Now.
As in, ‘Now, because everything as changed.’ ‘Now, because you are my girlfriend.’
Whoa.
“Yo, Josh. You going up there?” he asked, resting his arm on the back of my chair. Shivers all over.
Josh hesitated in the aisle as Gage and Dash walked ahead. “Yeah.”
“Get me a sandwich, all right? I’m starving,” Thomas said. Then he brought his face to mine and kissed me again. I could
feel
Kiran and Taylor whispering across the table.
“Do I look like your butler?” Josh asked.
Thomas broke off and glared at him. “Yeah, actually, you do.”
Josh colored slightly, then rolled his eyes and walked off.
“So, Pearson. Found yourself a new victim?” Noelle asked.
My breath caught. What did
that
mean?
“Ironic statement, coming from you,” Thomas said.
Noelle reddened. “I’m surprised you know what
ironic
means.”
“Shut it, Lange,” Thomas snapped.
“Hey. Watch it, dude,” Dash said, returning to the table.
Thomas glared at him for a second, then laughed snarkily and kissed my cheek. What was that all about?
“What is up with the selection today?” Dash asked. “There’s no hot food.”
“Maybe because it’s ninety-five degrees outside?” Kiran suggested, checking her reflection in her ever-present compact.
“Think fast,” Josh called out.
I ducked out of the way as a cellophane-wrapped baguette sandwich zoomed past my face. Thomas grabbed it effortlessly.
“Premade? We’re so lucky to be the over privileged souls we are,” he joked.
My stomach shifted slightly. I wondered if he knew that I didn’t fall into that category. If any of them knew. If they’d care.
“I cannot
wait
for parents’ weekend,” Gage said, tearing into his own sandwich.
Thomas blew out a sigh and dropped back in his chair. Instant attitude shift.
“Why? What’s so great about parents’ weekend?” I asked. I was curious as to what went on, wondering if it was even remotely possible that my parents would fit in. And if I could possibly avoid them the entire time they were present.
“Gage is referring to the fact that it’s the best food of the year,” Noelle explained. “His world revolves around his stomach.”
“And areas slightly further south,” Gage added, laughing with his mouth open so that we could all see his half-chewed food.
“I just can’t wait to see my mom,” Ariana said.
“Ladies and gentlemen, here she is. The only girl who thinks the
worst part of boarding school is being away from her parents,” Noelle announced.
Everyone laughed except Thomas. “Can we talk about something a little less boring please?” he asked.
“Touchy, touchy,” Kiran said as she continued studying herself from every angle.
“You just sound like a bunch of losers,” Thomas grumbled. “It’s a stupid tradition. I don’t know why they even bother anymore. If our parents want to send us shit, they can use the Internet. Why disrupt everything for an entire weekend?”
“Dude, chill. It’s not our fault your parents are assholes,” Dash said.
“Screw you, jackass,” Thomas snapped.
And the last of the mirth was obliterated. I flushed, shocked. Clearly Thomas had parental issues. He had grown blotchy around the neckline of his shirt and looked skittish, as if ready to bolt at the first loud noise.
“Are you all right?” I asked him.
“I’m fine,” he said, taking my hand. He looked at me with pleading eyes. “Let’s get out of here.”
I didn’t want to go, really. Meal times with the Billings Girls were the best parts of my day. But he looked desperate, and his foot was bouncing up and down under the table, and he wanted me to leave with him. Me.
“Sure,” I said.
He got up quickly and pulled me out of there so fast I barely had a chance to blurt a good-bye.
Thomas shoved through the cafeteria doors, stormed over to the closest tree, and slammed his fist into the bark.
“Thomas!” I shouted.
He didn’t even seem to hear me. He pulled back and smashed his fist into the tree trunk again. And again and again.
“Stop it!” I shouted, grabbing his arm.
He resisted me at first, but then stopped when he saw how scared I looked.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
Pointless question. But my heart was pounding and I felt almost weak with fear and concern. I had to say
something
.
Thomas blew out a breath and dropped down on a stone bench facing the cafeteria. He threw his bag down on the ground. Overhead, clouds raced across the sky and a cool breeze sent chills down my back.
“Sorry. Sorry,” Thomas said, stuffing his damaged hand under his arm.
“It’s okay,” I told him. It wasn’t as if I’d never witnessed a meltdown before. “Just take a deep breath.”
He shot me a grateful glance and did as I said, looking away from me. Clearly he was holding back. Whatever the freak-out was about, he hadn’t gotten it out of his system.
“Dammit,” Thomas said under his breath.
I put my hand on his back, but he flinched away. My face felt hot. Did he want me to go?
Should
I go? I didn’t want to leave him alone. Just in case. In the midst of my self-contradiction, I heard someone whistling.
Perfect.
One of the teachers strolled down the path toward us. I cursed under my breath.
“Don’t say anything,” Thomas pleaded, sounding very much like a little boy afraid of getting in trouble. My heart went out to him.
“Don’t worry.”
The elderly teacher paused and looked down at us. He wore a bowtie and a tweed wool jacket with a recently plucked wildflower sticking out of the buttonhole in the lapel. His white mustache twitched when he spoke. “Everything all right here, Mr. Pearson?”
“Fine. Fine, Mr. Cross,” Thomas replied.
“Shouldn’t you be in lunch now, Mr. Pearson?” he asked.
“My friend here was feeling a little nauseous so I brought her outside to get some air,” Thomas said. So composed you never would have known he’d thrown a hissy two seconds earlier. “This is Reed Brennan, Mr. Cross. She’s a sophomore.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Miss Brennan,” the man said, tipping his head toward me. “Don’t stay out here too long.”
“We won’t,” I replied.
When he finally strolled off again, both Thomas and I were able to breathe.
“God, I detest them sometimes,” Thomas said.
“Who? Teachers?” I asked.
“No.
Them
,” he said, throwing his battered hand up toward the cafeteria. “Freakin’ Noelle and Dash. Who the hell does he think he is?”
“I don’t know. I . . .” What was I supposed to say here? I’d never seen anyone other than my own mother snap like Thomas just had. And there was never anything I could say to help her. “Are you okay?” I asked, glancing at his hand. His knuckles were bright red.
“Yeah. It’s fine,” he said. His breath seemed to be slowing and he leaned his elbow on the arm of the bench. “I’m sorry,” he said, chagrined. “I just get so pissed sometimes.”
I smiled slightly. “I know the feeling.”
“You do?” He seemed hopeful.
“Yeah. I normally take it out on a
pillow,
but . . .”
Thomas looked at me. “What do you have to be angry about?” His expression had softened.
I tensed up all over. I had never told a soul about my mother. Not one person. Not one word. But the way he was looking at me, so sweet and concerned, almost made me want to.
“You tell me yours and I’ll tell you mine,” I said, stalling.
Thomas smiled slightly. Sadly. “Okay. If you really want to know.” He looked across at the cafeteria wall. “Where to begin . . . ? Dad’s a tremendous drunk and Mom is an insanely tremendous
drunk. He gets loud and obnoxious, she gets quiet and snippy, and together they fuck up everything,” he said, warming quickly to his subject, like he was relishing getting it off his chest. “We’re talking birthdays, vacations, Christmases. At my eighth grade graduation, my father ended up falling asleep with the video camera in his hands and fell out of his chair into the aisle, then yelled at the headmaster for the faulty seats. That made for a stellar little piece of film nostalgia. And don’t even get me started on my mother.”
I felt my heart tighten in my chest. I recognized his tone. Fed up. Sad. Disappointed. Embarrassed.
“They come up here every year and the whole school kisses their asses because of their money. They get to act all high and mighty for two days and order me around and act the perfect parents and it just makes me sick,” Thomas said, blinking back tears. He looked up again and took a deep breath, blowing it out. “This place is mine, you know. And they come here and they just . . . they ruin it for me.” He sighed and stared past me.
I sat there for a moment, feeling for him. Feeling for me.
“Your turn,” he said.
Oh, God. I looked him in the eye. Hoped I could trust him. Here we go.
“For me it’s just my mom,” I said, then couldn’t believe I had actually said it. “Except she likes pills with her bourbon. Prescription ones. All kinds. So, depending on what color she’s popped that day, she’s either psychotic or passed out and dead to the world. Plus she hates me.”
“I’m sure that’s not true,” Thomas said automatically.
“No. It is,” I said, trying to make it sound like it was no big deal. “She hates me for being here, for having a life, for being young, for being healthy. She was in a car accident when I was eight and her back is all screwed up from it. Still. That’s when it all started. Anyway, one time, when she was on a particularly nasty bender, she actually told me all this. How she despises me.”
Thomas looked at me, deep into my eyes, and nodded. And that one tiny nod said everything. His eyes looked sad, but not because he was pitying me.
He understood.
After all this time of keeping it in, I’d finally told someone. My heart flooded with relief.
“What about your dad?”
“Oh, I love my dad. Dad’s the best,” I said. “But my mom, forget about it. If she comes here for parents’ weekend, she’ll humiliate me just for fun. It’ll be miserable.”
“So don’t ask them to come,” he said simply.
I laughed. “
You
don’t ask your parents to come.”
“Touché.” Thomas smiled slightly. Then he reached out and took my hand with his good one. “We’re pretty screwed up, huh?”
“We make a good pair,” I said.
“Have I told you I’m glad you came here?”
“No,” I replied, feeling a smile form on my face.
“I am. In fact, I think we should eat lunch together alone from now on,” he said. “Just you and me.”
My stomach twisted slightly. “But what about—”
“The Billings Girls?” he said. “Could someone please tell me what’s so great about the freakin’ Billings Girls?”
I raised my eyebrows.
“I’m just trying to make friends here,” I said quietly.
“So be friends with me,” he said, moving closer. He kissed me quickly on the lips and my whole body tingled. “Why do you need them when you’ve got me?”
Because they have everything I have ever wanted. Because they can teach me to be like them. Because if I’m with them I will have a future.
“A girl needs girlfriends,” I said simply.
He pulled back. “And you think
they
are your friends,” he said incredulously.
I squirmed. “They’ve always been nice to me.”
He scoffed. “Yeah, right.”
“They have!” I lied. “The girls on my floor are much worse, trust me.”
“I can’t believe you’d choose them over me,” he joked, shaking his head. “You disappoint me, Reed Brennan.”
“Come on!” I said, shoving him with my leg. “I think I can handle all of you.”
“If you say so,” he said with a blithe shrug. Then he looked me in the eye and grew serious. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”
I was touched, and I smiled. What exactly did he think was going to happen to me? “Thanks. But I’ll be fine.”
Thomas smiled in return. “I should go get this cleaned up,” he said, raising his hand.
“Want me to go to the infirmary with you?” I asked.
“Can’t go there. The nurse will have to inform the parents about something like this, and that’s the last thing I need,” he said, standing. “You go inside. Go back to your precious ‘friends,’” he said, air-quoting with one hand.
I laughed and shook my head. But inside I was starting to feel uneasy. Could I date Thomas when the Billings Girls clearly disapproved of him? Could I hang out with the Billings Girls when Thomas clearly thought they were no good? Why did the two most important parts of my life here at Easton have to be at odds?
I looked up at Thomas. All I wanted to do was hug him and protect him and, of course, kiss him. A lot. Whenever humanly possible. There was no way I could give him up. Not now. Not when I finally found someone who understood.
But I also knew that I couldn’t endure another scene like today. Another tense lunch. Another smackdown with a tree trunk. I would just have to try to keep them separated. A girl had to make certain sacrifices if she wanted to have it all.
“I’ll see you later?” I said.
“Most definitely,” he replied. Then he leaned down, kissed my forehead, and was gone.
On Monday morning at the end of class, Mr. Barber handed back our quizzes from the previous Friday. He walked up and down the aisles, slapping the papers face down on each desk.
“As you may or may not know, I work on what some people call an unorthodox grading system,” he said as people grabbed up their quizzes and either groaned or grinned. “In my class there is no C. There is no D. There is only A for excellent, B for satisfactory, and F. You all know what F means. This means that, while quite a few of you have passed this quiz, several of you have failed,” he added. He paused by my desk and the pungent scent of stale coffee enveloped me. With a flourish, he handed me my paper, face up toward the room, for everyone around me to see. Red marks everywhere, topped by a big, fat F.
I took the paper from him, hot tears stinging my eyes. He looked disgusted as he turned away. “Those of you who have failed might want to consider spending a bit more time in the library this week. Friday’s quiz will feature double the questions.”