Florence grunted and shrugged. She picked up her pencil again and started to work.
“Why did Evan go up and talk to you in the cafeteria?” she asked suddenly.
Clara stiffened. “I don’t know.”
Florence smiled a wicked smile. “I think he likes you, Clara,” she said quietly.
“I don’t think that’s true at all,” Clara replied. She did not want to discuss Evan with Florence. She wasn’t sure why Florence was even talking to her about it.
“Well, cool guys don’t just randomly go up to nerds and start talking to them unless they like them,” Florence continued.
Clara bristled. She didn’t like being referred to as a nerd.
“Do you think he’s going to ask you out?” Florence asked.
“No,” Clara replied, then asked the teacher if she could be excused to the bathroom.
Clara stood in front of the bathroom mirror assessing herself. She thought about Florence’s words, how “cool guys don’t just go up to nerds and start talking to them.” She wondered if perhaps she was a nerd. She preferred to have no label at all, but that was hard in high school. Everyone was grouped somehow, some way. She might just be a nerd, and it angered her.
She looked at her eyes. She saw her mother staring back at her. The same hazel color with long, thick eyelashes. Nothing else about her physical appearance was like her mother. She was shorter than her mother, standing at five feet five inches. Clara didn’t know where she inherited her dark, wavy hair. Her mother’s was blond and straight. Her dad’s hair was blond. My God, did she have an affair? Clara thought suddenly. It would make sense. The more she stared at herself in the mirror, the less she saw in common with her sister, mother, and father.
She thought she could stand in front of that mirror all afternoon thinking about her mother, all of the ways she was like her and all of the ways she wasn’t. All of the possible reasons why her mother left and if she would ever come back. She wondered if her mother truly understood what she did, leaving Clara with all of that debt. Did she assume the girls would be turned over to the state, and why would she let something like that happen? Why would she think that was a better alternative? Clara couldn’t allow herself to believe that her mother didn’t care about them. But then why did she leave, leave without an I love you or I’ll be back soon?
She heard the bathroom doors open and turned on the faucet to wash her hands. She stared at the running water as she listened to the chatter of two girls standing at the far sink.
“It’s not that big of a deal,” one girl said. Clara thought she recognized the voice.
“I don’t know. It seems kind of gross,” another replied.
“Well, how do you expect him to do it to you if you won’t do it to him?”
“But isn’t it different for them. I mean, they like it, don’t they?”
Clara thought it was time to dry her hands and leave.
“Of course they do,” the first girl explained. “And no, most girls don’t like it. But they do it because that’s part of the deal. God, you’re so na?ve.” She huffed and looked over at Clara. “Maybe you could tell us about it,” she said nastily, looking at Clara throw her paper towel in the trash.
Clara looked up and met Brittany’s eyes. “I don’t know what you mean,” she said heading for the door.
“Blow jobs. Do you like giving them?” Brittany asked. She grinned maliciously. “I mean, aren’t you blowing Evan? Isn’t that why he talks to you?”
“Leave me alone,” Clara said, reaching for the door handle. Brittany jumped in front of her.
“Does your mom know you’re blowing him?” Brittany asked. “She’d probably be pretty pissed.”
“Please let me leave,” Clara said patiently. She felt a bead of sweat trickle down her right side and only then noticed how badly she was perspiring.
“I think maybe the guidance counselor needs to know about you, Clara,” Brittany went on. “I mean, such low self-esteem. You don’t need to blow a guy to get him to like you.” Her words were laced with phony sweetness and concern. “I’ll go to the counselor with you. We can talk about it together.”
Clara shoved past Brittany and exited the bathroom. The bell rang signaling the end of class. She hurried down the hall to science for her books unaware that Brittany was on her heels.
“God, Clara! I’m just trying to be your friend,” she yelled from behind. “I’m telling you that you don’t have to give blow jobs to get guys to like you!” She emphasized “blow jobs” as loudly as she could.
Clara heard students gasp and giggle as they passed by her. She wanted to whirl around and punch Brittany in the face. If she were someone else—someone brave and confident—she would do just that. But she was Clara, so she hugged her body close, bent her head low, and continued down the hall towards science class hoping that only a few people heard Brittany’s cruel words.
Chapter 6
“Did you ever figure out what book you were reading in the cafeteria?” Evan asked sliding into a desk beside Clara’s. She looked up from her notebook. “I mean, I know it’s been awhile.”
Clara looked around her. She noticed the furtive glances and tried to ignore them.
“Um, Far From the Madding Crowd,” she said quietly.
“Oh yeah,” Evan responded. “That book by James Patterson.”
Clara’s mouth turned up in a grin. “Or Thomas Hardy,” she corrected.
Evan thought for a moment. “I think I saw a poster advertisement for him at work,” he said. “He’s got a new one coming out next month, right?”
Clara giggled.
“What?” Evan asked. He pushed a hand through his unruly locks.
“He’s been dead for awhile,” she explained.
“Ohhh.” Evan opened his notebook, and Clara suddenly realized that he planned to stay in the seat next to her. She grew instantly nervous.
“And what are you reading now?” he asked noting the book laying on her desk.
Clara looked at him. “You’re not really interested,” she said.
“I am,” Evan replied. He looked at her, eyebrows raised, awaiting her response.