If I hadn’t been such a sore loser, would today have gone differently? Would Boney have taken the election more seriously, and come to school today?
I blink rapidly to clear my stinging eyes before tapping Cal’s arm. When he turns with a cool frown, I speak in a rush. “Cal, don’t go, okay? Can we take a breather? I shouldn’t have said what I did about you and…” He stiffens, and I swallow Ms. Jamison’s name. “I shouldn’t have said that. And maybe we shouldn’t have followed you, but we were scared and worried and didn’t know what else to do. I realize it was sneaky, though, and…”
Nope; I can’t do it. I can’t bring myself to say I’m sorry when the only thing I’m sorry about is getting yelled at by Cal. So I finish with “I won’t do it again.”
He’s still frowning, eyes on the floor, but there’s something less rigid about his posture. Maybe what I said earlier started to sink in while he was sitting by himself. Cal’s an emotional, romantic guy, but he’s also smart. He has to know on some level that what’s happening with Ms. Jamison is wrong. Maybe he just needs someone to talk to about it.
“Could we get some food, maybe?” I ask. I never did eat breakfast, so my last meal was dinner last night. I can’t tell if I’m light-headed from that or from the sheer stress of today, but I’m definitely starting to fade. “I think we’re all hungry, and tired, and probably not thinking as clearly as we could be. I know I’m not.”
Cal stares at the ground for a few beats longer. When he finally meets my eyes, his are regretful and more than a little relieved. “Yeah, okay,” he says. “Now that you mention it, my blood sugar is probably pretty low.” I smile, relief filling my chest, and Cal flushes. “So, um, listen. You and Mateo…I don’t know why I brought that up, after all this time.”
I’m not the only one who has trouble apologizing. “It’s all right,” I say. “Cleared the air.” I turn toward Mateo, who’s gotten up from his seat and is leaning against it, watching us. I signal for him to come over, and he starts heading our way as the train pulls into Government Center. “Where do you want to eat?” I ask.
“I have a place in mind,” Cal says. He manages an almost smile as the train’s brakes squeal. “Just promise me one thing, okay? No more surprises.”
“Absolutely,” I say.
I’ve already broken that promise, but we’ll deal with that later.
MATEO
Cal takes us to some weird-ass doughnut place where nothing is regular-flavored. When we walk inside, we’re immediately hit with a giant display of doughnut pictures, and they all look like they were put together by a toddler on a sugar high. I don’t like doughnuts as a rule, and I like them even less when they’re covered with cereal, meat products, or, in one case, a whole cayenne pepper. I’m staring at the pepper doughnut in fascinated horror when Cal passes me on his way to the cash register.
“I wouldn’t start with that one,” he advises, getting in line behind an older guy. Cal’s mood shot up when we got here, so even though it’s past lunchtime and I’d kill for real food, I guess we’re getting doughnuts.
I scan the menu like it’s the most interesting thing I’ve ever seen, because it’s still too awkward to look at Cal. He and Ivy are making small talk about the menu, but all I can think is What the hell happened back there?
Cal is the last person I ever thought would get involved with a teacher, much less that teacher. I’ll say one thing for Ms. Jamison—she looked genuinely shocked when all the Boney stuff came out. But apparently she’s a good enough actress to fool the school and her fiancé, so who knows what she was really thinking.
While I watched them at the café, it hit me for the first time how lonely Cal must be. He doesn’t have a brother or cousin at home like Ivy and me, and he hasn’t mentioned any friends all day. I’m starting to think he’s turned into the kind of guy who’d do whatever someone says and not ask questions, just so he could feel like he’s part of something.
And I think Ms. Jamison knows that.
“What are you ordering?” Ivy asks, gazing around us. The whole place has a cartoony vibe; the tables are orange, the floors are multicolored tile, and a giant chandelier sprouting from the ceiling is hung with a dozen plastic doughnuts. The mirrored wall beside us has a funhouse effect that makes my head look like it’s split in two, which is almost exactly how it feels. “I’m thinking about the blueberry cake doughnut,” she continues. “It might have nutritional value, and there’s nothing weird on top.”