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I nodded reluctantly. “Is he coming back to school?”

“Yes. He starts Monday, I think.”

I growled.

“Will you chill out? If he was as high as everyone said he was, then I doubt he even remembers making out with you.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Oh, don’t be so sensitive. I’m sure you’re a fantastic make-out partner.”

I rolled my eyes. “It’s not just about that.”

“Then what is it? And you’ve got about five seconds,” Avery said, glancing at the time on her cell phone.

“I get picked on all the time at school. But I can guarantee you when he comes back to school, no one will pick on him. He’s the cool guy everyone loves. It’s completely unfair. He’s a total drug addict loser, and I’m the one who gets flour dumped in my locker. I’m the one who’s called a whore and a murderer. I don’t even know what that means. We didn’t kill anyone!”

“Life is unfair, okay? You’ve gotta deal with it. Girls can’t get away with the kind of shit guys can.”

“You just cussed in church,” I pointed out.

“Whatever. The point is that you’ve gotta be able to deal better.”

“Are you really saying that to me right now?” I folded my arms over my chest.

“Don’t you dare, Cadence. We’re a team. Drop those arms and put on your game face. Your armor, because we’re going in,” Avery said. And then she smiled and added, “Put on the armor of God.”

I narrowed my eyes at her.

“What? We’re at youth group. It totally fits.”

“I hate your guts.”

“Yeah yeah. You can hate my guts while you’re suiting up. Belt of righteousness. Sword of truth. All that good stuff.”

“It’s belt of truth and sword of the Spirit,” I scoffed. “And you’re a student leader?”

“Just shut up,” Avery replied, and led me once more inside.

Gracie looked put out. I guess she thought this was my desperate attempt at making amends, or maybe she thought I was doing everything possible to be around her as much as I could. The truth was that I missed her terribly, but my feelings were hurt. I had to accept that she didn’t want my friendship any longer, and I had to move on. No easy task considering we had been friends since second grade.

Dean glanced at me then averted his eyes. Good. He didn’t want to be around me any more than I wanted to see his face, so maybe I
could
survive the excruciating awkwardness of being back. I steeled myself, expecting a lot of judgment and nasty looks, but everyone greeted me warmly. A little
too
warmly. Abbey Clemish actually linked her arm with mine and led me to a seat beside hers. I grew instantly suspicious. These people were being too nice, and then I realized it was because they were just talking shit about me.

I pulled the earbuds from my book bag, nestling them snuggly in my ears and plugged the cord into the computer. I figured that since I’d already finished the Excel assignment, I could reward myself with Youtube. Ours was probably the only high school that hadn’t blocked the site. Teachers argued they needed it for instructional purposes, and somehow they won their case. I never figured out why the school allowed access to everyone. They could have just restricted it to teachers, but I’m not complaining.

“Midnight in a Perfect World” by DJ Shadow. I typed in the song title and pulled up the official music video. I had no idea what instrumental hip hop was, but it sounded more exciting than the stuff I listened to. Edgy, urban—everything I wasn’t. I didn’t really see Mr. Connelly being those things either, so I pressed PLAY to find out.

The song was smooth, fluid, and sensual. Perfect, in essence, and I thought that this should have been the song God listened to when he created the universe. I closed my eyes imagining him pointing here for clouds, there for trees, shaping mountains and rushing rivers while DJ Shadow scratched complementary beats in the background.

And then I stopped thinking about God in favor of Mr. Connelly and how he was exactly this song. Walking sensuality. Fluid movement at the white board as he painted a picture of cosines with his black dry erase marker. Smooth gray eyes. Hip and edgy clothes, and everything a seventeen-year-old girl would think was totally hot.

Well, that was decided. This was more than a silly schoolgirl crush. This was deeply disturbing infatuation.

I felt a rapid tapping on my shoulder once I approached midnight at the end of the song. I was reluctant to open my eyes; I wanted to keep fantasizing about Mr. Connelly and the things he did at home while this song played. The tapping persisted, so I cracked open one eye and pulled out one earbud.

“This isn’t playtime, Cadence,” Mrs. Jenner said.

“I finished the assignment.”

“Then you find me to see what else you can work on,” she replied.

“Oh.”

Mrs. Jenner leaned in to look at the computer screen.

“And there’s no such thing as a perfect world,” she said.

“Tell me about it,” I muttered, and she smirked.

She turned to walk away but hesitated. She looked at me once more and leaned over.

“Cadence? I know it hasn’t been easy for you the past month.”

I tensed and let out a dramatic sigh.

“Now, wait a minute,” she said. “Just hear me out.”

 I nodded.

“I know students are picking on you,” she said.

“It is what it is,” I replied. It was my attempt to stay uncommitted to the conversation.

“I hope you know you can come and talk to me whenever you need to,” Mrs. Jenner said.

Why would she think I would tell her anything? Just like teachers to want to be in everyone’s business under the guise of helping. I wasn’t telling her a freaking thing.

“Okay.”

“I mean it. I . . . I was there, too,” she said softly. “I know what it’s like.”

Okay. I felt a little guilty for my previous thoughts. Maybe Mrs. Jenner didn’t care about gossip. Maybe she actually cared about what was happening to me. I didn’t like where the conversation was headed. I thought it was getting too intimate, so I tried for a joke.

“Mrs. Jenner!” I exclaimed. “You did a stint in juvie, too?”

She looked at me flatly.

“You know what I mean, Cadence. I was bullied like you,” she said.

“Why?” I asked.

“You wanna discuss this here? In the middle of class?” she asked.

I shook my head. No, I didn’t.

“I’ll tell you sometime,” she said. “When you want to talk. Now get your things together. The bell’s about to ring.”

***

I stood at his door before lunch straining to hear the rhythmic beats pulsing low and steady from his laptop. The song was mellow and monotonous—understated sophistication—and I thought I should be having an intellectual conversation with someone while it played. I wanted it to be with Mr. Connelly, but the 59 percent on my math test suggested the conversation would sound more like this:

“Cadence, there are special classes for students like you.”

“Huh?”

“You need to be in a special class for math.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Exactly.”

I considered walking away. I was extra nervous to be near Mr. Connelly ever since the wet wipe incident. I still couldn’t figure out what he was doing. He had been just as remote and distant after the wet wipe incident as he was during the weeks that followed my lunch from Moe’s. Back and forth. Back and forth. He was giving me a headache.

In any case, I needed help. I could not fail math. I had to graduate, so I pushed through the door before I lost my nerve. He looked up from the stack of papers in front of him, throwing his pencil carelessly on the desk. Like everything he’d been working on was suddenly unimportant.

“What’s up, Cadence?”

“It’s obvious I don’t understand anything,” I said, slapping my test in front of him. “I’m not stupid, though. I mean, just because I don’t understand derivatives doesn’t mean I’m a freaking idiot.”

I shuffled my feet and hung my head low, biting nervously on my bottom lip.

“No one said you were an idiot,” Mr. Connelly replied, turning off the music.

I looked up and saw a slight grin on his face. Glad he found me amusing.

“Well, a 59 percent sure does look stupid,” I said sulkily.

“We’ll make it better,” he said.

“How?”

“I’m starting tutoring sessions next week after school on Tuesdays and Thursdays,” he replied.

I bit my lower lip harder. How could I stay after school? I had no ride home and was not asking my parents to pick me up. They both worked anyway and wouldn’t be able to.

I shook my head and shrugged. “Oh well.” Again with the instant tears. I had a knack for being out-of-control emotional around this guy.

“What does that mean?”

“I can’t stay after school. I have no ride home.” My lower lip quivered.

“Hmm.” He swiveled in his chair and scratched his cheek. “Well, you can’t fail calculus or you won’t graduate. And I suspect you wanna graduate and get the hell out of here.” He looked up at me expectantly.

I nodded, fighting the tears. I thought about Oliver’s intramural soccer game this weekend and how boring it’d be. There. That seemed to work. I felt my eyes drying up.

“Don’t worry, Cadence,” Mr. Connelly said. “I’ll work something out.”

“How?”

“Don’t worry about it. Just leave it to me,” he replied, then took a sip of his Orange Crush.

I smiled. “I’ve never seen anyone over the age of eleven drink Orange Crush.”

“Well, my friends in college gave me hell over it,” he replied. “Apparently in college you drink iced lattés. That’s what you do.”

“Duly noted,” I said.

Mr. Connelly cleared his throat and looked down at the papers on his desk. I took it as a signal to leave. I turned around, then froze at his words.

“I’ve got something for you,” he said.

“You do?” I asked, turning back around to face him. He dug around in his messenger bag.

“Yeah. Just give me a second to find it . . .”

I stood nervously pulling on the buttons of my shirt. My girlish heart and brain thought it might be a flower or a box of chocolates. I was an idiot, okay?

“Here we go,” he said, and pulled out a CD. He handed it to me. “I remember you said you couldn’t get on the Internet. Thought you might wanna listen to ‘Midnight in a Perfect World’ since you were curious about it.”

I blushed, hanging my head so that he couldn’t see. This was way better than chocolates or a flower.

“I did,” I whispered. “In computer class.” I didn’t have to tell him that, but I wanted to. I wanted to hear his reaction.

“Oh? When you were supposed to be working?” The question came out as a flirty admonishment. And that’s the reaction I wanted.

I shook my head. “I finished my work first.” I looked up at Mr. Connelly.

“And what did you think?” he asked.

“I thought it was . . . perfect.”

His stare made me uncomfortable and extremely excited. I wanted to know what he was thinking, but I wouldn’t dare ask. It looked utterly private and off limits.

“Would you like to keep the CD for a while?” he asked.

“You won’t miss it?”

He shook his head. “I’ve got an iPod.”

“Okay. Thanks,” I replied, and tucked the CD securely in my bag. “Who were you listening to when I came in?”

“DJ Premier,” he replied.

“Another DJ?”

“Uh huh.”

“What’s the song called?”

“‘Teach the Children’,” he said with a smirk.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

Mr. Connelly chuckled. “I’m really not. The song is called ‘Teach the Children’.”

“So what? Is that, like, inspiration for you when you’re planning out your lessons?”

He cocked his head slightly and considered me. “You’re funny. And yes, maybe it is inspiration.”