MR. GEORGE FORCES A MEETING the following day at school. And by force, I mean, he shuts the door, locks it, and says, “I’m forcing you four to stay. Don’t like it? Call the cops.”
Kristen says, “But I’m going to be late for class. Mr. Dique hates when we’re late.”
Mr. George says, “Mr. Dique needs to get out more. Live life. Have fun. Screw him.”
Ham’s eyebrows reach his hairline, a grin spreads ear to ear.
I open and close the clasp on my bag five thousand times until Mr. George clears his throat.
“Bea is no longer working for the paper,” he says.
“What? Why?” Ham asks.
Mr. George shushes Ham. “We considered a corrective story authored by Bea and published by Bea.” He sighs. “But we won’t be doing that.”
“Wait. What?” I ask. “How do you know about Bea?”
Mr. George frowns. “She told me. She said everyone knew.”
“Then why aren’t you clearing the air?” Seung asks. “Move forward with a corrective story. Everyone thinks Linden wrote that article.”
Mr. George nods. “Not so simple, Seung.”
“Oh, yeah?” Everyone looks at me for more, which I don’t have. So I simply shrug my shoulders and repeat, “Oh, yeah.”
“I think we should let the story fizzle and fade,” Mr. George says. “It’s a sensitive subject. We have to examine things objectively, not emotionally.”
“So ignore shit.” Seung drops his phone on the desk.
Mr. George half smiles, but not in a happy way.
“What will Bea do?” I ask. “Will she be okay?”
“Bea’s already done what she needed to,” Mr. George says.
“Which is?” Ham and I ask in unison.
“Talked to me and met with a counselor.”
“That’s all?” I snap. “What about the police? Reed Clemmings can’t get away with this shit. He’s been hurting her for a while. That monster deserves punishment!”
“Would you settle for ridicule?” Mr. George says. “His cover has been blown. Word will travel. It always does. But it’s up to Bea now.”
I nod. “To tell her story.”
Mr. George sighs. “Exactly. We all have stories. Don’t we, Linden? It’s up to us whether we want to share them or not.”
I don’t see Reed or his smile when I sit in front of him in class. I’m preoccupied with Seung’s lips, his taste, and Mr. George’s last words. My mind juggles subjects and bullet points, each fighting for first place in line.
I don’t care if people think Reed hurt me. I don’t care if those comments put my reputation on the line. It’s not like I had some big rep to protect in the first place. Maybe I should be angry. It’s no secret that Seung wants me to be. At least a little. It would help him forget that he watched me kiss that monster. But Seung doesn’t know I have a backstory, too. Like Mr. George said, we all have stories.
My eyes are forward and I’m listening to Principal Falls talk about the SAT. Her focus is test anxiety and how to stomp its ass. I should be more concerned about the test designed to change my life, but my heart isn’t here, and neither is my desire. I’ve always seen The Test as my ticket to freedom, college, a permanent address, but right now everything else weighs more.
A throat clears, and I make the mistake of turning around. Reed eyeballs me up and down and shifts his jaw to the right, then left. His eyes are bloodshot and he looks like he needs sleep. It irritates me that he’s here in class, with Bea. He shouldn’t be allowed to be here.
I shift in my chair and lean back to show him I’m relaxed, worry free. Sure, I know he punches female faces, but for all he knows, I’m the largest liar on the planet. If others believe I wrote that article, Reed might, too. He’s probably wondering what other lies I’ll spread. Maybe he thinks Bea and I planned the article together and are working as a team to expose him to the school. Let him wonder. Let him marvel. It serves him right.
Principal Falsetto chirps about positive self-talk while fingers slide into the back pocket of my jeans. In other words, someone’s touching my ass.
I whip around and see Seung moving to an empty seat in front of the class, far from Bea. Way to stick up for your girlfriend, Seung. Because those kisses coated in enchilada sauce mean we arrived at a whole new level of friendship.
Reed clears his throat again and I make another mistake of looking into his eyes. He eyeballs my ass and shifts his jaw, again. I stare until I hear his teeth click. Then I fish for the note he poked in my pocket.
I stare at the back of Seung’s head, five people in front of me. I wonder why he won’t turn around and wave me toward him. There’s another empty seat up front.
Why doesn’t Seung rescue me like I rescued him?
“Open the note,” Reed whispers.
I sigh, hard. “Piss off.”
A coin hits my back. It’s hard and it hurts. My mind screams, Ouch! but I’ll never say it out loud. What I would say, however, is, this: “He’s trying to hurt me again!” I shout it, loud and clear.
Here’s me, Linden Rose, not giving a fuck what anyone thinks.
Principal Falsetto asks if there’s a problem, which of course there is, but she’s months late to the party to solve it.
I flip the coin at Reed’s face and say, “Keep the fucking change,” then swing my backpack over my shoulder and stomp toward the door.
Footsteps pound behind me, but I don’t turn around. Seung would never let me leave alone. Not after that scene.
At my locker, I finally whip around, yelling, “You know what that ass—”
But my mouth can’t finish the sentence. How could it?
Reed has his finger on my lips, shushing me. He’s teary and saying, “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. It’s like I’m trapped in this body full of rage and I can’t escape.”
For a moment I wonder if he’s plagiarizing Kerouac again, but his tears keep me focused on his face, cautioning me about his next move.
“Did you read the note?” he says with eyes wide. “Because I really need you to read that note.”
I don’t answer. His finger still mashes my lips.
“I never meant to hurt anyone. I don’t like hurting people.”
He’s believable. Convincing. Maybe he doesn’t want to hurt anyone. But it doesn’t change that he has.
He says, “Everyone screws up sometimes. I need someone to give me another chance.”
For a second I think he believes I’m that someone.
Then, for another second, I’m certain.
He says, “I want to kiss you again.”
I nod, thinking, Yeah, I’m sure you do, and suddenly his face is on mine.
He whispers, “I’m sorry,” but he’s telling the wrong girl.
He says, “I can’t stop kissing you,” but he’s forcing my mouth open and I’m clamping my lips shut.
“Stop,” I tell him, but he’s busy finishing what he started at homecoming, what he wrote in the note.
Linden Rose—I can’t stop thinking about your taste.
He says, “You taste so good.”
I push his chest and shout, “Fuck off!”
He says, “I’d never hurt you.”
“Is that what you told Bea?”
He winces, but his face is stone.
He’s Reed Clemmings. Perfection personified. At least that’s what everyone has always thought. He keeps to himself, does what his coach tells him to do. He’s become the brand our school wants him to be. Performing the way they tell him to perform, in class, on the football field. At least while eyes watch.
He pushes me against the locker and I shove back.
“You’re not Bea,” he says. “Bea’s a liar. You can’t believe anything she says.”
He bites my lip and I imagine biting his. But my mouth won’t budge. It won’t even say, “Fuck off,” again. Fear does that sometimes. It freezes you, stifles fluid movements, especially when you’ve always been told to sit still, close your eyes, pretend not to exist. My face winces at his sour breath. I try to lift my hand to push him off me, but he grabs my wrist and slams it against the locker, above my head. His tongue dives into my mouth.
I jerk to the side, struggling for air.
Seung.
Standing at the end of the hall, sleeves pushed to his elbows, ready to accept his rescue mission.
Seung.
Staring at my hands, one flat against the locker, the other gripping an earlobe, ready to yank.
But he won’t move. He won’t rescue. He’s frozen, too, but it’s not Reed he’s afraid of.
I want to shout, “Seung! It’s not what it looks like!” but Reed presses his chest against mine and prevents me from budging. He hisses at my cheek, “Stay the fuck away from Bea.” I squirm; he grabs my chin and kisses me long enough for Seung to watch everything we’ve ever had smash apart.
When I finally break loose, Seung’s gone.
He doesn’t see me knee Reed or punch below the belt. He doesn’t hear me shout his name or Bea whip open the door and scream for help. Seung doesn’t stick around long enough to watch an orange Toby Patters charge Reed like a man-padded football sled and slide him across the hall until his body folds like a tossed towel.