They...well, they reacted pretty much the way I expected. I think the way all of us expected. Still. Fuck. Just thinking about it makes me squeeze my eyes shut and try to wipe the whole goddamned memory out of my head.
3:45 was the time when
they walked out on the school lawn. I know because the bell rings
every day at 3:45. And there we were, John and I, wrapped up
in our world and not caring, not caring at all about what anyone else
thought. For about two minutes.
Two surreal, precious minutes
before...
God, I hope Andy's not going through the same thing. He's...I think he's stronger than I am. Rumor moves fast, you know, and by the time I walked out of eighth period I'd already heard a few whispers about the basketcase. I'm glad. Hell, I'll be fucking grateful if he and Allison get together, because that'll be at least one good thing to come out of this mess we've gotten ourselves into. And...I think it'll be okay for Andy. He's a guy, guys don't giggle behind manicured fingernails, and poison your life slowly until all you want to do is lay down and die. Or go crawling back to them, begging for mercy. Guys make clean fights. Angry, aggressive, broken bones maybe, but it's over with quickly.
Oh god.
"Claire? Clai—Oh. My god."
The whispering. I think I'll always hate the whispering now. It goes on and on and on and, you know? It hurt the worst when John abruptly let go of me, like he expected me to—well, even I didn't know what I was going to do. So I didn't say anything...just kind of stood there like a goddamned idiot. Shannon burst out with a "What the hell?" but the rest stood there with confused looks on their faces.
"Claire, what are you…"Yeah, they couldn't believe it. Hah. I don't blame them, how could I? A few of the girls kept on with the confusion, but the rest—it was slow and quiet, at first, but I could see it. I could see the disgust, and the scorn, and the fucking sick smiles on some of their glossy lips—they couldn't wait to start the new gossip. Keep the rumor mill cranking for a few weeks, few months maybe. This was the fucking scoop, wasn't it—the princess screwing the criminal, or it's the criminal screwing the princess. Doesn't matter.
People like Bender, Brian, and Allison hate us richies in a group, think of us as a faceless, horrible mass, but they really don't know how it is on our side of the tracks. We're as far from a group as anyone can get. I've seen my mother when she's hostessing one of her cocktail parties, and pretty much everyone who makes more than 100 grand a year is invited. Neighborly love? No fucking way. They're vicious and us kids are just weapons in their little wars, at least until we grow up and start using our kids, whatever we can get our hands on, to screw everyone else over.
I'm ruined.
My parents—oh god no. I don't want to think about it, I'm not going to think about it.
Anyway, standing there on the school lawn, I wanted to get out. Get away. I probably would've broken down in tears without anyone saying a word, and I think John saw it. I think he sees everything, at least about the people he cares for. I think he cares for me. Cares for Brian, Andy, Allison. It's a thought I have to hold on to, right now, especially with my arms wrapped around him and forehead resting against his back, and the roar of his motorcycle drowns everything out but us. Something solid to remember, to block out the memory of my girls looking at me with their pretty faces. Accusing. Laughing.
I ran away. That's what I did. I fucking ran away. Shannon took a step forward and I couldn't help it, I flinched. I felt John brush the back of my hand. They both said my name at the same time. "Claire?" "Claire."
I was shaking and trying not to cry, and then I grabbed John's hand. I didn't have to say anything, thank God. He seemed to understand and pulled me away. We didn't stop until we got to the woods behind the football fields, where he'd stashed his bike, and then we left. That's all. We left.
