The subject was closed.
I smiled and turned to face Lilah. Her bright eyes were furious. Every student in the class had turned to watch her and a deep blush spread across her cheeks and neck. I pulled a chair from the corner of the room, shoved Connor toward the window, and dropped the empty chair on the other side of mine.
She waited until the final bell rang and then she took the seat beside me, positioning herself on the chair so that she was as far away from me as possible.
“Is this your idea of a joke?” she whispered as Mr. Jenkins stood to begin that day’s lesson.
I pulled out my notebook and shook my head.
“No joke. My plan is to win you back one physics problem at a time.”
Connor laughed. “Does this make me Jacob?”
Lilah ignored the both of us as Mr. Jenkins started drawing out an equation on the blackboard. For the first time I could remember, I was excited to be in Mr. Jenkins’ physics class.
Chapter Seventeen
Lilah
I knew from years past that Chase had baseball practice after school Monday through Thursday, so I didn't bother waiting for him after the final bell rang. I put my headphones in, pressed play on my iPod, and broke through the crowded hallway until I reached the side door of the school. I pushed it open and inhaled a deep breath of fresh air.
On days like that, when winter was retreating and I could finally feel the sun again, it was hard to remember why I hated springtime so much. That crisp air should have held possibilities, but I’d take one step into spring and the sad memories would fling back into my thoughts so hard I'd have to pinch my eyelids closed to control the residual pain.
My mother had been a chameleon and for seven years she’d worn one appearance: mother. She had fit the role so well it was hard for me to wrap my head around her being anything but perfect. Before I was seven, my memories of her were all good and happy—what they should have been. Maybe that's why it had blindsided me so much when one day she’d packed her bags and explained that she couldn't live with us any more. She didn't want to be married, she didn't want to be a mother—she wanted her freedom.
It was springtime when my mother had left us for the first time. I was seven. It was hard to know what was going on then—when my mother walked out that day, my dad gave me a G-rated version of the truth—but now that I'd had eleven years to study the memories and form them into coherent events, it all made sense.
Freedom.
At the time, I was confused about why she couldn’t have freedom with us, and then I realized that freedom was a euphemism, and a poor one at that. To her, freedom represented everything she had been forced to give up because of me—partying, and pills, and strange men.
I’d tried hard to get her to stay that day.
I ran out of the house after her, but my dad held me back. I screamed for her out on our porch stairs as she lugged two broken suitcases toward the old black Camaro waiting for her at the end of our driveway. The car rumbled so loudly that at first, I thought she couldn’t hear me crying. I screamed louder as she loaded the suitcases in the backseat and the guy sitting behind the wheel turned to stare at me. He dangled a cigarette between his fingers and I could see the dark tattoos snaked around his arm. He had a black baseball hat pulled low, covering his eyes, and after my mom slid into the passenger seat beside him, he drove that car away as fast as possible, squealing his tires on the pavement.
My mother had never turned back.
The memory of that day faded as I rounded the corner to see my house sitting empty and quiet. Nothing had changed. I could still picture the black Camaro in the driveway even though the tire marks had faded years ago.
I walked up the front path, ready to ascend the rickety stairs, when suddenly, I hesitated. There was nothing for me inside that house. My dad and Chase were both at baseball practice. I had no homework and no new secrets to revel in. I had nothing to distract myself from old memories. I reached for my phone and texted Trent out of impulse.
Lilah: Are you home?
After I hit send, I turned and sat down at the foot of the porch stairs, trying to get the image of my mother out of my mind. A second later, my phone buzzed.
Trent: About to be. Come over, my mom is working a double.
I knew I was running from my past as I pushed off the porch and started to head in the direction of Trent's house. I knew it, and yet I didn't care. I wanted a temporary salve and that's what he would be.