Rhode Island
Senior Year
Things were all sunshine and kittens between Violet and David again, so I could only imagine he’d given her what she wanted.
The thought made my stomach turn. Not only did I not need the mental image, but it gave me the distinct sensation of bugs crawling all over my skin every time I looked at David.
So when Mr. Ingles announced in English class that he’d be pairing us off for an assignment in which we’d have to write a short biographical essay on our partner, my body tensed. The possibilities were endless for disastrous pairings.
But I would have taken anyone over David.
“Now,” Mr. Ingles said as he scrawled example questions across the board, “I don’t want your interviews to be boring, but I don’t want anyone to be uncomfortable, either. Feel out your partner, and decide how personal you’re willing to get.”
Snickers erupted at the phrase “feel out your partner,” and I rolled my eyes. I wanted to ask why we couldn’t just write our own autobiographies, especially when I saw how very bland his sample questions actually were:
“Where did you grow up? How does it compare to the setting of your favorite novel?”
“What has been your greatest accomplishment to date?”
“Where do you hope to be five years from now?”
There were at least three more, but I stopped reading and made a Kill me face at Violet, who responded with a slicing gesture across her throat.
Mr. Ingles made a big show of picking up his grade book and announcing that he’d given careful consideration to our pairings, and that there would be no switching unless we had an ironclad reason.
And the very first pair of names he called?
Of course.
“Ms. Crawford and Mr. Kerrigan.”
Violet’s hand shot into the air.
“No, Ms. Kensing, you may not switch,” Mr. Ingles said with barely a glance in her direction. “Being all atwitter for someone is not an ironclad reason to be his assignment partner.”
The class snickered again, and I might have felt bad for Violet as she sat there pouting if I wasn’t trying to ignore the twenty-degree increase in my body temperature. Oh, that universe had quite a sense of humor. I racked my brain trying to think of an ironclad reason David and I couldn’t work together, but I had the feeling personal drama didn’t qualify.
The more I thought about it, the more I realized it might not be so bad. After all, I had plenty of questions for David that weren’t related to our assignment, and now I had an excuse to ask them. And considering we hadn’t spoken since the hallway incident, an excuse was definitely in order.
At the tail end of class, we were allowed to meet with our partners and get started on the interviews. David turned his desk toward mine and moved it closer without even looking at me.
“So,” I said. “You and Violet are . . . better?”
Of all the questions I’d planned to fire at him, I hadn’t meant to let that one slip first. Or at all, even.
“Fine.” He rotated the cap of his pen around the barrel. “Although she keeps asking about my mother. Any idea why that would be?”
His tone made me squirm in my seat. “How are things with you and your mother?”
He shrugged. “We tolerate each other. Talk every now and then. Nothing worth telling the whole world about.”
“Uh, your girlfriend is hardly ‘the whole world.’ ” When seconds ticked by without a response, I added, “Maybe Violet’s hinting that she’d like to meet her.”
“My mother moved to Puerto Rico with her boyfriend.”
“Puerto Rico? When?”
“Right after my grandfather died.” He snorted. “Probably when she realized she had no way to stake a claim on his house.” Sitting up straighter, he finally looked at me. “It’s all good, though. I’m used to people walking out of my life.”
I gripped the edge of the desk and my teeth ground together. “You can work with someone else if you can think of a good enough reason,” I offered coolly. “So if you want to fake an anaphylactic reaction to my perfume or something . . .”
David leaned back in his chair and folded his arms, arrogance oozing from every pore. “Now, why would I want to do that when I can think of one or two questions I’d like you to answer?”
I dropped my pen onto my notebook and sat up straighter. Two could play this game. “Know what? Me too. Starting with this one.” I leaned forward and lowered my voice. “Why would you try to hurt Ryan?”
David snorted. “Ask him.”
“Don’t you think I have? I can understand why you’d clam up—you attacked him. But why won’t he talk to me?”
“Maybe he has something to hide.” The flippant shrug that accompanied the comment made me want to jab him in the eye with my pen.
“Or maybe you do.” I leaned back in my chair, mimicking his overconfidence. “The David I knew never would have done something like that without a reason. But you said it yourself. Things change.”
That seemed to get him appropriately riled. His eyebrows pulled together and his jaw muscle twitched. “You do know me, Kelse. Probably better than anyone. Did you ever stop to think it’s him you don’t know so well?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“That he’s not the great guy you think he is.”
My fingers curled around my pen and squeezed. I wanted to snap it in half. And pretend it was David’s neck.
“If you’re going to make a statement like that, I suggest you back it up.”
We glared at each other for a pointed second before David gave me an equally pointed answer. “Next question.”
“You’re kidding, right? I’m giving you the chance to clear your name, and you’re going to blow it?”
The corners of his lips turned down. “Like you’ve never blown your chance at anything?”
I’d walked right into that. I shook my head and stared at my notebook, trying to find something to analyze on the blank page so I wouldn’t have to look at him. “I don’t think this is the time or place for that.”
“Why not?” The exaggerated nonchalance returned. “Question number seven.” He jerked his head in the direction of the board, where I scanned for question number seven.
Apparently, Mr. Ingles and the universe shared the same sense of humor.
“Describe your ideal romantic relationship. Tragedy? Comedy? Fantasy? Explain.”
So much for not getting too personal.
I knew my mother had been right when she said I owed David more than a sort of explanation for the way our relationship had ended. And despite his holier-than-thou attitude—no, because of it—I knew he wanted me to do better than sort of as well. But I’d been right about something too. English class wasn’t the time or place.
“David, listen. You have Violet now, and I have Ryan. We’re both happy. That’s all that matters, right?”
“You really don’t miss Norwood at all, do you?”
“Where did that come from?” I sputtered.
David shrugged. “Just answer it.”
“I miss certain things about it.”
“Like what?”
I looked at my desk, knowing I couldn’t say the first things that came to my mind: Cutting through the woods to your house. Dinner with you and your dad. Blasting music in your clunky old car and singing at the top of our lungs. So I said, “I miss riding my bike around my old neighborhood. I miss my dad being around on the weekends instead of going off to promote his book. And I miss going down to Pennyfield Beach, and parking a mile away and walking past all those old, beautiful houses just so I wouldn’t have to pay to get in.”
I smiled to myself. I did miss those things.
“Do you still talk to anyone from home?” he asked.
“Do you?” I folded my arms, well aware of how defensive this topic made me.
“Of course. It hasn’t been that long since I left. Why wouldn’t I?” His eyes leveled with mine, and the unspoken portion of his question hung in the air between us: Just because you didn’t?
The silent accusation made me feel the way I did when I didn’t drink enough water with my vitamins—like I had a rock sitting in my throat.
“Easy for you to say. Everyone loved you.”
He looked me right in the eye. “Not everyone.”
My pen grew slippery with sweat and I knew I must’ve been glowing crimson, but I refused to back down. “Have you seen anyone from there lately?”
Tell me you don’t still see her. Of all people, please tell me you’re not still hanging out with that bitch.
“Yep.” He ripped a square of paper out of his notebook and started to shred it, purposely staring at the strips of paper and not at me. A definite sign of guilt, in my opinion.
“Anyone I know?”
“No one you would have cared to see.” He stopped midshred. “Oh, wait. That’s everyone.”
Before I could do anything more than gape, or even fully register how deeply his comment had hurt me, the bell rang. David stood up and shoved his notebook into his bag. He looked at me long enough to say, “We can do this by e-mail. It’s probably easier.”
With that, he walked away, leaving me dumbfounded, and pained.
I forced myself to shake it off as I stood to gather my books. I told myself it didn’t matter what David did, or with whom. There were reasons we weren’t friends anymore, and I’d been perfectly happy before he got here. I could be perfectly happy again if I stayed away from him.
If only it were actually that easy.