“Okay,” I said, drawing the word out to emphasize my confusion.
“McKenzie Harris is a student in the class Mr. White has offered to you for your practicum.”
Shit.
“Now, normally, it would be unethical for us to allow you to be her teacher, Mr. Wallace. But we’re aware, once again, of the extenuating circumstances you find yourself in, and we are compelled to help. I’ve made your university advisor aware of the conflict of interest, and she has made it clear that she trusts me to make the final determination as to whether or not this particular, uh, conflict, is dire enough to prevent you from finishing your degree at my high school. After looking at your college transcripts, and talking with you today, I think you’re determined enough, and levelheaded enough, to not let your connection with McKenzie Harris cloud your ability to teach her.”
“Uh, Mrs. Anderson, it never crossed my mind that she might be in my class.” Why would it have? Surely the universe didn’t hate me this much, right?
“Will it be an issue?” she asked, not unkindly. It was very obvious she was trying to help me in any way she could. And I needed her help. I needed this opportunity. This practicum was one of the few things I had that was keeping me from losing my mind every day.
“No,” I answered, hoping she couldn’t see past my blatant lie. “It won’t be an issue.”
“Then it’s all settled. We’ll see you tomorrow morning at seven thirty.” She stood up and I did the same, reaching my hand out to her.
“Thank you again, I really appreciate it.” She smiled at me, shook my hand, then turned and left the coffee shop. I collapsed back into my chair, hands coming instantly to run through my hair, breath leaving me in one long and exhausted exhalation.
“Shit,” I whispered harshly, my eyes on my shoes, elbows on knees, head in hands. “Shit.”
Somehow I was going to have to make it through the next five months as the teacher of my dead brother’s girlfriend.
The girl I’d known her whole life.
The girl I’d been in love with, in one way or another, since I understood the word and what it meant.
Chapter Seven
McKenzie
Cory had driven me to school for the last year and half. Even though it was, in the grand scheme of things, not the worst thing to happen, stepping up onto the school bus was a terrible way to start the day.
Everyone’s eyes were on me; their sad eyes with concerned expressions. I was so tired of everyone looking at me like I was going to burst into tears at any given moment. It felt so displaced. I hadn’t died. I hadn’t lost a son, or a brother. But then I remember what everyone thought I’d lost: my boyfriend, the love of my young life, my future, my other half.
Do you know how hard it is to mourn when you’re not sure what it is exactly you lost?
I felt Cory’s loss profoundly. I missed his laugh, his jokes, his kindness, his friendship. But I hated myself because I didn’t miss the other parts of him. In fact, part of me, a part I was so scared to acknowledge or give a voice to, was glad the option of being with him forever was taken from me. I never would have turned him down, would have spent my life hoping to love him in some way I wasn’t sure I was capable of, but the man with a gun made that decision for me. And I hated myself for being even remotely grateful for such a fantastically horrible thing.
So all those people who looked at me as though they felt sorry for me, well, it made me sick because I didn’t deserve any of it. I was a horrible person.
I found an empty seat, sat down, and curled my body toward the window, hoping it would give off the right message: I didn’t want to be bothered.
Holly, Becca, and Todd were all waiting for me when I walked off the bus, all wearing identical pitying faces.
“Hey, McKenzie.” Holly greeted me first; she was the most outgoing of the group, the one most likely to talk at inappropriate intervals.
“Hey, guys,” I said, adjusting my messenger-style bag on my shoulder. Becca stepped forward and wrapped her arms around me. I let myself take the comfort she offered and tried not to shrug out of her embrace too early. I loved my friends dearly, and they’d been really great since Cory died, but I didn’t want that day to be about what I’d lost. I wanted to focus on going back to normal, or building a new normal. Something besides focusing on all the sadness. I’d had hours and hours of sadness as I lay in bed at night, unable to sleep more than an hour or two.