, that precious addition to their income, however little, wiped out because of a mistake. Beatrice dropped the leash, and Clara’s hours at work were dropped as well. She learned it yesterday, and she was already looking for a second source of income.
She tried to ignore the panic growing in the center of her chest. She hadn’t heard the voices again, not since that night, but the anxiety pulsed. She tried to will
herself to be brave. But she could see no way out of the debt. The plan she had to pay off the electric bill by the end of October now seemed a dream. She simply didn’t make enough money to cover the cost of all the other bills combined. She thought about cancelling her cell phone service, but she couldn’t. She and Beatrice needed a way to stay in touch, and their phones and calling plan were the cheapest of any she researched.
She couldn’t miss a water payment. They could not go without water. She had not even thought about putting any money towards the gas bill. It was foolish of her, she realized now, when they could have been cooking with the gas stove all along instead of roasting during the hot days of the end of summer with the wood stove. And they wouldn’t have to heat water for baths. Why didn’t she pay off the gas bill first?
She didn’t know what she was doing. She didn’t know how to budget her money. She thought she was doing the right thing, working towards paying off the electric bill. Putting some money towards the property tax. A little bit here. A little bit there. But it all looked like she had done nothing. She still owed everyone, interest and late fees accruing like ants on a sliced apple in the grass.
The panic grew and she jumped out of bed. She went to the kitchen and lit a candle. She pulled out the bills and spread them on the table, reading the numbers to herself and trying to determine what she could do. She still owed $187.72 on the electricity. Beatrice’s short-lived dog-walking job had at least helped to pay down some of it. She had barely touched the gas. The total she owed with new interest charges was $102.44. She didn’t bother to look at the property tax.
And then there were other living expenses. Toiletries, food, gas for her car. Her birthday loomed ahead, and all she could think of was the money she would owe for a new car tag.
What do people do to get money fast? she thought. What could she offer?
She thought about stealing. What could she steal? She didn’t know how to do it—what to steal and where to sell it. Could she rob someone? What a ridiculous thought. She had no more gumption than a baby bunny. But Beatrice did. Could Beatrice rob someone? If she instructed her sister, could Beatrice do it?
