Wheeler sighs, rubbing his brows with his thumb and forefinger. “Why do you keep doing this, Chloe?”
“You seem stressed,” Chloe says, seeing an opening. “Any particular reason?”
“Excuse me?”
“Just, you know,” she says. “I noticed Shara wasn’t in first hour today.”
She’s not sure what she expected, but it’s certainly not the way Wheeler chuckles.
“Rumors going around already, huh?” He takes out a sticky note and jots down sermon on gossip. “You know, you try your best to lead your flock, but sometimes they wander right to the cliff anyway.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that gossip is against God’s will, and so is lying,” Wheeler says, putting his pen down. He shakes his head, offering Chloe a white-toothed smile. “Shara’s visiting family. That’s all. I hate to disappoint y’all, but there’s really no story here.”
It’s a good lie, and he’s good at delivering it, which isn’t surprising, since he spends his whole life telling students God cares about spaghetti straps. It’s almost believable.
“It’s not gossip as long as it’s for a prayer chain,” Chloe says. “What family? Do they live here?”
There’s a pause a millisecond too long, and she sees something flash in his eyes the way she has a few times before, when she catches a crack in his fake geniality—something like contempt, or maybe even fear. She swears she’s seen it once in Shara’s eyes, too, that day in precalc. That’s okay. She’s spent a long time converting that into energy. She’s like a plant that’s learned to photosynthesize spite.
“Look, Chloe,” he says. “I’m gonna level with you. You get away with more than most people could get away with at this school. Do you know why that is?”
She thinks, Because you can’t afford to expel the example of academic excellence that you dangle in front of parents of prospective students for tuition money, and you need a new pool.
She says, “No, I don’t.”
“Because you have potential, Chloe. You are an exceptional student. You set the curve in all your classes. You work harder than almost any student I’ve ever seen at this school.” He leans back in his chair, springs groaning ominously. “And I would hate to see all of that go to waste because of the choices you make between now and graduation.”
She presses the toes of her shoes into the floor. She’s pretty sure that’s a threat to not dig any deeper.
“Am I getting detention?” she asks in the politest tone she can manage.
Wheeler considers this. Chloe stares at the framed photo on the desk: Mr. Wheeler and his beautiful wife and daughter in white linen and khakis, smiling up from the deck of a sailboat with the name Graduation etched in cursive on the stern. Chloe wants to pinch Shara’s little blond two-dimensional head off.
“Not this time,” Wheeler says. “You’re free to go.”
“Thanks,” she says, and she leaves without looking back.
She got what she came for though. When Wheeler took out his Post-its, he jostled the stack of folders on his desk, and Chloe saw the corner of a pink card peeking out. Shara’s stationery.
Shara left her parents a note, just like the rest of them.
She really is gone, and not even Wheeler knows where she is.
FROM THE BURN PILE
Personal essay exercise: Smith Parker Prompt: What is a moment in your life that you felt truly yourself?
When I was twelve, I threw my first real touchdown pass. My dad used to take me out in the backyard and tell me I could have one lap around the yard on his shoulders for every time I got the football through the tire he hung from our tree. The summer before third grade, we had to come up with a new system, because I was getting so good, he almost threw out his back. Dad played football at Bama, but he never got to start.
I love football because I love football, but I also love football because my dad loves football, and I love my dad.
That day, at the end of the second quarter, right before halftime, I threw a perfect pass to Ben Berkshire, right at the one yard line, and he scored.
I’ll never forget the way Dad jumped out of his seat or the look on my mom’s face or how much my little sister, Jas, cheered for me even though she didn’t understand the game. I barely remember the rest of the game—the next thing that stands out is the bacon cheeseburger Dad bought me on the drive home. But the way the leather felt against my fingers when I let it fly? That was the first time I knew what I wanted to be.