“All right, guys.” Mr. Fallbrook began erasing the prompt on the board, looking over one shoulder to address the students. “Close your journals and pass them to the right. You know the drill.”
Brynna felt her breath catch as the corner of the first journal was nudged against her arm. She looked down at the blank page in her own journal and back up again, feeling her cheeks redden. A blank journal entry resulted in an automatic zero for the day, regardless of how dazzling a student was in the hour that followed. With Brynna’s mind splintering in so many different directions lately, her grade was already suffering.
She printed the prompt on the top of the page and then hastily wrote the words, “I don’t remember ever really being afraid.”
It was a flaming lie, of course, but Brynna wasn’t ready for the kind of attention “I don’t remember the last time I felt safe” would draw. She glanced up at Mr. Fallbrook who raised his eyebrows at her. He was one of the younger teachers on the faculty and certainly one of the most handsome, with an easygoing personality and a quick wit. He was the kind of teacher a student could talk to.
But not Brynna.
She gathered her classmates’ journals from her right and shoved hers under the stack. Although the daily writing prompts required far more than she had given, she hoped at the very least Fallbrook would give her partial credit for writing something.
The class passed uneventfully while Brynna held her pen poised, ballpoint tip pressed against her paper. When the bell rang, she looked around with a start as kids around her started gathering up their things. She did the same thing, but the motion was rote, done out of memory rather than necessity.
“Uh, Brynna, wait.”
Mr. Fallbrook shimmied his way through the students to reach Brynna’s desk.
She sank back into her seat. “Yeah?”
“Is everything okay with you?”
Cold broke in her chest. “Wha—what do you mean?”
Fallbrook shrugged. “I don’t know. You just seem kind of off lately.”
Brynna looked at her hands in her lap. “Oh. That. Just studying a lot. There’s so much, you know, homework.”
“And you’ve been working really hard.”
Brynna pumped her head, sensing a quick getaway. “Transcripts. College and all.”
Mr. Fallbrook pressed a finger against the notebook Brynna was about to leave behind. “These today’s notes?”
She felt the heat rise again as she glanced at the notebook, the page completely blank except for the date written in the top left-hand corner. Brynna smacked the notebook shut and stood quickly. “I’m sorry, Mr. Fallbrook. It’s just been a rough day. I promise I’ll do better tomorrow.” She edged backward down the aisle, bumping her hips and bag as she went.
“If anything’s wrong, you can talk—”
But Brynna was out the door and into the hall before he had a chance to finish.
???
Brynna squinted through the passenger-side window as her father pulled the car up into the school driveway. She opened the door when he stopped, engine idling, and scooched into the front seat.
“What are you doing here?”
Her father’s eyebrows went up. “You’re not happy to see me?”
“It’s not that. It’s just that Mom usually picks me up. Did you get back early or something?”
“Yeah.” He pushed the car into drive, and they made the right onto Blackwood Highway. “I finished up earlier than expected and hopped the first flight out.”
Brynna’s hackles went up. Her father was too casual in his explanation, too buttoned-up to jump an earlier flight. He wasn’t the “surprise” kind of father who showed up at swim meets or soccer games, and even if he was changing, was ready to pay attention to his family, he wasn’t the car-pooler type.
“Your mother actually had an errand to run, so I volunteered to pick you up. Besides, don’t you think it’s about time your old dad saw his kid’s new school?”
Brynna glanced back over her shoulder, feeling her lip snarling. “And how did you find the Hawthorne High parking lot, Dad?”
He shot her an icy look. “I’m trying, Bryn.”
They drove the rest of the way in awkward silence, her father cutting glances at her every few miles or so, Brynna with her arms crossed in front of her chest, consumed by fury. When they crossed through the heavy wrought-iron gates of Blackwood Hills, she turned to him.
“Why now, Dad? Why are you ‘trying’ now?”
He was silent until they pulled into the driveway of their house, and Brynna was sure he wasn’t going to answer her. Then he let out a low sigh as if he were the one being haunted. “Can we talk about this inside, Bryn? Your mother is in there. We should talk as a family.”