Just like that, Creepy Jack’s life explodes.
The local news is running amok, though his campaign team does their best to lock the scandal down. According to various special reports, the police are investigating because they take allegations of criminal sexual misconduct seriously, at least that’s what one of the big shots says on TV. Behind closed doors he may be colluding furiously with Creepy Jack to figure out how they can sweep this under the rug.
So far, apart from Oscar, me, and Creepy Jack himself, nobody seems to know who the mystery girl is. Reporters are asking “the victim” to come forward to clarify the story and set the record straight, but so far, I’m not making a move. This has accomplished what I needed and given me some breathing room.
In that time, I’ve passed both the freshman and sophomore Bio exams, allowing me to take the junior year test, which is a crazy amount of chemistry that I’ve never even been taught in a classroom. The day after, Arden Fox shows up in a Goku costume, which is far more interesting to Renton students than political outrage. I’m ridiculously relieved that so far, nobody has mentioned that the dark-haired girl looks like me when I was younger.
I’m basically waiting for the other shoe to drop.
And then it does.
Clay’s waiting by my car when I get out of school. By his posture, he seems totally relaxed, propped against the passenger side. Emma nudges me. “I thought you broke up.”
“I guess he wants to traipse down memory lane.”
With a worried look, she jogs to catch her brother, Jay. I was going to give her a ride, but it looks as if life has made other plans. My nerves feel like a just-drilled tooth, so raw that even the air hurts when I breathe. It’s hard to look at him; where Clay stands, everything gleams a little sharper—from the curve of the Beetle’s hood to the way his knee bends—like the world’s shifted to high-def. The sky is too blue overhead, and I smell cut grass, the exhaust from the cars pulling out of the parking lot.
Suddenly I’m aware that I haven’t been sleeping well and that I didn’t bother with makeup at all today. Before this week, I doubt the rest of the school could’ve imagined what that would look like but my hair’s up in a messy twist, and I’m wearing the jeans I bought at the mall with Emma the other day, along with a T-shirt that Morgan used to sleep in. Closer inspection tells me that Clay must be struggling, too. His hazel-gold eyes are rimmed in shadows and he hasn’t shaved since we split, I suspect, because he’s working on a beard, and his faded jeans have a new hole in the knee.
“Need a ride?” I ask, because there’s no way we’re having this convo at school.
“Yeah.”
I catch a few clusters of people watching us. Because I didn’t tell Emma to keep our breakup a secret, I heard gossip making the rounds the next day. The stories were crazy, too—varied as me cheating with Nathan to me having a college guy on the side. None of the rumors are wild enough to match the truth, however. After we both get in, I start the car and drive, aimless since I don’t know what he wants.
“The park near here is fine.”
So I cut over four streets and park beneath the spreading branches of a crepe myrtle. This green space is small, just one set of swings, monkey bars, and a slide, but it’s more than we had ten years ago, all part of the city gentrification program that Creepy Jack is taking credit for, though he should have larger business for the state of Georgia. From what I can see, he uses his power in all the wrong ways for all the wrong reasons.
Turning off the engine, I shift to look at Clay. “So…”
“You’re the girl in the photos,” he says.
I don’t deny it. Between the blurred picture and what I told him about the older guy who was stalking me, Clay put the pieces together. Not surprising, it’s not exactly a complicated puzzle. But from the way his mouth tightens, he was hoping I’d say no.
“What about it?” If my tone is cool, I can’t help it. Technically this is none of his business, though I’m not collected enough to say so. I don’t have that much experience breaking up with people. I mean, there was one guy I dumped before Nathan, and with Nathan, I didn’t leave so much as … die.
Talk about extreme exit strategies.
For a few seconds he struggles for the right words. “I feel like shit … like I abandoned you in the middle of a tornado.”
“It’s fine. There’s nothing you could do anyway.” That’s a huge lie because just knowing he’s there when I need him would help.
“That asshole needs to die. Those pictures were taken a while ago, weren’t they? Your hair’s a lot longer now.”
Which is one reason nobody’s made the connection yet. Nobody is devoted to charting my hair-growth trajectory, and with my face blurred out, courtesy of Oscar, maybe I won’t burn alongside Creepy Jack before I’m done. Of course we’re starting to see fundie apologists on TV talking about how it’s possible for a good man to make one mistake, and “Let he who is without sin cast the first stone.” Then they say that the jezebel probably seduced him, and there’s no proof Mr. Patterson had an affair with a young girl.
I’m the proof.
But I’m not ready to come forward. Already I can imagine the cameras flashing at me, the kind of questions I’d be asked. Not yet. Soon. Before people stop caring. I just need a little longer to investigate my mother’s death, and then I’ll make sure that asshole pays.
I’ll be brave. I’ll speak up.
“Just let this be the second secret you keep for me,” I say then. “Thanks for not telling Nathan, by the way.”
Clay leans his arm along the door frame, tilting his head slightly out the open window as if he needs the air. “You couldn’t pay me to talk to that jackass lately.”
“You two fighting?”
“No. He’s just … Nathan.” He hesitates. “I wasn’t going to tell you this…”
“What?” Anything that could divert me from my precarious situation, even momentarily, seems like a welcome distraction.
“He brought a girl home last night.” From his tone he expects this to destroy me.
And sure, there’s a twinge because before, I thought Nathan and I had a soul-deep connection. Fact is, he’s a little immature, a lot selfish, and I just never noticed. They say love is blind, but I’d say that infatuation is blind, and love is tolerant. When you really love someone, it’s not that you can’t see the flaws; you’re just willing to forgive them.
Belatedly I realize he’s expecting a reply. “I’m not surprised. Nathan is used to getting what he wants just like you’re used to giving things up. Oh, I was going to ask him to drop this off, but since you’re here…” I fish in my backpack for his hoodie.
Yes, I’ve been carrying it for, like, four days. First I hesitated to wash it, but I didn’t want to be a sad girl who’s still smelling her ex’s clothes a month later. Then I didn’t return it because that felt like final acceptance—superstitious, I know. Over is over, and random articles of clothing don’t change anything.
“You didn’t need to bother with that. I’ve had it forever.”
“All the more reason for you to have it back,” I say.
“Do you need to be this cool about everything?” he bursts out. “I know you have to be scared and hurt—”
“Yeah, I am, all those things. And yes, I have to be this way, or I can’t function. Why are you even here anyway?” The pain and frustration cracks my voice, and I really wish I was anywhere else.
“Because I’m worried about you.”
“Then stop. I accepted your decision, now respect mine. It’ll be easier if I don’t have to see you.”
His jaw clenches, showing the force he’s exerting to bite back whatever he wants to say. Finally he just takes his hoodie but he pauses with his hand on the door. “You know you can call me, right? Even if we’re not together, I’d never let anyone hurt you. One call and I’m there.”
My heart feels like it’ll crack in two, but I’m resolute; I have to be. “I already deleted your number.”
With that I turn away and I don’t mean to look at him again, though I can’t resist glancing in the rearview mirror. He’s sprawled in the grass just beyond the curb cradling his hoodie like it’s a warm memory. I washed it, I tell him silently. It doesn’t smell like me.
My tears fall slowly, nonstop, all the way home.