CHAPTER THREE: PRISION SENTENCE
Clare couldn't believe that Eli had gotten had her detention. Though it wasn't exactly his fault, she still took up the liberty of blaming him. After all, he was the one that stopped her and started talking to her, asking her about the busted lip. If he hadn't cared, she would have been to class on time and wouldn't have gotten detention. Mrs. Cunningham wasn't her favorite teacher, but Clare had always disliked the idea of a teacher being angry or disappointed in her.
She slid into the chair and pulled out her Anthology of European Poetry. John Keats would surely make her feel somewhat better. She had already gotten most of her homework done in class, so she decided detention would be the perfect time to get caught up on some reading.
The door clicked open and she turned to see who it was. Eli sauntered into the classroom and took his usual seat behind her. Clare quickly returned to her book, completely ignoring the fact that he had so wonderfully graced her with his presence. Mrs. Cunningham stood from her desk and walked over to where the two of them sat.
"Clare, Eli," she said with a taught smile, "how wonderful to see the two of you again. It's a shame, Clare, your first detention being on account of a boy." Clare blushed a deep red and Eli smirked. This didn't stop Mrs. Cunningham, however, "You were always so sweet, so shy, so responsible."
Clare could feel her blood boil and bubble inside her veins. She started to really hate Mrs. Cunningham. Eli, of course, was completely enjoying their teacher's outburst. He allowed a small smirk to play and tug at the corner of his mouth. He loved watching Clare squirm a bit. It was so…cute.
Clare bit her lower lip, knowing she shouldn't fight against it. That would only make things worse. But then again, she did have the right to defend herself…
"Mrs. Cunningham," Clare coughed, "I am sorry to sound condescending, but I wasn't late on account of him. I was late on my own account of arriving late to school. I just so happened to walk in with him. I couldn't help the fact that we arrived at the same time to your classroom, and I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't make assumptions."
Mrs. Cunningham took a step back, a look of shock was splattered across her face. Eli coughed back a short, muffled snort. He liked this confidant version of Clare. She wasn't gonna take crap from anyone, and he loved it.
"I'm so sorry," Clare blushed a fevered shade of red, "Oh my goodness, I am so sorry!"
Eli rolled his eyes, smiling slightly – she was still the same old Clare.
"It is fine, Clare. I shouldn't have been so…harsh," Mrs. Cunningham turned back to her desk and returned to grading some assignments.
Clare put her head in her hands for a moment, and tried to ignore the poke in her side. It was so tough though and she longed to turn around and snap at him. She would snap at him, too. Despite the fact that his smile would make her melt.
Another poke.
Clare opened up her book and began to read some more. John Keats – what a wonderfully poetic, classical romantic. He questioned and observed and he was disliked by everyone. He didn't allow people to change him or put him into a mold. He really was outgoing and fantastic and could take something as ordinary as a piece of lint and make into something beautifully extraordinary.
She needed a guy like Keats. Not like Eli. Eli didn't care about beauty…did he? He liked the stars, and he had agreed that they were beautiful. And he did make the effort to share that beauty with her. But was he poetic? Romantic? No, he was just a tart pain in the butt. An annoyance and a nuisance. So why was she spending so much time enthralled with him?
Another poke.
"WHAT?" Clare hissed turning to face him. Mrs. Cunningham glanced up from her grading.
"My pen is out of ink," she informed them, "I will be right back. Try not to cause complete and total mayhem while I am gone."
She passed by them and shot a stiff look towards Eli, before leaving the completely alone.
"Someone is a little on edge today," Eli noted, his voice light with airy sarcasm.
"Shut up," Clare rolled her eyes, "I've had a horrible day. I woke up on the floor with a busted lip, I was late to class, I made a B on my Sociology exam, I am stuck here with you…"
"You say that like it's a bad thing," Eli leaned forward and Clare could feel his breath tickling the hairs on the back of her neck, "admit it," he said – his voice bold – "you like it."
"Ha," Clare let out an dry laugh, "you wish."
"Admit it, Edwards," Eli's lips were practically brushing the sensitive skin behind her ear, "I dare you!"
Clare practically jumped the classroom door opened and Mrs. Cunningham walked in, her red heels clacking along the linoleum. She shot Eli a suspicious look. Mrs. Cunningham was a smart woman. She had taught high school for twenty-five years. She had raised four sons. She knew all about boys. And she knew how their minds worked.
She almost pitied Clare, except for the fact that Clare actually seemed to want the attention. Of course, she would never admit it – no girl ever really did – but deep down, she was enthralled with Eli. She longed for the attention, the smirk, the teasing, the flirting. Eli was a pain in the butt, Mrs. Cunningham knew this, but she also knew that despite that, Clare loved every second of Eli and his obnoxious presence.
Clare began to allow herself to be transported among the words of her book. She was engulfed with them and hardly noticed the stab of paper against her back. She turned and grabbed the little folded contraption from the hand behind her and opened it up quietly.
Clare-Bear, always with her nose stuffed into a book.
Clare scribbled back her response:
Far better to read than to talk to you.
Come on now. Are you really mad at me? Surely not. No one can resist this!
I can. It's easy.
Okay, so first off you blow me off this morning and now you're in a bad mood towards me. I don't like it one bit. Talk to me. I order you to!
Order? Excuse me?
Sorry. You know I say crap like that. Now talk to me.
You're ordering again…
No, I am begging. There IS a difference, you know.
Mrs. Cunningham glanced up from her packet of grading papers, and shot them a curious look. She knew to just keep quiet and just to let them have their fun. If that's what you could call it. They were young and she could tell, even if they couldn't, that they were in love. Or something like it.
She turned back to her essays and began to scribble with her red pen. They weren't talking, they weren't making noises or being obnoxious or rude.
If you say so…I am just a little upset, that's all.
What did I do?
Nothing. Why do you automatically assume that you've done something? You're so vein and you think that everything has to do with you. If I am upset, you must be the cause of it.
Well how am I supposed to know if you won't talk to me about it? I don't know what's going on here, Clare. You come to school with a busted lip and ignore me all day. Like I did it to you or something.
I'm sorry…it's just that I've had a terrible time and I am really upset and you're being pushy. It only upsets me even worse.
Well I don't want to upset you. I just would like to talk to you. I don't like not knowing what's going on.
Why do you care? It doesn't concern you.
If it has to do with you, then I am concerned.
But why? I am no one. I am Clare Marie Edwards. I am chubby and have red hair and freckles. I use too many big words and am socially awkward. I don't like big groups of people and I love to read. I am a nobody.
You're not a nobody. You are Clare Marie Edwards. You are smart and sophisticated but fun and energetic. You make me smile and you make me laugh. You are super-sweet and have the biggest heart of anyone I have ever met. You're shy but you're practically screaming for someone to crack your binding and read your pages.
Wow…
Let me read your pages, Clare. Don't be a closed book. Don't shut yourself away from me. Please…don't do that to me. It'll kill me.
I don't know where to even begin.
Begin with when you got home.
My parents had gone to bed. They had left the hall light in the entry way on for me. I went upstairs and went to bed. I was exhausted and I fell asleep instantly. When I woke up, I was on the floor with a busted lip. I had had a nightmare – as usual now – and had rolled out of bed. It happens a lot. This was the first time I had ever hurt myself though. I came to school and had to go talk to Ali. I am sorry it seemed like I was blowing you off.
You sure that's the truth, Saint Clare?
You know I can't lie.
True. Dot after we get out of here?
You're buying.
Clare could hear him stifle a small chuckle.
It'd be my pleasure.
