“What we did last night,” I say with a giggle. He wraps an arm around me and kisses my neck. I could get used to this. I place a hand on his chest, feeling his strong muscles.
“School sucked so bad yesterday,” I say. “I don’t want to go today. I just want to sit here with you.”
“I wish I could blow off work and hang out too, Tease, but you can’t hide.”
“Can’t I?”
“I know things are hard right now, but everybody will forget about all this crap soon. The press always loses interest quickly. They’ll find some other drama to glom on to.”
“I know, but I keep messing things up for my dad.”
Ezra massages my thigh. “For real though. What does your perfect day look like?”
“I’d sleep in. Lie around in bed for a while. Meet up with you. We’d get some coffee and French toast in Nashville, then walk along the waterfront. Maybe go in some shops or a bookstore. Then you’d buy me a present,” I say cheekily.
He smirks. “What kind of present?”
“Something not alive. Mom would kill you if you bought me another pet.”
“Would this work?” He passes over the One coffee on me! coupon.
I pluck it from his fingers and slip it back into my pocket. “No, but nice try.”
“Okay, so I’ll buy you something nonliving. Then what would we do?”
“We’d go back to your place and watch some really bad TV.”
He wraps an arm around my shoulders, pulling me close. “We’ll do all that on Sunday, okay?” he murmurs. “If today gets sucky, just keep your perfect day in mind…just keep me in mind.”
Superglue
School passes by in a blur.
More kids ask me for pills. More kids make fun of me. More teachers give me suspicious looks.
But Alyson the goalie stops by my locker before lunch to see if I’m okay. “I’m sorry about Coach. My parents are upset you weren’t allowed to practice yesterday. They’re going to call Dr. Salter about it. I don’t want to play without you.”
I give her a small smile. “Thank you. I like playing with you too.”
She points over her shoulder with her thumb. “You coming to lunch?”
“I think I’ll hit the library. I’m not in the mood to deal with Nicole.”
Alyson grins at that. “I don’t blame you.”
In class that afternoon, I can’t focus, because I keep thinking about how much I’ve hurt my family. Jenna and Oliver aren’t perfect. I mean, Jenna cheated on Jack Goodwin, and one time, Oliver drank so much he puked out the window all over Mom’s rosebushes. But neither one has ever done anything this bad. Why can’t I get what happened off my mind? Why do bad memories stick like superglue?
In the past, I’ve seen news stories where people have gotten themselves into crazy predicaments because they didn’t tell the truth up front, and as a viewer, I always wondered why they let their story, their situation, get out of control. I get it now. Sometimes, problems grow like a crack in the ceiling that starts out small but expands if you’re not paying careful attention. Then the roof caves in.
They say the cover-up is worse than the crime. Don’t I know it.
I smile, however, when Ezra sends me a text about halfway through this interminably hellish American history class: You ok?
Yeah. Thanks.
Miss you.
He’s so sweet, I can’t help but text: xo
He sends back a picture of a golden retriever puppy. I needed that. Last night, he confessed the reason he doesn’t use social media is because reading online makes his brain hurt. He spends more time questioning what he reads than actually reading, so he doesn’t bother anymore. I’m glad he’s willing to text with me.
I also get a group text from Steph and Madison.
Mads: Tee, how are you?
Steph: We love you!
Me: love you too, girls. Things suck.
Steph: :-/ what can we do?
Me: Talk to me about anything besides my dad’s campaign Mads: Tell us something that makes you happy!
Me: Went to Ezra’s last night. Found out why he missed my party.
Steph: !!!!!! why!?
Me: It’s not my story to tell, but it was a good reason and I forgave him. And I think we’re together now…
Mads: OMG!!!!
Steph: Is he lick-able?
Me: Totally lick-able
Steph: Eeeeeeeeeeeeee! What happened?
Mads: Did you hook up?
My girlfriends and I have never kept the details from each other, so I give them a rundown of what it was like being in Ezra’s arms and in his bed. My friends are probably giggling at my texts. Especially when I admit: He knows exactly what he’s doing.
Steph: Hehehe. Does he find you lick-able?
Me: Classified info ;-) ok. Fine. YES!
Mads: I’m happy for you, Tee.
Me: I miss you guys…
Steph: Miss you more!
Mads: Yep! Time for class. chat soon.
The rest of the day slugs by. I drive home from school, looking forward to a quiet night. I don’t want to work on applications or study for Monday’s calculus exam. All I want is to relax.
When I’m safely in my driveway, I send Ezra a text: Can we do something fun tonight?
Bowling?
Bowling?!
What’s wrong with bowling? Snob.
I snort. Fine, let’s bowl.
We’ll get dinner first. I’ll come pick you up after I shower.
I go inside my mausoleum of a house, glad that Mom and Dad aren’t here. Marina tells me my parents went to a campaign event in Nashville and won’t be home until late. She gives me my snack of cheese and crackers.
Rather than wallow in my own pity, I need to do something constructive. I hop onto a stool, open my iPad, and pull up the Internet. I search for dyslexia, then click on a link to dyslexia.org.
Who has dyslexia? the site says. Anyone can have it, even very smart people. Like Ezra.
The website says people with dyslexia read with the right side of their brain instead of their left, but it’s the left side of the brain that can keep sequences straight. This is why dyslexics don’t read things correctly sometimes. It’s hard to diagnose after grade school, because most kids stop accidentally transposing letters and numbers when writing by the time they are seven or eight. Reading, however, can remain a problem.
There’s no cure.
With a deep breath, I read on, finally finding some good news. Specialized education and training programs can help. Emotional support is also important though, and while I can give him that, I doubt his parents ever will. How will he believe he can get better if the people around him aren’t encouraging him? Hiding it won’t help.
I bring up the Cornell website, search for the keywords learning disability, and click the result that says Student Disability Services. I scan the page. Cornell strives to create and sustain a welcoming, accessible, and supportive environment.
The webpage has a lot of complicated information about diagnostic interviews and assessments, but I can tell that the school is willing—and wants—to help its students. Maybe I can show this to Ezra. Explain that he’s not alone and that he doesn’t have to give up his education just because he thinks he can’t succeed.
“Miss Taylor?”
I turn around on my stool to face Marina.
“You have a guest.”
I push the home button on the iPad, clearing the screen. “Who?”