Chapter Three
Long after she was finished her homework, Clear was still hunched over her desk in frustration, reaching a writer's block. Her new song was going nowhere. All she had so far was the first verse. The whole thing was a jumble of complicated words that she wondered how she would ever add a melody to. She tried to write one more line.
'There's so much emotion I wish I could show/
Please read my mind 'cause I don't even know.'
She groaned. That was horrible! She slammed her notebook shut and kicked away from her desk, her rolling chair sliding to the digital piano in her room. It was the next closest thing to her guitar that she could find comfort in. If music were alive, it would be her best friend. For now, though, her best friend was George.
She didn't understand why she couldn't talk about her problems with George. Things were so perfect with him, she didn't want to ruin it with her family problems. Complaining wasn't something she planned on doing. Not to George.
She began a soft progression of broken chords until she was interrupted by her phone.
"Dammit anyway," she muttered to herself and reached for her phone. "Hello?"
"Clear?"
"Oh, hi, George," Clear said, smiling.
"Are you okay, Clear?" George asked her, the impact of his concerned voice hitting her like a falling sign, "You've been quieter than usual lately."
"I'm fine," Clear said quickly.
"You sure?" George asked, not convinced. "You're kind of acting like something's wrong."
Clear sighed. She should tell him. She knew she should. But how did she just say, 'my stepdad beats the hell out of my mom and abuses me. That's why I've had a permanant frown lately.' It sounded so hard when she put it that way, but she couldn't keep secrets from her boyfriend... could she?
Her eyes wandered around the room. They fell on one framed picture. The second most important one in her room. It sat on her piano next to the picture of her and her father when she was ten. This picture, though, was taken at her and the Waggner twins' birthday party that summer at the lake. Her, George, Tod, Terry, Alex, Carter, and Billy stood together in a group, beaming. Her arms were slung around George's shoulders. Her eyes glinted with elation, looking into George's. They were truly happy.
Did she really want to bring in all this unhapiness into their relationship?
"I've just been really tired," she told him. Not exactly a lie. A combination of insomnia and hearing crying from her mother's room as Colin yelled at her had made her into a baggy-eyed coffee freak over the past week.
"Uh... okay," he said uncertainly, "Just call me if you want to... aw, man, that was lame."
Clear laughed a little. "G'night, George."
***
"What are you guys doing?" Alex asked Rory and George, putting his schoolbag down on the table. It was a half hour before classes started, and they were in the common area. The few people that were there that early were generally in line in the servery getting their coffees or scones, you know, stuff that made them look cool.
George had a ten dollar bill under his left hand and was writing furiously with his right hand. "I payed him to do my English homework," Rory exclaimed, a superiour smirk on his dark face.
"Why George?" Alex asked curiously, "He gets okay marks, but... he sucks at English."
Rory laughed. "Do you really think the teacher will believe it if I do a good paper? I just don't want to do it."
George slammed his head down. "Done."
"Heyy, thanks man," Rory said, accepting the paper. He gave a funny snort. "Uh, I better get going. My girlfriend wants me to meet her in the tower stairs." He raised his eyebrows. The tower stairs located near the woodshop were where most kids lost their virginity. All of the tower stairs were makeout central, but that one was legendary. The best advice any Mount Aberham Highschooler could give a freshman is don't go in the stairs during a spare. You are likely to be traumatized for life.
"Women," Alex groaned. Not that he'd ever had a lot of dating experience, but he wanted to make conversation with SOMEONE.
"They're such slave-drivers," Rory complained. "If we show the slightest bit of interest in another girl--like even a celebrity, we never hear the end of it."
"And we can't watch movies that we like," Alex groaned. "I mean, just because people died in Swimfan didn't make it any less of a chick flick."
"They're fuckin monsters," George put in.
Alex looked at him strangely. "YOU'RE the one with the girlfriend."
George blushed. "I don't know, things are weird. She's keeping secrets from me, I think. And she's been pretty moody."
"Must be the time of the month," Rory said, expecting laughs. But Alex still looked at George intensly.
"You think she's cheating on you?" Alex asked.
George shuddered. Did Clear even know any other guys besides him and his friends? Still, the thought of him being cheated on was unsettling. "She's just being crabby and immature."
"Time of the month," Rory repeated insistantly.
"Smoothe," said a familiar voice from behind. "Very smoothe.
George and Alex turned around to see Terry, a disgusted expression on her face, clearly the one who had made the comment. But the real focus was on Clear's sad face, her misty eyes, and an overall look of shock and insult in her.
George's face said it all. 'Shit.'
***
"Clear, let me explain."
George raced after Clear through the door into the main locker room. Clear wove through the banks of lockers, avoiding him.
"You can't hide from me, Clear," he told her, "I go to this school, too. And I'm not going to let you go away."
Clear stopped, staring daggers at him. "You were making fun of me. What more is there to explain?"
She kept walking through another set of doors into a tower staircase.
"Clear, stop this. By doing this you're just justifying what I was saying." He was shocked at how mature he sounded. "I was just telling those guys the truth."
She looked like she was about to cry. "You don't know half of the truth!" she spat.
His eyes fell. "Yeah," he whispered, "Exactly. You won't tell me. You can't expect me to know."
She leaned her head back with a sigh. Was it time to tell him? "Okay, I've been going through some deep shit." She blinked back tears. "But I can't talk with you about it. I can't talk with anyone about it.
He took her hands. "Why?"
"I don't know!" she insisted, getting angry. "Look, when I first met you, I was thinking that I wanted someone to take care of me. Someone like a big brother. But I don't feel like being protected by now." She dropped her hands from George's. "By anyone."
He looked at her with confusion, then, realization, then sadness. She was ending it.
"Sorry George," she said softly, and with that, she walked up the stairs, away from George.
George closed his eyes and cursed under his breath. He bend down on the floor and picked up a crumpled piece of paper.
"DAMN IT!" he exclaimed angrily as he whipped the ball across the room.
"Ahem," a deep voice asked from under the stairs. Two people were engaged in the usual liplocked tower ritual. "Do you mind?"
Long after she was finished her homework, Clear was still hunched over her desk in frustration, reaching a writer's block. Her new song was going nowhere. All she had so far was the first verse. The whole thing was a jumble of complicated words that she wondered how she would ever add a melody to. She tried to write one more line.
'There's so much emotion I wish I could show/
Please read my mind 'cause I don't even know.'
She groaned. That was horrible! She slammed her notebook shut and kicked away from her desk, her rolling chair sliding to the digital piano in her room. It was the next closest thing to her guitar that she could find comfort in. If music were alive, it would be her best friend. For now, though, her best friend was George.
She didn't understand why she couldn't talk about her problems with George. Things were so perfect with him, she didn't want to ruin it with her family problems. Complaining wasn't something she planned on doing. Not to George.
She began a soft progression of broken chords until she was interrupted by her phone.
"Dammit anyway," she muttered to herself and reached for her phone. "Hello?"
"Clear?"
"Oh, hi, George," Clear said, smiling.
"Are you okay, Clear?" George asked her, the impact of his concerned voice hitting her like a falling sign, "You've been quieter than usual lately."
"I'm fine," Clear said quickly.
"You sure?" George asked, not convinced. "You're kind of acting like something's wrong."
Clear sighed. She should tell him. She knew she should. But how did she just say, 'my stepdad beats the hell out of my mom and abuses me. That's why I've had a permanant frown lately.' It sounded so hard when she put it that way, but she couldn't keep secrets from her boyfriend... could she?
Her eyes wandered around the room. They fell on one framed picture. The second most important one in her room. It sat on her piano next to the picture of her and her father when she was ten. This picture, though, was taken at her and the Waggner twins' birthday party that summer at the lake. Her, George, Tod, Terry, Alex, Carter, and Billy stood together in a group, beaming. Her arms were slung around George's shoulders. Her eyes glinted with elation, looking into George's. They were truly happy.
Did she really want to bring in all this unhapiness into their relationship?
"I've just been really tired," she told him. Not exactly a lie. A combination of insomnia and hearing crying from her mother's room as Colin yelled at her had made her into a baggy-eyed coffee freak over the past week.
"Uh... okay," he said uncertainly, "Just call me if you want to... aw, man, that was lame."
Clear laughed a little. "G'night, George."
***
"What are you guys doing?" Alex asked Rory and George, putting his schoolbag down on the table. It was a half hour before classes started, and they were in the common area. The few people that were there that early were generally in line in the servery getting their coffees or scones, you know, stuff that made them look cool.
George had a ten dollar bill under his left hand and was writing furiously with his right hand. "I payed him to do my English homework," Rory exclaimed, a superiour smirk on his dark face.
"Why George?" Alex asked curiously, "He gets okay marks, but... he sucks at English."
Rory laughed. "Do you really think the teacher will believe it if I do a good paper? I just don't want to do it."
George slammed his head down. "Done."
"Heyy, thanks man," Rory said, accepting the paper. He gave a funny snort. "Uh, I better get going. My girlfriend wants me to meet her in the tower stairs." He raised his eyebrows. The tower stairs located near the woodshop were where most kids lost their virginity. All of the tower stairs were makeout central, but that one was legendary. The best advice any Mount Aberham Highschooler could give a freshman is don't go in the stairs during a spare. You are likely to be traumatized for life.
"Women," Alex groaned. Not that he'd ever had a lot of dating experience, but he wanted to make conversation with SOMEONE.
"They're such slave-drivers," Rory complained. "If we show the slightest bit of interest in another girl--like even a celebrity, we never hear the end of it."
"And we can't watch movies that we like," Alex groaned. "I mean, just because people died in Swimfan didn't make it any less of a chick flick."
"They're fuckin monsters," George put in.
Alex looked at him strangely. "YOU'RE the one with the girlfriend."
George blushed. "I don't know, things are weird. She's keeping secrets from me, I think. And she's been pretty moody."
"Must be the time of the month," Rory said, expecting laughs. But Alex still looked at George intensly.
"You think she's cheating on you?" Alex asked.
George shuddered. Did Clear even know any other guys besides him and his friends? Still, the thought of him being cheated on was unsettling. "She's just being crabby and immature."
"Time of the month," Rory repeated insistantly.
"Smoothe," said a familiar voice from behind. "Very smoothe.
George and Alex turned around to see Terry, a disgusted expression on her face, clearly the one who had made the comment. But the real focus was on Clear's sad face, her misty eyes, and an overall look of shock and insult in her.
George's face said it all. 'Shit.'
***
"Clear, let me explain."
George raced after Clear through the door into the main locker room. Clear wove through the banks of lockers, avoiding him.
"You can't hide from me, Clear," he told her, "I go to this school, too. And I'm not going to let you go away."
Clear stopped, staring daggers at him. "You were making fun of me. What more is there to explain?"
She kept walking through another set of doors into a tower staircase.
"Clear, stop this. By doing this you're just justifying what I was saying." He was shocked at how mature he sounded. "I was just telling those guys the truth."
She looked like she was about to cry. "You don't know half of the truth!" she spat.
His eyes fell. "Yeah," he whispered, "Exactly. You won't tell me. You can't expect me to know."
She leaned her head back with a sigh. Was it time to tell him? "Okay, I've been going through some deep shit." She blinked back tears. "But I can't talk with you about it. I can't talk with anyone about it.
He took her hands. "Why?"
"I don't know!" she insisted, getting angry. "Look, when I first met you, I was thinking that I wanted someone to take care of me. Someone like a big brother. But I don't feel like being protected by now." She dropped her hands from George's. "By anyone."
He looked at her with confusion, then, realization, then sadness. She was ending it.
"Sorry George," she said softly, and with that, she walked up the stairs, away from George.
George closed his eyes and cursed under his breath. He bend down on the floor and picked up a crumpled piece of paper.
"DAMN IT!" he exclaimed angrily as he whipped the ball across the room.
"Ahem," a deep voice asked from under the stairs. Two people were engaged in the usual liplocked tower ritual. "Do you mind?"
