“Maybe…if you think so,” I say carefully.
He bobs his head vigorously. “I do. I think you would enjoy working on the magazine. And it would help you make some friends.”
Oh my God. Does Mr. Bennett know about my problem making friends this year? That is mortifying beyond words. But then again, of course he would know. Everybody knows about the scandal with me and Mr. Tuttle. It was stupid to think he might not know.
“I just mean,” he adds quickly when he sees my expression, “you would meet other students like you, with similar interests.”
Mr. Bennett is kind—pretty much the only person to be kind to me this year, including the teachers. He’s trying not to make me feel like a loser, which I appreciate, even though I am a loser. I’m sure he never had problems like this when he was in high school. I mean, look at the guy. I bet he had a posse of girls following him around, hanging on his every word.
Then it hits me. Maybe he doesn’t like my poem after all. Maybe he’s just saying all this nice stuff because he feels sorry for me. Maybe when some kids who actually have talent read my poetry, they’ll laugh at me.
“I’m not sure if this is a great idea,” I finally say.
He frowns. “Really? I think you would truly enjoy it.”
“I…” I look down at the poem in my hands, the one he claims he loved. “I’m not sure.”
“Come to a meeting.” Mr. Bennett’s eyes hold mine. I love the dark brown color—like a chocolate bar. “You’re not under any obligation to ever return. But I believe you will.”
And somehow I find myself agreeing, although a nagging voice in the back of my head won’t stop telling me it’s a bad idea.
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Chapter Thirteen
EVE
WHEN I TURN around this time, Art is very close to me. So close that I can make out red spiderwebs in the whites of his eyes. So close that I can detect a hint of whiskey on his breath. It hits me now that what happened to him has destroyed him in more ways than one.
“Eve.” His voice sounds slightly choked. “I need to tell you something.”
“Art,” I murmur. I’m not sure I want to know what he has to say.
“Listen,” he says, “you need to be careful around Addie Severson.”
My mouth feels dry as I look into his bloodshot eyes. “Art, do you need a ride home?”
“No, that’s not what I’m trying to say!” His jaw clenches in frustration. “Look, I kept my mouth shut for her sake, but that girl is not well. There’s…there’s stuff you don’t know.”
“Art…”
“You need to hear this, Eve.” A muscle twitches under his right eye. I’ve never seen him quite like this, although if he’s been drinking, that does sort of explain it. “You’re like me, and you try to help students who need it. But you have to be very careful around her. She’s… Addie is a troubled girl.”
“I will,” I say in a small voice.
Art finally lets go of my arm, and his whole body seems to deflate. He drops his eyes, and his shoulders sag. I reach out and put my own hand on his shoulder.
“Let me give you a ride home, okay?” I say. I’m sure he came with his car, but I don’t think he’s in any position to be driving right now.
“Okay,” he says in a small, defeated voice.
I abandon my quest for the perfect avocado, and I lead Art back to the parking lot. I drive him to his house, where thankfully his wife is home. I explain the situation to her, trying not to use the word “drunk” although it’s hard. The worst part is that Marsha doesn’t seem to be the slightest bit surprised. It’s obvious that since the whole mess went down with Addie Severson, their lives have taken a downhill turn.
Addie is a troubled girl.
I have no doubt that Art must harbor a serious grudge against Addie. But at the same time, nobody is going to accuse me of having an affair with her. She’s in my class, so I’m going to teach her like I do every other student. Nothing more.
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Chapter Fourteen
ADDIE
SO TODAY—TWO days after Mr. Bennett first invited me and I’ve been floating around on a cloud—I’ll be going to the first meeting of Reflections, the poetry magazine. It’s almost enough to make everything okay.
Almost.
But despite how much I’m looking forward to the meeting, it doesn’t entirely take the sting out of the fact that I have eaten lunch alone every day since the school year started. If I join a table of students who I already know, they glance at me and make a concerted effort to ignore me, like I don’t exist. So it’s less painful to find an empty table.