I can just imagine telling my mom that I want to be a poet. She would have a stroke.
I drop down into the desk next to Lotus/Mary. She doesn’t seem thrilled, but she reluctantly turns to look at me. “So let’s see this poem,” she says.
I dig around in my backpack and pull out the two-inch binder that contains most of my papers from school. I’ve always been organized, and I love dividing my work with color-coded tabs. I flip to the English section and immediately locate the poem about my father, which I don’t mention is the best of dozens of angry poems I’ve written about him over the years.
I hand it over to Lotus, who scans the page with narrowed eyes. She’s wearing black eye makeup that reminds me of Cleopatra. When she finishes, she comments, “This is really dark.”
I’m not sure if it’s a compliment or not. “I know.”
“Is this, like, real?”
I nod slowly.
Lotus lets out a low breath. “Okay, well, it’s pretty good. Maybe needs a little work. Mr. Bennett will help with that. He gives good suggestions. And, you know, I can help too. Like you have sort of a color theme going here with the blood coming out of her face, but you could push it even more. More colors, you know?”
I nod vigorously. “Yes, totally.”
She gives me a long look. “Aren’t you the one who hooked up with Mr. Tuttle?”
I flinch. “No.”
“Yeah, you are. Addie Severson, right?”
“Right, but…” I nibble on the tip of my thumbnail. “Nothing happened. It was all a misunderstanding.”
“Okay, then how come he got fired?”
I get a jab of guilt in my chest. It’s all my fault, but there was nothing I could do about it. There was nothing I could say to make it right again. “I don’t know.”
“He’s pretty gross.” She starts scribbling listlessly in her spiral notebook. She has drawn a pair of crossbones, and she outlines them again and again. “I don’t know how you could do that with him. Like, anyone would be better.”
“Right. I didn’t.”
She shrugs like she doesn’t believe me. For a moment, I thought maybe Lotus could be a friend, but I’m not sure anymore. My reputation is too tainted, which is why I was so desperate to change schools. Maybe it’s not too late. Maybe I could swap to a different school in the spring.
But then I look up, and Mr. Bennett is across the room. I catch his eye, and he gives me an enthusiastic thumbs-up. I imagine telling him that I’m leaving Caseham High, and I imagine his disappointment.
But really, what gives me the confidence to stay is the set of Kenzie’s keys in my pocket.
OceanofPDF.com
Chapter Sixteen
EVE
WHEN NATE GETS home from work tonight, he’s in a good mood.
He’s whistling when he walks in the door, and even though it’s not one of our three designated kiss times, he strides over to where I’m sitting on the sofa and lays one on my cheek. But I know from prior experience not to get too excited.
“Good day?” I ask him.
“Phenomenal.” He hesitates, then adds, “The poetry magazine met today. A lot of raw talent there. There’s one girl whose work is a bit reminiscent of Carol Ann Duffy.”
Whoever that is. Nate has always fancied himself a poet. He published a book of poetry several years ago, which his parents bought as well as about five friends, and I’m fairly sure that’s it. Maybe it was different in Shakespeare’s time, but there’s no money these days in being a poet.
Still, it was romantic when we were first together. He used to write poems for me. About me. And then he would recite them for me, in some utterly romantic location like while drifting along the lake in a rowboat. It made me feel like I was a goddess—the sort of woman worthy of poetry being composed about her.
I saved a few of them. I keep them in a shoebox in the back of my closet. I used to reread them all the time, but I haven’t in years. It makes me depressed to look at them now. Nate hasn’t written a poem about me in a long time. I’m beginning to think he never will again.
“So what do you want for dinner?” he asks me. “I can make some pasta.”
I look down at the stack of papers on my lap. I have graded more than half of them. I don’t check every single answer on the homework, unless I have concerns about the student. For example, I checked Addie Severson’s homework. She’s batting about 50 percent, which does not bode well for the first exam. She needs that feedback ASAP.