CHAPTER TEN

The next morning I sat in my car in the parking lot of the high school for what felt like hours. Each time I thought I had mustered enough courage to get out a group of people would spot me and point and laugh. Last night with Don…well, I had forgotten everything that lead up to him kissing me. But now, not only did I have to face the entire student body (who all, by now, I'm sure knew about the condoms) but Brian and Stasia. Together.

I suddenly felt nauseous with nerves. I hadn't even told Don what had transpired between me and his best friend, and it was stupid of me to think I was brave enough to. But now I had to act normal in front of everyone and I felt so wired with stress that I wouldn't be surprised if the smallest thing set me off. I wondered if Brian felt this nervous but immediately shook the thought from my head. Any thought of him now felt like a betrayal to Don and Stasia.

I heavy hand slammed on the driver's window and I screamed so loudly that the person outside the car started screaming.

"Jesus Christ, Clara," LeAnn breathed, clutching her chest. "What the hell are you trying to do, give me a heart-attack?"

"Me?" I step out my car and slam my door. "You couldn't knock politely? You had to go slam your hand against my damn window?"

"You were out of it; you didn't even hear me knocking!" I lean against my truck and continue breathing. "Are you alright, though? You looked worried about something?"

"I'm fine," I lie. My voice cracks and I clear it self-consciously. Lee stares at me as I suggest that we head inside. As the snickers follow me Lee wraps an encouraging arm around my shoulders and I feel myself lean into her for support. Stasia is leaning against my locker, a small smile on my face. I can't help but feel as though she's been here for a while watching my locker for repeat offenders.

I'm a terrible, terrible person.

"Hey, Sweetie," she says gently. She hugs me, squeezing tightly.

"Hey, Stasia."

I cautiously put in my locker combination, expecting pregnancy test or something this time. But my locker is empty except for my school supplies. I grab what I need and put up what I don't. Just as I shut my door I hear someone calling my name. I turn to see a face I don't recognize. I automatically expect the worst, as it's a guy wearing a humorous grin surrounded by his friends with the same facial expression.

"You dropped these yesterday!"

He threw several shimmery packets into the air. Some hit me in the face and some landed at my feet. His posse roared with laughter as I bent down to pick up my bag. LeAnn and Stasia had both taken a step forward when I mutter under my breath so only they can hear, "Leave it alone. There's no point."

…

"Can we go, please?" I beg, my neck burning as the snickers and stares linger on me. Seated beside LeAnn and Stasia in the cafeteria at our usual spot leaves me open for further ridicule from the entire student body who hasn't had the opportunity just yet.

"Clara, you can't let these assholes win," Lee whispers under her breath. "Hiding out in the library isn't going to make it any easier."

"As much as I hate to say it, LeAnn's right," Stasia adds over a mouthful of salad. "Besides, what's the worst that can happen?" I don't bother to fill them in on my classmates' ideas of a joke. Instead I stare mournfully at my leftover pasta from last night as if it too had just thrown a handful of condoms in my face. "Hey, baby."

I look up and nearly puke as Brian sits down next to Stasia. He avoids looking at me and just wraps his arm around Stasia's waist, kissing her cheek.

"Hey, Slutly Muttly," Maria says with a laugh as she sidles up to the table, blue eyes bright with mischief. "Did you like my little surprise yesterday?"

"Absolutely, I just hate you had to waste your entire supply on me."

"I don't mind," she says smoothly. "I would just hate for you to get pregnant or something. Wouldn't want you to make the same mistake your mother did seventeen years ago."

I can tell she's been thinking up that one for a while now. And that hatred I felt yesterday comes back with a burning passion as Maria walks away, golden tendrils of hair falling down her back as she throws her head in laughter. I don't know if I'm more pissed that she brought Janie into this or just the fact that I'm sick and tired of her bullshit. But it doesn't matter.

"Hey, Maria!"

She turns around, not realizing that I've followed her to nearly the exact spot where I accidentally ran into her two days ago. Huh? Looks like fate has a funny way of being ironic. She turns, confusion written across her features until she sees what's in my hand. She only has a split moment to register my actions when I'm throwing LeAnn's slice of chocolate cake into her face—it was the closest thing to me. And to really let the message sink in, I grab the back of her head so that she can't move and just rub the plate across her face. When I finally let my hand drop, Maria's appears to be in too much shock to say anything.

But I'm not.

Years of pent up emotion have been leading up to this moment. The moment where I would set Maria straight and tell her how her years of torment have devastated me from the inside out. But the longer I stand there, watching her try her damnest not to cry, I feel nothing but disgust that I wound up sinking to her level. There's absolutely no satisfaction—like a cake to the face really beats out condoms in a locker or years of emotional abuse—and I feel…empty.

Damn my conscious. Without thinking, I grab Maria by the elbow and begin to drag her towards the doors. I hadn't realized that so many were laughing but the last thing I felt was accomplished. Maria, seemingly stunned, didn't fight me. I just led her to the bathroom and said, "Get cleaned up."

She walks to the sink in silence and practically dunks her entire head under the faucet. It doesn't take long to get the chocolate out of her hair and face, but her shirt is completely ruined. In my anger-induced haze, I didn't realize how far I had spread the chocolate. It seemed as though her entire front was covered. Hating myself all the more for what I was about to do, I unzip my jacket and hand it to her.

"I don't want your fucking charity."

"And I don't want your fucking attitude, but here we are," I snap.

She dries her face with a paper towel, eyeing me hatefully all the while. Whatever. Then she snatches my jacket out my hand but before I can blink, she's standing in one of the stalls. I watch in open-mouthed shock as she flushes my jacket, clogging the toilet and causing the water to overflow.

"Go to hell, Clara." Maria bumps into my shoulder on her way out, and I just snap.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, you psychotic bitch?"

But she doesn't look back and she doesn't respond. Leaving me, standing in the doorway of the bathroom, wondering why I even bother.

…

It's nearly midnight when I hear a faint tapping on my window. At first I think nothing of it, continuing to read ahead in my history textbook until the tapping worsens, forcing me to think that either someone really needs to talk to me or they're really bad at breaking in.

I lay my pencil down and stretch my fingers as I stand up and walk to the window. I pull back my curtain before lifting the blinds on my window halfway. Surprise fills me as I open the window. "Don…what…?"

"I wanted to see you…can I come in?"

"Through the window?" I ask slowly, confused.

"Well I don't think your mom would mind if I just walked through the front door."

"Actually, Janie's not here. She's working."

"Oh."

"…"

"…"

"Do you want me to meet you 'round back?"

"Yeah, that'll work."

He walks away from the window and I stand there for a little longer, moderately confused and stunned at his bold approach. I close the window and return the blinds and curtain to their normal state before heading to the back doors to let Don in. He walks in, surveying the dining room and living room with interest. Practically ignoring me, he goes to the multitude of picture frames Janie set up on the wall, TV stand, coffee table…as if looking at the room from a stranger's point of view, I guess we did have a lot of photos.

"So it's just you and your mom?"

I stay where I'm at, arms crossed nervously, as if he's examining Janie and I. "Yep."

He picks up a frame from the table in front of him and stares at it a while, a small smile on his lips. I fidget. He sets the photo down and continues on his lackluster journey through my house. As he enters the hallway, I begin to follow a few steps behind, my nervousness slowly becoming a sort of curiosity. He spies my open bedroom door and just waltzes in. I swallow, fearing his intentions and I drag behind. Leaning against my door frame, I find him doing the same thing. He's standing in the middle of my room and I suddenly realize just how big he really is in comparison. He looks at my various championship trophies and MVP medals from past, successful soccer seasons. He eyes the photos of me and Janie; me and LeAnn; and (more recently) me, LeAnn, and Stasia. He goes to my bookcase and fingers the spine of a few. I nearly burst with his silence, especially when I see his lips twitch, as if laughing at some amusing joke only he knows. But I force my silence.

Finally, he sits down on my bed and looks at me. I force myself to stare back, but I'm reminded of our stare-down at the Feed, and I feel my heart race under his intense gaze. He smiles at me. "Hi."

Something in me, like a dam, breaks. Suddenly, my nerves are gone. I bite my lip, trying to hide my smile. "Hi."

…

"You know, I think this is the longest conversation we've had without you insulting me."

I swallow the Oreo I had been in the middle of chewing. "I have not insulted you every single conversation we've had," I retort as I reach for another cookie. "Pass the peanut butter."

Don slides the container towards me. "Well let's look back, shall we."

"Fine."

"You of all people would not have the slightest fucking clue how to work the damn Dewey Decimal System," he mimics (I'm pretty sure almost verbatim) in a high pitch.

"I do not sound like that," I say with a laugh. "And besides, I apologized for the way I acted."

"Oh yes you do, and it still counts: you insulted my intelligence." He grabs a handful of chips.

"Whatever, next convo."

"Let's see," he taps his chin thoughtfully with the hand not currently holding food, "I believe that would be when I helped you to your car because I'm chivalrous….Ah yes! You mentioned how my so-called "reputation" precedes me and then acted as though I was playing you on a joke…which I think you've accused me of twice."

I frown.

"And then you rudely turned me down for a date."

"That's not an insult!" I scoff.

He snorts. "It is to me." I roll my eyes. "And then the next time, you…"

I'm licking the peanut butter off my spoon and look up when I realize he's not going to finish his sentence. At first I assumed he's just trying to remember, but he refused to look at me and his face seems really red. I frown. Did I do something? I think back to the next conversation we had after he asked me out. I realize it was the bonfire party…after James injured his knee because Maria threw her beer in my face and Don offered me a ride home. We were going to stop for dinner when he pulled over because of something I said…

"Oh," I say with a blush, remembering.

"Yeah…"

I fidget nervously, but not because I'm embarrassed. I recall how it felt to lie in his arms wrapped around my waist. I remember how his chest felt moving underneath me, slowing as he caught his breath from our horseplay. And remembering that I had somehow, in that time span, apparently managed to arouse Don made me flush with a bit of pride. It felt nice to be desired.

I smile softly, reaching up and brushing my fingers across my lips. I can still feel the pressure of Don's kiss from last night. The way his body pressed up against mine as he wrapped one arm crushingly around my waist while his other hand tangled itself in my hair.

"Err…Clara?"

I blink, having forgotten that Don was even there. He's smiling cockily at me, his momentary abashness gone. And when I realize my fingers are still on my lips, I drop them quickly and divert my gaze. For once, I would just like to be as suave as LeAnn or as sexy as Stasia. Instead, I somehow manage to continue to make myself look like a jackass in front of the first boy to ever show any kind of interest in me. (Brian does not count, nor will he ever).

A sudden shyness overcomes me; nothing like the usual anger, frustration, confusion, or even bout of nerves that I tend to feel around Don. This is something else. This is me, a girl, realizing that Don, a boy, are sitting alone in my bedroom with no adult around. I sneak a peek at Don through my lashes. And suddenly all the features I've never bothered to notice just suddenly jump out at me. The way his simple tee fits him, hugging the curves of muscles on his arms and accentuating his broad shoulders and narrow hips. Or his large hands, that always seems to find their way around my waist as of late. The way the corners of his eyes crinkle when he's sincerely smiling, or the way his green eyes seem to see the real me, and not the me the rest of Odessa seems to see—and yet still seems to find some part of me desirable. The way his dirty-blonde hair curls around his ears in the most adorable fashion, always looking as though he did nothing more than roll out of bed. Or the feel of his lips, hungrily pressed against mine. And most importantly, the way, without even realizing it, I've slowly lowered my defenses around him, my wariness about his intentions slipping away the more he proved he had my back, even if it risked being mocked in front of his peers later.

I fidget again, but this time the strange sensation doesn't leave me. My stomach feels as though it's in knots, but that isn't what's bothering me. No, this feeling is lower and the more I think about Don the stronger it gets. It makes my heart race and my skin burn.

Don's looking at me, and his eyes seem to reflect the sudden hunger and desire that's overcome me. I uncurl but Don is faster and reaches me in a millisecond. He's on top of me, pinning me to my own rug, and kissing me with such amped up passion that I hope I'm returning in the same eagerness. He moves his body between my legs and that feeling heightens to a near pleasant burning sensation. I want to harness this feeling and find a way to feel it every second of every day.

Not knowing what to do with my hands, I mimic his actions last night, roaming the contours of his arms or feeling his abs through his tee. If Stasia could see me now she'd be so proud. I run my fingers through his hair, loving the feel of the smooth, thick strands slipping through my grasp. I feel something smooth and wet run across my lower lip, and I hesitate only a moment before parting my lips. As if sensing my hesitation, Don slows down a bit as his tongue enters my mouth. A rush unlike anything I've felt so far overwhelms my senses. All the pre-notions growing up about how nasty Frenching would be vanish the second his tongue brushes against mine. It feels so naughty and sexual, something I never saw myself doing, that I feel like an adrenaline junkie, feeding off what Don's throwing at me and harvesting it to up my own antics.

Suddenly my body takes over and my mind is no longer in control. I can't lie to myself anymore, so I won't. Don's got me so aroused that whenever his thigh presses itself against my crotch I want to let out a cry of lust. I know we're moving too fast…we technically haven't even been on a date yet. But it's so, so hard to stop. And I don't want to.

I break away. "Don…" I begin, preparing to tell him we have to stop. But he just thinks I'm asking for more, because suddenly his lips are on my neck and I feel my eyes close at the pleasure of his teeth teasing my flesh, of his tongue running over it. My breathing is so ragged it's shaky at best.

I have to get control of the situation. I take a deep breath and strengthen my voice. "Don!"

He jumps, pulling away from me until he's hovering above me, eyes alive and face flushed. "What is it, did I do something wrong?"

The phrase 'If this is wrong I don't wanna be right' pops into my head, but thankfully I know better than to say it aloud. "N-n-no," I stutter, my moment of resolve gone the second I see how he looks caught up in the mood. And the fact that I did that makes it ten times more attractive. I clear my throat. "But we can't…I can't…you know I could never go any further than this right now, right?"

For a moment, some of the light leaves his eyes in disappointment. A wave of guilt washes over me before he shakes his head. "I know…but goddamn it, Clara. You're not gonna make this easy on me."

I snort. "Shouldn't you be used to this sort of thing."

"Well I see your sarcasm is back, hello old friend," he teases with a smile. I roll my eyes when his fingers tilt my chin, gently turn my gaze back to his. He stares at me, almost longingly it seems, his fingers stroking my jaw and neck. But unlike when he touched my neck, I have no fears that Don would hurt me. "You're beautiful," he whispers, his voice so low and husky it's almost inaudible and I nearly miss it.

I blush, that sudden shyness returning. Unable to meet his gaze, I occupy myself by fiddling with his shirt that hangs a bit loose now that he's hovering over me. I rub the fabric between my fingers, but I can't hide the smile that Don's compliment created.

"I find you fascinating," he mumbles, almost as if he's thinking out loud.

I frown in confusion and intrigue. "Do tell."

"You ask me all the time, why? Well, that's why," he explains. He rolls over so that he's lying on his back next to me, both of us staring at my ceiling. "That day in the library…the first time we talked…"

"Yeah?"

"I'd never seen so much anger in someone before," he whispers, almost as if expecting me to get upset and begin shouting back. But curiosity at what he was saying made me hold my tongue. "You were so defensive I could actually see you trying to barricade yourself by insulting me. And the bruises…but something about you impressed me that day and it wasn't until recently that I realized what it was."

I hadn't realized that I had rolled onto my side, my elbow propped up and my head resting in the palm of my hand. I was literally drinking in his words and leaned in, as if I might miss what he would say next. "What was it?"

"How strong you are," he says. Then he turns to look at me, and the impact of his words and his eyes are so strong that I feel myself lean back.

I shake my head. "That's sweet, Don, but I'm not strong. Strong people fight their own battles; they don't rely on their friends or their mothers to do it for them." I'm silent a moment. I'm a coward.

"Is that really what you think?" Don scoffs. "You're not a coward, Clara, you're one of the bravest people I know."

I blush, not realizing I had spoken that last part. "Then why can't I stand up to Maria without feeling guilty? Why do I let her and everyone else continue to walk over me and treat me like crap, huh?"

"Because you're the bigger person," he says simply, as if that was the most obvious answer.

I snort. "Well, being the bigger person sucks. It gets you labeled Slutly Muttly and condoms thrown at you in the school hallway."

"Clara…"

"It gets some asshole following you into the library asking how much for a quickie behind the desk—"

"Clara, stop—"

"I'm going to graduate the laughing stock of Odessa and there's nothing I can do about it." I'm horrified to hear my voice crack, but I clear my throat as if nothing's wrong and manage to regain my composure. I finger my frayed carpet. "Have you ever…wanted something so bad but no matter how hard you tried, it never seemed within reach or if it was something snatched it back?"

"Every damn day."

I find the courage to look at Don and I'm surprised to see that he's sitting up now, his gaze focused on his fingers. His jaw is clenched tightly. But it's the anger and sadness in his eyes that gives away his thoughts. "I'm so sorry," I say quickly, a blush of shame warming my cheeks. "God, you must be so sick and tired of hearing me bitch and complain about my life when you—"

"Don't mention it," he interrupts, laughing as if it's nothing. But the smile doesn't reach his eyes.

I swallow nervously, wondering how far I'm allowed to push. "Does anyone know?"

"The whole fucking town, I'm sure," he retorts bitingly.

He's working his jaw, grinding his teeth so tightly I can hear them squealing in protest. I've upset him, obviously, with thoughts of his father. I feel as though I should do something, I mean, he's been comforting me as of late, it's the least I could do.

I stand up, but he hardly seems to notice. I kneel behind him, wrapping my arms around his neck and pressing my cheek to his. He doesn't move for a while, but I can feel him start to relax. I've been so wrapped up in myself and my issues that I didn't bother to see how everyone around me was dealing with their own shit. I never talked to Don about his father, assuming that he didn't want to talk about it, just like I avoided conversation with James, my own cousin, for years out of a stupid jealousy-induced rivalry. And clearly, they were people who had been hurting.

Don suddenly reached out and touched my arm and then clenched it. Not roughly, but tightly enough as if to say, "Don't let go."