I managed to get my head under control so I could hastily scribble down notes. Whenever I glanced over at Rider, he looked half-asleep. Definitely not taking notes. Paige was actually jotting things down. Hector was, well, he was looking at the cell phone he had perched on his thigh. I thought I saw exploding candies on the screen at one point.
When the bell rang, signaling the end of class, I wanted to jump and thrust my fist into the air, Breakfast Club style. I managed not to do that, thank God, and instead sedately packed up my stuff.
By the time I stood, Hector was already out of the class. Keira was in the front of the room, talking to Mr. Santos. Rider was wrapping his long fingers over the ridge of his notebook, waiting.
For me.
As I swung the strap over my shoulder, the flip-flop feeling hit my tummy again, and then I realized Paige was also waiting.
For Rider.
“Hey.” Paige stepped over, curling her hand around his free one. She leaned into him.
Just like I’d done earlier, I smiled and then hightailed my butt out of there before anyone could say anything. Or at least I tried to.
“Mallory.” Mr. Santos was by the door. “Can we speak for a moment?”
Tension seeped into my shoulders as I followed him over to the podium. I watched him close a notebook.
“I won’t keep you long. I’m sure you’re ready to get out of here,” he said. The dark skin crinkled around his eyes as he smiled. “I just wanted to let you know that I’m a hundred percent behind you delivering your speeches to me.”
This was the time to speak up, to tell him that I wanted to give my speech like everyone else. I said nothing.
Mr. Santos kept talking. “I wanted you to also know that I understand. Public speaking is hard for anyone and for some, it’s nearly impossible. I’m not going to force any of my students to get up and do something that would potentially be detrimental to them.”
That was actually...kind of him.
But I could tell Mr. Santos that I could give the speech, that it wouldn’t damage me. I could find the courage and strength inside myself to do it.
I still said nothing.
“Okay?” he said.
I nodded.
Mr. Santos’s smile spread and then he nodded. “Have a good night, Mallory.”
Pivoting, I walked out of the classroom and before I could process my conversation with Mr. Santos, I saw Rider sans his girlfriend.
I looked around. “Where’s... Paige?”
“She headed out. Couldn’t wait with me,” he said, as if it was something totally cool with her, leaving him to wait for me.
My mouth opened and I started to tell him about what happened this morning, but I snapped my lips shut.
“You’ve got to go to your locker?” he asked. Thinking about what homework I had, I shook my head. He jerked his chin toward the end of the hall. “Walk you to your car?”
And that was what he did.
We filed out among the thinning stream of students heading outside, their excited voices surrounding us. It wasn’t until I saw the roof of my car glistening in the afternoon sunlight that Rider spoke. “I’m glad today was uneventful.”
There was no stopping my smile. It spread from ear to ear. “Me...me, too.” Lifting my chin, I sucked in a soft breath. Rider stared down at me, a lopsided grin tilting his lips. In a split second, I was thrown back a decade.
I’d been smaller, perched on the edge of a lumpy, narrow mattress. My stomach had been empty, twisting and churning from the hunger pains. In the middle of summer without any air-conditioning, my hair had clung to my cheeks, and sweat pooled in areas it shouldn’t have when you were sitting still.
Rider had been gone all day.
Miss Becky, during one of her rare moments of sobriety, had taken Rider to the mall with her—the nice, air-conditioned mall. Rider had been Miss Becky’s favorite. I remembered crying, because I’d wanted to go, but she had scolded me, telling me to stop acting like a baby. I’d stayed in the airless room all day, because Mr. Henry had also been home, and I hadn’t wanted to draw his attention. It was when Rider came home that night that he’d brought the doll with him.
“I felt bad,” he’d said, handing it over. He’d worn the same grin then as he did now, an odd and charming mixture of uncertainty and confidence.
What Paige had said earlier resurfaced with a vengeance.
I felt bad.
She had said that Rider had been on a guilt trip for the last four years, and now I could totally see that so clearly. It made sense. Rider had suffered in that home, but in some ways, he had been treated better than me. His guilt spurred the crazy and sometimes fatalistic need to put himself in front of Mr. Henry’s fists and me. My reappearance in his life had caused him to immediately step, once again, into the role of the protector. I felt... Suddenly, I felt gross. Like I’d been outside all day when it was muggy. I wanted to go home, strip off my clothes, burn them and then shower for days. The weight of the pity he must have felt for me and the level of guilt he’d carried was suffocating. Stupid tears burned the back of my throat.
God, this was humiliating.
I stepped back, tightening my grip on the strap of my book bag. Now was the time to have this conversation. “Do you feel guilty?”