2006
It’s been a long week. Being grounded has meant that I haven’t been able to get out of the house, and coupled with Mom giving me the cold shoulder I’ve felt every last second of it. It’s not even like I’ve been able to see Hale to take my mind off things. I managed to sneak a message to him explaining the situation, but there’s no way for me to check to see if he’s got it, or if he understands.
I miss him. God, do I miss him.
But in the meantime, I’m doing my best to keep my parents happy. Dad is back to his usual self, but I know they’ve had talks about me, and what to do about the whole deal. I heard Mom making it clear she wasn’t thrilled about him coming over for dinner – ‘I’m not having that young thug sitting at my table’ was how she put it – but nothing’s been said directly to me, and I’ve chosen not to question it. Instead, I’ve been throwing myself into my schoolwork. First week back into my senior year hasn’t been easy. Every single teacher seems dead set on reminding us that this is nothing compared to how tough the workload is going to be at college, but based on my reading list they’ve decided that they’re going to do their best to get us used to the grind.
At least it’s something to take my mind off him – or to try to, anyway.
I’m at my locker, loading up on books between classes and doing my best to focus on my upcoming Biology test rather than Hale’s face, when I hear a voice behind me.
‘Well, well,’ it says – practically hisses, in fact. ‘I’m surprised you’re still in school. I thought you ran off over the summer to be trailer trash?’
Aaron Scanlon has a face that practically demands a fist. I’ve never seen him without a smug little grin, no matter what he’s doing: staring out from the photos of God knows how many sports teams that line the walls of the school corridors, picking up an award for ‘public service’ (whatever the hell that’s supposed to mean in a town where your daddy is the Head Selectman), or even just walking around with his meathead buddies. He always looks like he thinks he’s better than everyone around him – which, of course, he does. Sure, he’s attractive, but five minutes in his company would be enough to let anyone with two brain cells to rub together know that looks aren’t everything.
Naturally, Kitty Ellis had a crush on him for most of her Freshman and Sophomore years. So did most of the girls at Westbridge High. I might have been one of them, once upon a time, but not anymore. Now, all I want to do is make him pay for what he’s done.
‘Shame about your little boyfriend. I heard he picked a fight a couple of days ago. Got his ass handed to him by a bunch of real men.’
That did it. ‘Is that so?’ I say through gritted teeth. ‘Because the way I heard it, a little boy with a tiny prick got a couple of his friends together because he was too much of a coward to settle whatever stupid chip he has on his shoulder with a fair fight.’ I point up to his face, where the swelling from a real shiner has just started. ‘Nice bruise you’ve got there, by the way. How many people know the real story behind that?’
That stops him in his tracks. ‘Listen–’ he starts.
‘No, you listen. You’ve got some problem with Hale why, exactly? Because he’s poor? Because you think he’s an easy target? Well, fuck you, Aaron. Fuck you. If I had it my way, everyone in this hallway would know exactly what a goddamn bully you are, and how the only thing keeping you from an ass-kicking is that your daddy has the whole town in his pocket. But that’s all you are. Don’t you get it? You’re nothing compared to him. And you never will be.’
There’s silence for a second, almost as though my words are actually managing to sink into that thick skull of his, but then his inbuilt smugness autopilot takes over again and he laughs. ‘You think I’m scared of you and your little trash-can boyfriend?’ he says. ‘Get real. You couldn’t –’
He doesn’t get any further before I slam my locker shut as hard as I can. I mean it as more of a punctuation of the end of our conversation, but I don’t feel an ounce of regret when I realise that his fingers were in the way.
‘You fucking bitch!’ he screams out into the hall, and suddenly it’s like time has stopped. A hundred sets of eyes are fixed on us, and a hundred teenage brains are stuck trying to figure out what just happened in order to cause such an outcry. All they see is one of the most popular boys in school clutching his hand and cursing out the quiet girl who always keeps her head down and never rocks the boat.
The whispers take hold in a second or two, like a breeze swaying a field of barley; the echo of Aaron’s voice has barely died down before there are no doubt three or four people in the crowd spreading their interpretation of what happened. None of them will be anywhere near the truth, but that doesn’t matter. They’ll be everywhere by the end of the day.
The only thing that stops them is McGraw. Bespectacled McGraw, bald McGraw, who stands at the front of the school’s AP History classes with his bellowing voice and small, dark eyes hidden behind tiny spectacles, like a Ben Franklin reenactor who’s wandered away from a Renaissance Fair by accident – the kind of teacher that half the student body love for his quirks and half hate for his strictness.
In short, the absolute last face you’d want to see if you just called someone a fucking bitch in the middle of the school day.
He strides into the hallway like Moses parting the Red Sea: the crowd of teenagers splits as he walks past, waiting to see just how the situation is going to end now a new player has joined the game. McGraw doesn’t yell; McGraw never yells. ‘Mr Scanlon,’ he says, with a voice that sounds like it spent an afternoon in the deep freeze at the diner. ‘Do we need to have a discussion about what constitutes acceptable language for a school hallway? Perhaps in a detention or two?’
Aaron’s face is burning hot with fury and pain. ‘She… she…’ I can see the look in his eyes, that panicked realisation that he’s not going to be able to keep the tears back or his voice from cracking if he carries on speaking.
Yeah, that’s right, I think. Not such a fucking tough guy now, are you? Well, cry your little tears, Aaron Scanlon. Let everyone see you for the baby you are when you don’t have two of your buddies backing you up.
‘Yes, I think you made your thoughts on Miss Walker’s virtue quite clear, thank you. Now perhaps she’d like to give something in the way of a rebuttal?’
I put on my best look of concern, even though there’s a sadistic smile that’s hard to keep down. ‘It was an accident,’ I say. ‘I was just closing my locker, and Aaron had his hand in the way, and…’
And that, Your Honour, is the case for the defence. Just an accident, that’s all. Could have happened to anyone.
I’m not sure that McGraw believes me, not entirely, but he knows me well enough: I’m the good girl. I’m the one who never causes trouble, who never makes waves. Who would never dream of causing someone harm, even if he was as much of a heinous creep as Scanlon is. His eyebrows cast low shadows over his eyes as his attention flits between the two of us, looking for a sign of guilt. ‘Is that true?’ he asks.
Aaron nods. It’s that or risk opening the floodgates by speaking, in front of everyone – and that’s not a risk he’s willing to take.
‘Then I suggest you get yourself to the nurse, Mr Scanlon,’ he says. ‘Best to make sure there’s nothing broken.’ He turns to the crowd who are doing their best to pretend they’re not listening in. ‘Show’s over, ladies and gentlemen,’ he says. ‘I’m sure you’ve all got classes to get to, and I’m equally sure none of them have a rubbernecking requirement. Off you go.’
Immediately the crowd disperses, either through a realisation that he’s right or a desire to avoid getting on McGraw’s bad side. The situation is over. The bomb has been defused.
‘Miss Walker? A word, if you please?’
Shit.
McGraw beckons me into his classroom and immediately perches on his desk, looking like a wise old bird. Not once have I ever seen him take a seat behind a desk, not in all the classes I’ve taken with him, but he’s never needed to; he’s one of those teachers who has an air of authority that he carries with him wherever he goes. Three generations of Eden still call him Sir when they see him in the street. There’s just something about him that makes the thought of using his first name – Patrick – seem as disrespectful as spitting in his face would be.
‘Yes, Sir?’ I say as he gestures for me to close the door behind us.
‘What happened out there? Honestly, I mean.’
‘I told you. It was an accident.’
‘I see. And did the victim of this accident do anything to deserve it, in your mind?’
‘What do you mean, Sir?’
McGraw sighs. ‘I think you know what I mean, Caroline. Did he say anything to you that made you react… let’s say, less than judiciously?’ He pauses. ‘The reason I ask is because we’ve had a number of reports about Mr Scanlon’s behaviour, especially with regard to unwanted attention towards young women such as yourself. No formal complaints, as yet, but it’s something we’re keeping an eye on. Obviously, I’d ask you not to mention that to anyone.’
‘Yes, Sir.’
‘So did he say anything that you might have construed as inappropriate?’
Say? I think. No, he didn’t say anything. He just beat the hell out of my boyfriend in the parking lot of a convenience store. Him and three of his buddies kicked him until his shoulder popped right out of his socket, all for laughs. All just because they could – but no, I don’t think what he said was inappropriate at all. It was what he did that pisses me off. And if every one of Aaron Scanlon’s fingers is broken, I’d consider that’s him getting off lucky.
It would be so easy to say it, to confide in McGraw. I’ve always liked him. He’s always been the epitome of the firm but fair teacher, a great force for justice. If anyone would understand what happened to Hale, it would be him, right? He’d be able to help me do something about it. He could make things better. People would listen to him, if I told him what had happened.
If I told him. Maybe that’s all it would take.
But I don’t. I made a promise, for better or for worse. If Hale wants to keep it quiet, I won’t be the one to rat him out.
‘No,’ I say. ‘Just an accident, that’s all.’
McGraw tilts his head downwards at me, looking at my expression over the top of his glasses for what feels like hours. ‘You’re a smart girl, Caroline,’ he says at last. ‘A hard worker. A credit to your parents. You’ve got a good future ahead of you. Far be it from me to tell you how to live your life, but it would perhaps be in your interests to ensure that you don’t throw that future away on… shall we say, avoidable pitfalls?’
Hale. He means Hale. The boy from the wrong side of the tracks. The kind of boy who’ll call me to patch him up in the middle of the night. I wonder if McGraw knows about that, somehow. It seems impossible, but… well, news really does travel fast in a place like Eden. I’m already intimately familiar with people whispering behind my back when I walk down the street, all because of my association with one of McGraw’s ‘avoidable pitfalls’.
Just like the rest of them, McGraw has judged Hale. He sees only what he wants to see: the bad influence out to ruin my life, to wreck my chances of a happy future, but none of them really get it. Hale is my future. I’m sure of that now. When I go away to college, when I finally get out of Eden, I want it to be with him. I don’t know what my life is going to look like one year or five years or ten years down the line, but I know that if he’s not in it… well, what’s the point?
I’m not an idiot. I know that my parents would rather have me dating just about anyone else. I know they’d rather I met someone who was nice rather than someone who was good, someone who had a good public face and a squeaky clean reputation, no matter what they were like in private, but that changes nothing. Anyone who would rather see me with a respectable worm like Scanlon over a rough diamond like Hale needs their goddamn head examined.
‘I’ll do my best, Sir,’ I say.
You’re wrong, I think silently. All of you. And one of these days, he’s going to prove it to you.
I hope.