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I chuckled. “You’re such a jerk.”

“Wanna say our prayers together?” Oliver asked, smirking.

“Are you serious?”

“No,” he replied, and stood up. He opened my bedroom door to leave.

“Wait!” I called.

“Yeah?”

“Do you still say your prayers at night?”

“Yeah.”

I was dumbstruck. “Why?”

He looked at me confused. “Because that’s what you do. What? You don’t say yours?”

I shook my head.

“Well, maybe that’s why you landed in juvie.”

I wasn’t sure if he was kidding until I saw the grin.

“Butthead,” I mumbled as he closed the door.

***

I looked at Mr. Connelly as little as possible the following day in calculus. I was embarrassed about yesterday. I was going to give him his handkerchief after class, but he had a line of students at his desk—mostly girls—needing help or attention. The ones who needed help had their math books open, ready. The ones who wanted attention were reapplying lip gloss as they waited.

Today I was a “racist.” That’s what was written on the note inside my locker waiting for me after calculus. Actually it was “racist bitch.” That one I could easily figure out. The store owner I attempted to rob was an Indian man in his late forties. It wasn’t a targeted hit, though. He could have been any color of the rainbow, and it wouldn’t have made a difference. His store was out in the middle of nowhere, and we were all high: perfect combination for a robbery. I crumbled the paper and tossed it in a nearby trashcan, catching sight of Gracie across the hall. I nearly ran to her.

“Hey.” I wasn’t sure what I expected her to say. We hadn’t talked since my release. Her parents were adamant that I stay away from her. School was the only chance to speak with her, and she avoided me all yesterday.

Her green eyes darted all around, looking for an escape.

“Do you think maybe we could sit together at lunch?” I asked. I shifted my books to my other arm.

“I can’t, Cadence,” Gracie said. “You know I’m not allowed to—”

“What? Your mom and dad check up on you at school? How would they even know?”

Gracie bristled and huffed. “I’m not allowed.”

I knew I had very limited time. The bell was about to ring, so I decided to go with the most important thing I wanted to tell her.

“I’m sorry, Gracie,” I said. “I should have listened to you and not gone to that party. I wasn’t trying to ditch you. I was just curious. I made a big mistake. But it was
one
mistake. Why can’t your parents let us hang out?”

Gracie’s eyes went wide with disbelief. “You got high! You robbed a store! Why on earth would my parents ever let us hang out again?” she shouted.

I flinched, embarrassed by her reaction and the looks it garnered from nearby students.

“You completely ruined our friendship!” she cried, and then the bell rang loud and harsh. “And now you’ve made me late for class!”

She slammed her locker door and hurried down the hallway. I stood stunned, watching her round a corner and disappear. I considered my options: Go to class or skip school altogether. I was trying to be good, so I knew I should go to class. But I was tired and afraid and sad about Gracie—better reasons to skip instead.

I grabbed my book bag out of my locker and headed for the side exit. I could slip out unseen and walk somewhere. Anywhere, as long as it wasn’t home. My hands were on the door handle when Mr. Connelly called to me from behind.

“Where are you going, Cadence?” he asked.

I didn’t turn around. “Class.”

“The only class I know of that’s held outside is PE,” he said. “And you’re going the wrong way.”

I froze.

“And there’s a camera, by the way,” he said.

I looked up and to my right. No camera. I looked to my left. A camera. When did they install that?

“What’s going on?” Mr. Connelly asked.

I jumped. I hadn’t heard him move, and now he stood close behind me.

“I just don’t feel like being here today.” I continued to face the door. My exit. My freedom. Could I outrun my math teacher if he went after me?

“Cadence, you’re smart enough to know that you don’t have a choice. And you’re also smart enough to know that you’d get in major trouble with your parents,” Mr. Connelly said.

“I don’t care,” I mumbled.

“Yes you do.”

I nodded. He was right. I worked for an entire month since my release from juvie to get back into my parents’ good graces. I wanted them to look at me the way they used to. Mom was a little more forgiving, but she didn’t trust me. Dad wasn’t forgiving at all, and the harder I worked to show him I’d changed, the more unforgiving he became.

The irony was that I didn’t need to show either of them I’d changed because I hadn’t. I had always been a good girl, even when I made that mistake. Yes, it was a really terrible mistake—getting high and robbing a convenience store—but it didn’t alter who I was. I didn’t suddenly overnight become a drug addict or career criminal. I made one bad choice that branded me for life, at least in my parents’ eyes.

It wasn’t until my release from juvie that I understood my parents’ expectations. I was expected to always be perfect. I was never allowed to make a mistake, and when I finally did, I paid the ultimate price. Not only did they not forgive me and probably never would, but I don’t think they even
liked
me anymore.

“Come with me and I’ll write you a late pass,” Mr. Connelly said.

I reluctantly followed him to his classroom and hovered inside the doorway while he wrote a note. He handed it to me, and I pulled his handkerchief from my pocket.

“An exchange,” I said, offering him the cloth.

“I don’t need it,” he replied. “You can keep it since you seemed to like it so much.” He winked. And I liked it.

I smiled. “Have you ever given it to someone who used it and then gave it right back?”

“No. I’ve never let anyone use it until you,” he said.

I felt the heat prickle my skin. I wanted to ask him why he let me use it, but I thought better.

“Is it a special handkerchief?” I asked instead.

“My great grandfather’s,” Mr. Connelly replied.

“Oh my God,” I whispered, looking at the handkerchief. “I put it in the wash with the whites. On the regular cycle!”

Mr. Connelly chuckled. “It’s all right. Still in one piece.”

“Mr. Connelly, I cannot keep this. Please take it back. Something terrible will happen to it, I just know it. That’s my luck, you see? Please take it.” I shoved the handkerchief in his face.

“Go to class, Cadence,” Mr. Connelly said. He wouldn’t take it.

“Please,” I begged, waving it back and forth.

“Go to class,” he said gently. “I’ll let you know when I want it back.”

I walked to English holding his handkerchief, confused and frustrated over why he wouldn’t take it back. What did he want me to do with it?

***

All those teen movies that portray lunch time in high school as the worst period of the day are completely accurate. It is the worst time if you have no friends. I’m not a self-conscious person by nature, but I felt incredibly uncomfortable today sitting alone at the reject table. I planned on sitting next to Gracie, but she made it clear that our friendship was over. What hurt me the most is that I think she was using her parents as an excuse. Sure, I knew they didn’t want me near her, but she wasn’t trying to fight for me because she didn’t want to. She wrote me off, and that realization was a stinging slap to the face.

I watched Mr. Connelly walk into the cafeteria. I guess his first duty of the school year was overseeing the lunch crowd. I knew teachers rotated duties, and monitoring lunch time had to be, by far, the worst ever. He had a sack lunch. I thought that was cute and dorky. I don’t know why. The food in his bag was probably far superior to the crap on my tray.

I glimpsed him walking my way.

What are you doing? Do not come over here. Did you hear what I said?! Do. Not. Come. Over. Here.

Mr. Connelly set his bag on the table and slid into a chair a few down from mine. I went hot all over. It was instant anger. Or frustration. Or embarrassment. I don’t know. Maybe all three.

“Hey, Riley,” he said to a boy across from him.

“Hi, Mr. Connelly,” Riley replied. He went back to reading his comic book.

“What’s up, Nicole?” Mr. Connelly said, turning to a girl to the left of him. How did he already know these kids’ names?

Nicole giggled and pushed her glasses up her nose. “Hi, Mr. Connelly.”

“How’s your day going?” he asked her.

She giggled again. “Um, okay, I guess.”

“Decided if you’re going out for basketball?” he asked.

“I’m not sure. I think so,” she replied.

I kept my head down, eyes glued to my food tray, letting my hair shield my face. Did Mr. Connelly have a magic brain or something? It was only the second day of school. How could he remember these random kids’ names
and
previous conversations with them? He must teach over 200 students. And why was he even sitting at this table anyway? The whole thing was weird.

“Hi, Cadence,” Mr. Connelly said.

I jumped in my seat. “Hey.”

“You doing all right?”

My life completely blows, and you saw me blubbering like a baby yesterday. What do you think?

“Just fine,” I replied, twirling my fork in my soupy mashed potatoes.

“Not hungry?”

I huffed and tipped the bowl of potatoes to give him a better look.

“Does this look appetizing to you?” I asked.

He grinned. “Not so much. You wanna split my sandwich?”

 
No, I don’t want to split your sandwich. Stop being so nice and cute!

I shook my head.

“You probably need to eat something. Helps the brain work better. Plus you’re really tiny.”

Oh my God. Don’t comment about my size
.

He tried for a new topic. “Are you taking good care of my handkerchief?”

I glared at him. “Can I give it back to you now?”

“No, I was just asking if you’re taking care of it.”

I had no idea what he meant. What was I supposed to be doing with his handkerchief? I instinctively slid my hand in my pocket. It was still there. Safe and secure.

“It’s in my pocket,” I replied.

“Good.”

I couldn’t stand it any longer.

“Why are you sitting here?” I demanded. I didn’t mean for it to come out as an accusation.

“Any reason I can’t sit here?” he asked.

“It’s just weird. There’s a teachers’ table, you know.”

“I don’t wanna sit at that table.”

“Well, you’re at the reject table, just so you know,” I said, and Riley’s head snapped up, a look of disdain painted on his face. “It’s true,” I argued.

“I don’t see any rejects,” Mr. Connelly said. “And you’re being rude.”

“Whatever.” I stood and picked up my tray. “I’m outta here.”

“Good riddance,” Riley mumbled.

“Enjoy the rest of your day, Cadence,” Mr. Connelly said.

“
You
enjoy the rest of
your
day,” I shot back. I sounded like a moron.

I stomped down the hall to my locker. I was pissed, though I knew I had no right to be. It was Mr. Connelly. Always here. Always there. I saw him way too much, and it was only the second day of school. I didn’t like the way he made me feel, mostly because I couldn’t define the feeling. And I didn’t like carting around his handkerchief. What was that? I thought it was some kind of power play, and decided I’d leave it on his desk after I changed out my books.

I opened my locker to sand. It poured out all over my feet, worming its way into my ballet flats. What the hell? Who knew my locker combination? The jumpsuit yesterday was one thing: I didn’t have a lock yet. But today I did, and I still had a present waiting for me.

I leaned over to take off my shoes and dump out the majority of sand before heading to the office.

“I need a new lock,” I said rudely.

The receptionist behind the desk, Mrs. Kinder, pursed her lips.

“May I ask why?”

“Because some students know my combination, and they dumped sand all in my locker,” I replied. “I have sand in my shoes.”

Mrs. Kinder furrowed her brows. “Well, that’s unfortunate.”

“Yes, it is,” I clipped. “And who’s in charge of monitoring the surveillance videos? I mean, you’ve got cameras plastered on every wall of this school. Why has no one gotten in trouble for harassing me?”

“Please calm down,” Mrs. Kinder said.

“No!” I screamed. “And I’m not cleaning up all that fucking sand!”

Oh shit. Shit shit shit.