Good

“Do you still say your prayers at night?”

 

 

“Yeah.”

 

I was dumbstruck. “Why?”

 

He looked at me confused. “Because that’s what you do. What? You don’t say yours?”

 

I shook my head.

 

“Well, maybe that’s why you landed in juvie.”

 

I wasn’t sure if he was kidding until I saw the grin.

 

“Butthead,” I mumbled as he closed the door.

 

***

 

I looked at Mr. Connelly as little as possible the following day in calculus. I was embarrassed about yesterday. I was going to give him his handkerchief after class, but he had a line of students at his desk—mostly girls—needing help or attention. The ones who needed help had their math books open, ready. The ones who wanted attention were reapplying lip gloss as they waited.

 

Today I was a “racist.” That’s what was written on the note inside my locker waiting for me after calculus. Actually it was “racist bitch.” That one I could easily figure out. The store owner I attempted to rob was an Indian man in his late forties. It wasn’t a targeted hit, though. He could have been any color of the rainbow, and it wouldn’t have made a difference. His store was out in the middle of nowhere, and we were all high: perfect combination for a robbery. I crumbled the paper and tossed it in a nearby trashcan, catching sight of Gracie across the hall. I nearly ran to her.

 

“Hey.” I wasn’t sure what I expected her to say. We hadn’t talked since my release. Her parents were adamant that I stay away from her. School was the only chance to speak with her, and she avoided me all yesterday.

 

Her green eyes darted all around, looking for an escape.

 

“Do you think maybe we could sit together at lunch?” I asked. I shifted my books to my other arm.

 

 “I can’t, Cadence,” Gracie said. “You know I’m not allowed to—”

 

“What? Your mom and dad check up on you at school? How would they even know?”

 

Gracie bristled and huffed. “I’m not allowed.”

 

I knew I had very limited time. The bell was about to ring, so I decided to go with the most important thing I wanted to tell her.

 

“I’m sorry, Gracie,” I said. “I should have listened to you and not gone to that party. I wasn’t trying to ditch you. I was just curious. I made a big mistake. But it was one mistake. Why can’t your parents let us hang out?”

 

Gracie’s eyes went wide with disbelief. “You got high! You robbed a store! Why on earth would my parents ever let us hang out again?” she shouted.

 

I flinched, embarrassed by her reaction and the looks it garnered from nearby students.

 

“You completely ruined our friendship!” she cried, and then the bell rang loud and harsh. “And now you’ve made me late for class!”

 

She slammed her locker door and hurried down the hallway. I stood stunned, watching her round a corner and disappear. I considered my options: Go to class or skip school altogether. I was trying to be good, so I knew I should go to class. But I was tired and afraid and sad about Gracie—better reasons to skip instead.

 

I grabbed my book bag out of my locker and headed for the side exit. I could slip out unseen and walk somewhere. Anywhere, as long as it wasn’t home. My hands were on the door handle when Mr. Connelly called to me from behind.

 

“Where are you going, Cadence?” he asked.

 

I didn’t turn around. “Class.”

 

“The only class I know of that’s held outside is PE,” he said. “And you’re going the wrong way.”

 

I froze.

 

“And there’s a camera, by the way,” he said.

 

I looked up and to my right. No camera. I looked to my left. A camera. When did they install that?

 

“What’s going on?” Mr. Connelly asked.

 

I jumped. I hadn’t heard him move, and now he stood close behind me.

 

“I just don’t feel like being here today.” I continued to face the door. My exit. My freedom. Could I outrun my math teacher if he went after me?

 

“Cadence, you’re smart enough to know that you don’t have a choice. And you’re also smart enough to know that you’d get in major trouble with your parents,” Mr. Connelly said.

 

“I don’t care,” I mumbled.

 

“Yes you do.”

 

I nodded. He was right. I worked for an entire month since my release from juvie to get back into my parents’ good graces. I wanted them to look at me the way they used to. Mom was a little more forgiving, but she didn’t trust me. Dad wasn’t forgiving at all, and the harder I worked to show him I’d changed, the more unforgiving he became.

 

The irony was that I didn’t need to show either of them I’d changed because I hadn’t. I had always been a good girl, even when I made that mistake. Yes, it was a really terrible mistake—getting high and robbing a convenience store—but it didn’t alter who I was. I didn’t suddenly overnight become a drug addict or career criminal. I made one bad choice that branded me for life, at least in my parents’ eyes.

 

It wasn’t until my release from juvie that I understood my parents’ expectations. I was expected to always be perfect. I was never allowed to make a mistake, and when I finally did, I paid the ultimate price. Not only did they not forgive me and probably never would, but I don’t think they even liked me anymore.

 

“Come with me and I’ll write you a late pass,” Mr. Connelly said.

 

I reluctantly followed him to his classroom and hovered inside the doorway while he wrote a note. He handed it to me, and I pulled his handkerchief from my pocket.

 

“An exchange,” I said, offering him the cloth.

 

“I don’t need it,” he replied. “You can keep it since you seemed to like it so much.” He winked. And I liked it.

 

I smiled. “Have you ever given it to someone who used it and then gave it right back?”

 

“No. I’ve never let anyone use it until you,” he said.

 

I felt the heat prickle my skin. I wanted to ask him why he let me use it, but I thought better.

 

“Is it a special handkerchief?” I asked instead.

 

“My great grandfather’s,” Mr. Connelly replied.

 

“Oh my God,” I whispered, looking at the handkerchief. “I put it in the wash with the whites. On the regular cycle!”