Authors: Katie Klein
“Who has a
pathetic
reputation,” Daniel points
out. “She was warned about him, and
now he’s bringing her down
.”
I notice this argument i
s no longer foc
used completely on me; they go on as if I’m not
even
here.
“Yeah, well, we had pretty pathetic reputation
s, too,” Phillip reminds him
.
“Boys are different
. T
hey’re supposed to b
e wild and uncontrollable,” says
Mom.
Phillip laughs.
“She’s a
senior
in high school. You’re what, graduating
in a month and a half?” he asks
me.
I bit
e
my lower lip, nodding.
“If skipping school one day in her entire high school career is the only thing you c
an find to punish her for—
and
I’m sure it is—
then
I’d say
she’s done an okay job,” he goes
on. “God. Let her live a little. It would be nice for her not to be such a control freak all the time. For once, she actually seems like a normal human being. So she had a serious
lapse in judgment. Jesus. It’
s about time.”
The room
gro
w
s
quiet
, except for the ticking
clock as the pendulum swi
ng
s back and forth.
I check the
hands
.
Five
excruciating
minu
te
s
have
passed.
Still, no one speaks. I wipe
the last
of the
tears from my eyes, refusing to meet anyone’s gaze.
Mom finally breaks
the silence. “
Despite all of that,” she states
calmly. “You’ve crossed some serious lines today—our trust was broken. Because of this
,
you are grounded. The terms still stand. You may drive yourself to
and from school, but that’s it
. No activities of any kind . . . no friends, no dates. And when does your project end?”
“Project?”
“Your project . . . with Parker.”
I have
to think for a
moment. “Two weeks,” I answer
.
“You are to finish this project, and then I don’t want
you seeing him again.
He’s proven himself a problem.”
He’s not a problem
, I want
to tell her, but knowing bette
r,
I
keep
my mouth shut.
“No phone calls. No television. You’re staying close to home for the remainder of the year. We will revisit this issue after graduation.”
Sarah clears
her thro
at. “What about prom?” she asks
.
“No pr
om,” Mom replies
.
Phillip rol
ls
his eyes. “You can’t not let her go to her senior prom.”
“Yes
,
I can,” she snaps
.
“It’s okay,” I assure
them. “I understand
.”
She pu
shes her chair back, scraping it across the wood floor
. “This is disappointing, Jaden, and it better not happen again.”
I nod
.
“You have thirty minutes in your room. Get washed up and get back down here. You’re cooking dinner.”
I wipe
my palms across
my jeans, drying them, and stand. It’s not until I reach
my
bathroom that I finally breathe
a massive sigh—of relief, disappointment, frus
tration—I don’t know. What I do know, I realize as I stare
at my reflection in the bath
room mirror, is despite what I
just endured, which was not only a first for me, but could have been much, much worse,
in my opinion, I don’t regret what I did
.
Yes, I
skipped school with Parke
r; yes
,
it was wrong;
but I ca
n’t completely say that, if given the chance, I wouldn’t do it agai
n. The truth is . . . I would.
Knowing this, I reach
for the
wrench perched on my sink,
turn on the water
,
and wash away the rest of my tears.
I roll over and glance
at the bright
digits on my alarm clock. It’
s
just after midnight; I’ve
tossed and turned
for more than an hour. I move to my other side, stare
at my dresser for a moment, then
flip back
over
. I adjust
my pillow beneath my head, fluffing and squeezing, and shut my eyes tightly, willing myself to fall asleep
. I’m
not even remotely tired
.
My
mind wrestles
with one
anxious thought after another
: what to do about Parker, about Blake,
w
hat I’m going to tell my parents about Harvard.
Moments later I hear tapping. My eyes fly open, and I remain absolutely still as I wait
, foc
using on the noise. It’s soft. But it’
s there.
Tap. Tap. Tap
.
The window
. I fli
ng my covers aside and pl
ant
my feet firmly on the cool
floor, then tip
toe toward my
window. I reach forward and draw
back m
y curtain, then carefully lift
one of the
blinds. I smi
le when I see
Parker, crouched low
on the roof
. He points up, then stealthily creeps
away.
My pulse quickens. I grab
my com
forter from the
bed and lock
the
door, then hurry
to
my closet, entering as quietly as possible.
I
feel
my way along the wall
, shrouded in darkness
.
Parker is waiting for me as I cross
the third floor
.
“Wh
at are you doing here?” I h
iss as he climbs inside.
I try
to feign disapproval,
but
the
smile behind my voice is obvious. The truth? I’m
happy
to see him.
“I would’ve called, except I don’t
have your number,” he whispers
. I shut the window behind him. “That complicates things.”
“I
t wouldn’t have mattered, because I’m not allowed to answer t
he phone ever again
.
”
“I fi
gured. How bad was it?” he asks
, lowering himself on
to my be
an
bag chair. It rustles beneath him. I si
t down
on th
e floor, and, even though it’s not
nearly as cold as it
was a few weeks before, wrap
my comforter around me.
“Honestly? I
’ve never really been in trouble
, so it was bad . . . but it could’ve been worse, I guess. I have nothing to base it on.”
“What are the terms?”
“I’m grounded for the rest of the school year. I can’t go anywhere with anyone, or do anything. No fundraisers o
r walks . . . no phone calls.
Oh, and I’m never supposed
to see you ever again,” I add
.
He smirks
. “That bites. Good thing our project is almost due.”
“Are you finished?”
“No,” he replies
. “You?”
“No.” Silence. I clear
my throat. “So, um, are yo
u grounded or anything?” I ask
.
“Nah
. I
got home expecting hell, but the old man
wasn’t there. He didn’t say anythin
g about it tonight, so I figure he does
n’t
know, or doesn
’t care. Tomorrow I’ll just forge a note sayi
ng I was sick or something. M
y absence won
’t even be unexcused.” He smiles
, but it
’s not a smile that brightens his eyes, or lights up his features. It seems
contrived
,
more forced than anything
.
I groan
. “You are so lucky.”
“That my dad doesn’t know enough to realize I skipped school? Or the fact that he might know but doesn’t care?”
I bit
e
my lower lip.
“
You’re
lucky, Jade,” he goes
on. “Lucky to have people around you who give a sh
it.
Don’t ever underestimate that.
” He pauses
for a moment. “So . . . what did they say about Harvard?”
“Nothing
,” I say
, sighing
in frustration as I look away
. “I couldn’t
do it
.”
“You
have
to tell them.”
“I know.” I groan
again
, feeling my forehead
. “I just . . . I don’t know h
ow
, or what to say. It’s not the right time.”
“If you’re waiting for perfect timing, you’re
gonna
be
waiting a long time,” he points
out. “There is no such thing, even. You just do what you have to do and hope for the best.”
I exhale
, the air escaping
my lungs.
He’s right. Always.
“
They love you
, Jade
.
They aren’t going to be mad at you, or disappointed, despi
te what you may think,” he adds
.
“I know.” I shift
position, moving clos
er to the bean
bag chair—
something
to lean on. This put
s
me right next to Parker, almost touching h
im, though I’m not sure if he’
s as aware of it as me. I
prop
my chin up with my hand. “It’s a
good thing our project is almost
over, I guess,” I continue
after a few, quiet moments. “No more hanging out in the library. Or ditching school.”
I
hate thinking that in a few
short weeks it
’
ll all be over. Parker will move on, I
’
ll move on, and there will be nothing left
to connect
us
,
nothing to bring us together.
“We can always have a
th
ird floor rendezvous,” he teases
. “They can’t take that away from us.”
I si
t quietly,
pushing my cuticles back with my fingernail
, wondering what
’
s going to happen to us when
we
’
re done.
When school is out.
We
’
ve only had a month and a few weeks together, but
part of me
can
’
t imagi
ne not seeing Parker anymore.
I can
’
t really remember ever not knowing him
,
not being with him like this
.
I swallow back the heavy lump in my throat.
It
’
s not
even
something I
want to think about
.
“
How did you
know I’d be up?”
I finally ask, curious.
He shrugs
. “I had a hunch you’d have trouble sleeping. I figured I could at least keep you company.”
My skin tingles
,
sending warm shivers through the length of my body
. “Admit it,” I say
, grinning widely. “You
like
me.”