Clara smiled. “It would be late, though, when you got home from dinner.”
Evan laughed. “Clara, I’m eighteen and a senior. And I work at a bookstore that stays open until eleven. And sometimes I have to work until eleven . . . on a school night!” he exclaimed affecting shock, and she giggled. “I think my parents will be just fine.”
“Okay.”
“I want to tell you something right now so that you can think about it all during class,” Evan said.
Clara nodded and listened.
“After class is over, I’m going to walk with you to your locker,” Evan explained.
“Okay.”
“And I’m going to hold your hand while I do it,” Evan said. “So you just think about that.”
Clara’s face turned several shades of red. She instinctively balled her hands into fists and then splayed them out on the tops of her thighs. She kept them there throughout the entire lecture, afraid to take notes, afraid to let him see them, thinking that if she hid her hands from sight he might forget about his plan.
He didn’t.
As soon as the bell rang, Clara jumped up from her seat and headed for the door. She wasn’t fast enough.
“Oh, no you don’t!” Evan said, blocking her way.
“Please, Evan,” she said, and in that moment he wanted to crush her against him.
“I just want to hold your hand, Clara,” he said, then sang the famous Beatles line.
Clara laughed.
“I know, I know. I’m tone deaf. And I play the guitar!” he said.
“So you don’t know anything about books but you work at a bookstore, and you can’t carry a tune but you play the guitar,” Clara teased. She cocked her head to the side.
“I know. I’m constantly at odds with myself. Do you realize how difficult it is to exist like that?” Evan asked. He held out his hand for her. “Are you ready?”
She didn’t know what he meant by that statement. Ready for what? Ready to hold a boy’s hand for the first time in her life? Ready to face the bewildered stares of students walking down the hall? Ready to jump into something with him? Something romantic?
“I’m just holding your hand, Clara,” Evan said softly.
She felt his long fingers wrap around her hand. The tips were calloused from playing guitar, and she realized that he must play all the time. She liked the roughness mixed with the softness of his palm. He squeezed her hand lightly, sending shock waves up her arm and led her out of the classroom.
She let Evan escort her down the hallway. He walked with confidence, saying hello to friends he saw as he passed by them. She kept her head down to avoid the certain stares of passing students, but she could not avoid what they said.
“Oh my God. Are you seeing this?” she heard a girl ask.
“I need glasses,” another girl replied.
“He’s holding her hand!” someone squealed from behind her.
They continued down the hallway, and Clara made the mistake of raising her head for the briefest moment. Amy was to her right, standing with a group of her friends, looking outraged as she watched Clara pass by. Clara thought she saw Amy mouth the words “fucking bitch.”
“I’m uncomfortable,” Clara said, her face turned up to Evan’s.
“Don’t be,” Evan replied. “They’ll get over it.”
She felt mildly panicked. “I don’t know,” she said.
They reached Clara’s locker, but Evan did not release her hand.
“Please let go, Evan,” Clara pleaded, pulling at her hand. She was scared outright. Evan released it, oblivious to her fear.
“That was the best moment I’ve had so far this year,” he said.
Clara wished she could say the same, but she couldn’t shake the image of Amy staring at her in disgust. She was afraid of her.
“Clara?” Evan asked.
“What?” she said a little too harshly.
“I don’t care what they think. What they say. Do you understand me?”
“I know you don’t,” Clara replied. “You don’t have to.”
“What do you mean?”
“They like you no matter what.”
Evan considered this as he ran a hand through his dirty blond hair.
“But me?” Clara went on. “They don’t like me. At least they don’t like me holding your hand.”
Evan didn’t know what to say. She was right, and he had no words to encourage her, to make her believe that it didn’t matter what the other students thought.
“I’ll see you tonight,” Clara said gathering her books from her locker. “If you still want to come over.”
“I do,” he said to the back of her head because she was already walking away.
***
“Clara!” Beatrice sobbed running into her sister’s arms. Clara hadn’t even made it through the front door before Beatrice’s face was buried in her chest.
“It’s okay,” Clara said. She shut the door and moved into the living room with Beatrice clinging to her like a barnacle. She noticed that Beatrice had started a fire in the fireplace.
“The most terrible thing has happened!” Beatrice wailed.
“Bea, you can’t start fires when I’m not here,” Clara said. “You can only light candles. Remember?”
“Oh Clara, listen to me!” Beatrice cried. “My life is over!”
Clara took a deep breath and sat down on the couch with Beatrice hanging on her.
“Tell me,” Clara said gently. She looked at the clock hanging in the kitchen. Evan would be there any minute.
Beatrice cried into Clara’s shirt. “I lost my job, Clara. And it was terrible. I’m the worst dog walker in the world,” she said between sobs.
Clara’s heart dropped. “Tell me what happened, Bea.”
Beatrice sat up then and wiped clumsily at her face. Her tears made her blue eyes translucent, and Clara thought that her sister was the only person in the world who looked beautiful when she cried.
“I . . . I w-was w-walking Penelo-lope,” she stuttered.
“Stop,” Clara ordered. “Take a deep breath.”
Beatrice drew in her breath and held it in her chest for a few seconds before breathing out. Clara handed her a tissue from a box on the coffee table.
“Blow.”