Honeysuckle Love (16 page)

“Maybe another time,” Clara said. “We’re dirty.”

Beatrice pouted. Evan let his eyes rove over Clara and thought she never looked so sexy. The knees of her pants where dirt-stained from kneeling and pulling weeds. She had brown streaks on her cheeks from wiping sweat away with her dirty garden gloves. Her ponytail was tangled and knotted and sported a few pieces of stray leaves and pine straw. He watched her lick her lips after another swallow of her water, the moisture glistening on her full mouth, and he wanted to lunge at her from across the table, tackle her to the floor, taste the dirt and salty sweat on her. He wished that Beatrice was somewhere far away.

“Please Clare-Bear,” he heard Beatrice whine, and forced himself out of his fantasy.

“I don’t mind going like this if you don’t,” Evan said.

“Well, I do,” Clara replied.

“Oh Clara,” Beatrice said. “You look beautiful as you always do.”

Evan wanted to agree, “Fuck yeah!” but kept his mouth shut.

“Please let’s go for fro-yo,” Beatrice pleaded.

“Fro-yo?” Clara mocked. “It’s fro-yo now?”

“Well, that’s what everyone calls it,” Beatrice replied scowling.

“But not you, Bea,” Clara said. “Because you’re not an idiot.”

Beatrice harrumphed and crossed her arms over her chest. Evan looked at Clara as if to say, “You know you’re going to lose this one.”

“Fine,” Clara said, and Beatrice squealed.

Chapter 9

Clara hadn’t seen Jen, Meredith, or Katy for two weeks—not since the embarrassing blowup at the mall. She figured they would never try to talk to her again, and a part of her was relieved. The other part was undecided. She did want girlfriends, she just didn’t know if she wanted those particular girls as friends. She certainly could never let them come over to her house. She felt like it was impossible to have normal friendships because of her home life. But then Beatrice did. Why couldn’t she? Then she realized it was because Beatrice was good at lying. She could keep her friends away from the house with all sorts of made-up stories. Clara wasn’t lucky enough to be such a good liar. She was a prisoner to her secrecy instead, and in that moment, she fumed with hatred for her mother.

She was at her locker putting books away, vaguely aware of a pixie walking towards her.

“Hey, Clara,” Katy said, tentatively approaching her.

“Hi, Katy,” Clara said. She closed her locker door softly.

“I’m really sorry about the mall thing,” Katy said. “I didn’t know.”

Clara looked at the floor. “It’s okay. I’m sorry for yelling at you in front of everyone. I really embarrassed myself.”

“I don’t think sometimes,” Katy said. “It’s my fault. I don’t think sometimes about other people’s situations.”

Clara shrugged.

“We looked for you,” Katy continued. “We walked around the parking lot forever looking for you.”

Clara couldn’t hide her surprise. She would have never believed it and felt instantly ashamed for thinking that the three girls were bitches.

“I wanted you to know that,” Katy said quietly. “We would have never left you alone. How did you get back to school?”

“I took the city bus,” Clara replied.

“Oh,” Katy said. She shuffled her feet. “Jen and Meredith wanted to come talk to you, too, but they didn’t want you to think we were ganging up on you.”

“Oh,” was the only thing Clara could say.

“We’re sorry about everything,” Katy said. She waited for Clara to respond, but Clara stood motionless, the words stuck in her throat. “Well, I guess I’ll see you around,” Katy said after a time and turned to leave.

“Okay,” Clara replied and watched as Katy strolled down the hallway. She regretted that she may have ruined a chance at being good friends with girls who turned out to be nice after all, and for a split second thought about calling out to Katy to ask if she’d like to sit with her at lunch. But then she remembered that she had secrets to keep. She cursed softly and made her way to health class.

Her mood lifted when she saw Evan. She loved sitting beside him in class. Sometimes he talked a lot; sometimes very little. But he always greeted her, and he always said her name. She thought that maybe he just liked saying it, the way the back of his tongue hit the roof of his mouth to make the “k” sound, and how it rolled forward so that the front of his tongue pressed against the back of his upper teeth to form the “l” sound. Perhaps that’s why he said her name so often. He liked what it did to his tongue.

She said very little to him in class. It was mostly because of the other students. They didn’t gawk anymore, but she still sensed their confusion. And anger. The anger was palpable, and it bothered her. Were they all on Amy’s side? And why?
She broke up with Evan
, Clara thought.
Why would she care so much about me?

“What are you doing this afternoon?” Evan asked Clara as she took her seat beside him.

“I have to work,” Clara replied.

“And when do you get off?”

“Eight.”

“When is Beatrice finished with her dog walking?” Evan asked.

“Five thirty or so,” Clara said. “What’s with all the questions?”

Evan grinned. “I thought about bringing over takeout,” he said. “Chinese food. What do you think?”

“That’s really nice of you, but we’re okay,” Clara said.
Chinese food!
she screamed inside, and felt her stomach twist in knots, begging for one small taste.

“Well, suppose I just bring it over anyway,” he said.

Clara smiled. “It would be late, though, when you got home from dinner.”

Evan laughed. “Clara, I’m eighteen and a senior. And I work at a bookstore that stays open until eleven. And sometimes I have to work until eleven . . . on a school night!” he exclaimed affecting shock, and she giggled. “I think my parents will be just fine.”

“Okay.”

“I want to tell you something right now so that you can think about it all during class,” Evan said.

Clara nodded and listened.

“After class is over, I’m going to walk with you to your locker,” Evan explained.

“Okay.”

“And I’m going to hold your hand while I do it,” Evan said. “So you just think about that.”

Clara’s face turned several shades of red. She instinctively balled her hands into fists and then splayed them out on the tops of her thighs. She kept them there throughout the entire lecture, afraid to take notes, afraid to let him see them, thinking that if she hid her hands from sight he might forget about his plan.

He didn’t.

As soon as the bell rang, Clara jumped up from her seat and headed for the door. She wasn’t fast enough.

“Oh, no you don’t!” Evan said, blocking her way.

“Please, Evan,” she said, and in that moment he wanted to crush her against him.

“I just want to hold your hand, Clara,” he said, then sang the famous Beatles line.

Clara laughed.

“I know, I know. I’m tone deaf. And I play the guitar!” he said.

“So you don’t know anything about books but you work at a bookstore, and you can’t carry a tune but you play the guitar,” Clara teased. She cocked her head to the side.

“I know. I’m constantly at odds with myself. Do you realize how difficult it is to exist like that?” Evan asked. He held out his hand for her. “Are you ready?”

She didn’t know what he meant by that statement. Ready for what? Ready to hold a boy’s hand for the first time in her life? Ready to face the bewildered stares of students walking down the hall? Ready to jump into something with him? Something romantic?

“I’m just holding your hand, Clara,” Evan said softly.

She felt his long fingers wrap around her hand. The tips were calloused from playing guitar, and she realized that he must play all the time. She liked the roughness mixed with the softness of his palm. He squeezed her hand lightly, sending shock waves up her arm and led her out of the classroom.

She let Evan escort her down the hallway. He walked with confidence, saying hello to friends he saw as he passed by them. She kept her head down to avoid the certain stares of passing students, but she could not avoid what they said.

“Oh my God. Are you seeing this?” she heard a girl ask.

“I need glasses,” another girl replied.

“He’s holding her hand!” someone squealed from behind her.

They continued down the hallway, and Clara made the mistake of raising her head for the briefest moment. Amy was to her right, standing with a group of her friends, looking outraged as she watched Clara pass by. Clara thought she saw Amy mouth the words “fucking bitch.”

“I’m uncomfortable,” Clara said, her face turned up to Evan’s.

“Don’t be,” Evan replied. “They’ll get over it.”

She felt mildly panicked. “I don’t know,” she said.

They reached Clara’s locker, but Evan did not release her hand.

“Please let go, Evan,” Clara pleaded, pulling at her hand. She was scared outright. Evan released it, oblivious to her fear.

“That was the best moment I’ve had so far this year,” he said.

Clara wished she could say the same, but she couldn’t shake the image of Amy staring at her in disgust. She was afraid of her.

“Clara?” Evan asked.

“What?” she said a little too harshly.

“I don’t care what they think. What they say. Do you understand me?”

“I know you don’t,” Clara replied. “You don’t have to.”

“What do you mean?”

“They like you no matter what.”

Evan considered this as he ran a hand through his dirty blond hair.

“But me?” Clara went on. “They don’t like me. At least they don’t like me holding your hand.”

Evan didn’t know what to say. She was right, and he had no words to encourage her, to make her believe that it didn’t matter what the other students thought.

“I’ll see you tonight,” Clara said gathering her books from her locker. “If you still want to come over.”

“I do,” he said to the back of her head because she was already walking away.

***

“Clara!” Beatrice sobbed running into her sister’s arms. Clara hadn’t even made it through the front door before Beatrice’s face was buried in her chest.

“It’s okay,” Clara said. She shut the door and moved into the living room with Beatrice clinging to her like a barnacle. She noticed that Beatrice had started a fire in the fireplace.

“The most terrible thing has happened!” Beatrice wailed.

“Bea, you can’t start fires when I’m not here,” Clara said. “You can only light candles. Remember?”

“Oh Clara, listen to me!” Beatrice cried. “My life is over!”

Clara took a deep breath and sat down on the couch with Beatrice hanging on her.

“Tell me,” Clara said gently. She looked at the clock hanging in the kitchen. Evan would be there any minute.

Beatrice cried into Clara’s shirt. “I lost my job, Clara. And it was terrible. I’m the worst dog walker in the world,” she said between sobs.

Clara’s heart dropped. “Tell me what happened, Bea.”

Beatrice sat up then and wiped clumsily at her face. Her tears made her blue eyes translucent, and Clara thought that her sister was the only person in the world who looked beautiful when she cried.

“I . . . I w-was w-walking Penelo-lope,” she stuttered.

“Stop,” Clara ordered. “Take a deep breath.”

Beatrice drew in her breath and held it in her chest for a few seconds before breathing out. Clara handed her a tissue from a box on the coffee table.

“Blow.”

Beatrice obeyed and blew her nose. She balled up the tissue in her fist and continued.

“I was walking sweet Penelope,” Beatrice began. “And another dog—a hateful, vicious dog—started walking towards us. It growled at us and made Penelope intensely angry.”

“Uh huh.”

“And as we were passing by this dog, Penelope pulled on the leash really hard. She wanted to get to the dog to let him have it.” Beatrice’s eyes welled up with fresh tears. “And she did. She got away from me and attacked the dog.”

“Oh God,” Clara said. “What happened?”

“She bit the dog!” Beatrice cried. “That hateful dog who deserved it! And the owner was furious!”

“What kind of dog was it?” Clara asked.

“A Chihuahua,” Beatrice replied.

Clara looked at her sister flatly. “The hateful, vicious dog was a Chihuahua?”

“Yes, Clara.”

“And did Penelope kill the Chihuahua?” Clara suddenly felt irritated.

“No, but the owner demanded I tell her whose dog I was walking. And then she stormed over to Mrs. Johnson’s house and screamed at her. She demanded Mrs. Johnson pay the vet bill and didn’t want to see ‘
that
little girl walking
that
dog again.’ And then Mrs. Johnson got angry with me and told me I couldn’t walk her dog anymore because I was irresponsible. And she told me to go home and not bother with walking the other dogs because she was going to tell Mrs. Peterson and Mrs. Levine about it.” Beatrice took a deep breath. “And I begged and pleaded and said I would never drop the leash again and that the Chihuahua was the one that started the fight, and she said it didn’t matter and that it was my responsibility to walk her dog safely and not let her bite other—”