Authors: S. Walden
“Girls, you can’t fool me,” Ms. Debbie began. “Lord in heaven, it’s hot as hell in here!” She pulled at the collar of her housecoat.
“Ms. Debbie, I don’t know what you mean,” Clara replied. She swallowed.
“Clara, give me a break,” Ms. Debbie said flatly. “I haven’t seen your deadbeat mom in a month! Where is she?”
Clara and Beatrice remained silent.
“Where is she?” Ms. Debbie pressed.
“We don’t know,” Beatrice said quietly. In that moment she felt like it were her fault that their mother disappeared. Ms. Debbie watched as Beatrice’s face fell.
“It’s not your fault your mother is gone, honey,” she said gently. “She has . . . issues. Let’s just put it that way.” She considered the girls. “Where are the lights?”
“We don’t have any at the moment,” Clara replied. “Our electricity was turned off because Mom hadn’t paid the bill for the past three months.”
Ms. Debbie growled. “How have you been eating?”
“Sandwiches. And we use the wood stove to cook even though it’s really hot,” Clara explained.
“Good God,” Ms. Debbie replied crossing herself. “And washing?”
“We heat water.” Clara lowered her eyes. “Please don’t call them,” she said softly.
“Call who?” Ms. Debbie asked. Her fat face glistened with sweat.
“The state,” Clara said. “I’m working. I’m working to pay off the bills, and Beatrice and I are doing fine. We don’t want to leave. I’m begging you. Please don’t call.” Her eyes filled with tears.
“Clara, I’ve no intention of calling the state,” Ms. Debbie said. ‘They’ve got their hands in enough of our business already. But I am concerned about you not having electricity. I don’t know how I feel about you lighting fires in this house.”
“I’m responsible,” Clara argued.
Ms. Debbie thought for a moment. “I know it. I wish you didn’t have to be so responsible.”
“I’m working too,” Beatrice offered. “I walk dogs.”
“And where do you walk dogs?” Ms. Debbie asked. She smiled at the young girl.
“Oak Tower Trail,” Beatrice answered.
“Well, I imagine that’s a lucrative business,” Ms. Debbie said.
“What does ‘lucrative’ mean?” Beatrice asked.
“Profitable,” Ms. Debbie explained. “It means I’m sure those people pay you well.”
“Oh, they do!” Beatrice said grinning.
Ms. Debbie stood up suddenly. “Come on,” she ordered. “We’re going to my house for breakfast.” She waddled towards the front door.
“Ms. Debbie, we don’t want to be a bother,” Clara said.
“Nonsense. When was the last time you had pancakes, Beatrice?” Ms. Debbie asked.
“A million years ago!” Beatrice squealed running for the front door.
“Ms. Debbie—”
“Clara,” Ms. Debbie interrupted. “We are going to my house for breakfast and to discuss the logistics of this new living arrangement. You will not argue with me. Now let’s go.”
“Let’s go, Clara,” Beatrice piped up.
Clara nodded and followed Ms. Debbie and her sister out the door.
“I think you girls should live with me for a little while,” Ms. Debbie said as the three sat at her kitchen table eating pancakes with strawberry syrup and bacon. Beatrice downed her glass of milk and asked for another.
“No, Ms. Debbie,” Clara replied. “It’s really kind of you but we prefer to stay in our house.”
“Clara, you’re living in the dark!” Ms. Debbie pointed out.
“No, we’re camping,” Beatrice said. She rolled a piece of bacon up in her pancake and ate it like a fajita.
“Clara, what will you do when it gets cold?” Ms. Debbie asked.
“We’ll have the electricity back on by then,” Clara said.
“Where are you storing your cold items?” Ms. Debbie asked.
“We don’t have any,” Clara said. “We keep canned goods.”
“Beatrice isn’t drinking milk? She needs milk Clara,” Ms. Debbie said acting as though Beatrice was just an infant.
“We eat at school,” Clara said. “Breakfast and lunch. She gets her milk, Ms. Debbie.”
Ms. Debbie looked a little less perturbed. “And bathing? Washing clothes?”
“We heat water to wash,” Clara said. “We told you this, Ms. Debbie. And I take the dirty clothes to the laundromat.”
“It’s absolutely insane,” Ms. Debbie said. She looked at the girls sitting across from her. “Here is how it will happen,” she said firmly. “You will continue with this ridiculous arrangement until the weather turns cold. If your electricity is not back on, you will come and stay with me at night so that I don’t go over to your house one day and find two ice blocks with girls in them!”
Her eyes were wide and commanding.
“You will come to my house every Sunday afternoon for lunch and once a week for dinner.”
“Ms. Debbie,” Clara began.
“Clara Greenwich, I’ve had about enough out of you!” Ms. Debbie said. She breathed deeply, a long ragged breath that rattled in her chest.
Clara promptly closed her mouth.
“That’s the arrangement,” Ms. Debbie said. She got up from the table and lumbered to the kitchen sink. “Period.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the girls said in unison.
***
“Interested in joining a book club?” Florence asked as the girls sat in science class balancing equations.
“Are you in one?” Clara replied.
“No, but I figured I should read more,” Florence said. “We could start one. You could lead it since you read all the time.”
Clara considered the suggestion. A book club. But then who would join?
“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.
“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.