I find Wes.
It's not so difficult considering I find him at Stoneybrook Middle School. It's Friday afternoon, almost a whole week since Wes learned the truth. It feels like so much more time has past between us. I've almost forgotten how it feels to be near him, how his cologne smells, how warm his hands are on my skin. I am slipping away, in and out of life, and my recollections slip with me.
I know Wes went to work today because I called SMS this morning before school. The secretary rang his room, but he wasn't in yet. She promised me, though, that he would be coming in today. I didn't tell Greer or Sally. I didn't tell anyone. Not that there's anyone else to tell. I think everyone else has given up on me. And I don't care.
I shake Greer after study period, claiming to be heading to the yearbook room. Since Lindsey's no longer coming to school, there's not exactly anyone working on the Student Life section anymore. Dr. Dupree assured Greer over the phone that Lindsey will be back in school on Monday. They're simply "smoothing out some bumps in the road." Or something. I suppose if worse comes to worst, Amanda Kerner can pick up the slack. She's good for that sort of thing.
I duck into the girls' restroom and begin changing out of my uniform. Wes can't see me in my uniform. It will only drive home the truth that I am still in high school. Stuffing my uniform into a tote bag, I slip into a loose black skirt and a wine-colored blouse. I slide into a pair of black heels and brush my hair. It's finally fluffy and wavy again. This morning, I finally got to wash it. I don't think I'll tell Wes about the lice. Not today.
I hurry out to my car. The parking lot is practically empty already. Overhead the sky is overcast and ominous. I don't take it as a sign. I drive across town to Stoneybrook Middle School, which has just let out for the weekend. Kids spill out of the building, running to their buses and pedaling off on their bikes. I spot Wes' red Volvo in the parking lot. I park a fair distance from it. I realize once I enter the school that I don't know where Wes' classroom is located. Luckily for me, I spy Vanessa Pike leaning against some lockers, talking to a boy I don't recognize.
I stride straight up to her. "Hello, Vanessa," I greet her.
"Er…hello," she replies and I know she doesn't recognize me.
Good.
"Can you tell me what room Mr. Ellenburg is in?"
"Mr. Ellenburg? Sure. Room seventeen. Go straight down the hall and make a right."
"Thank you."
I walk down the hall with false confidence. Inside, I feel sickened. Inside, I shake. But outside, I maintain my composure. How I accomplish this, I've no idea. I assumed I had fallen apart inside and out.
I find Wes' classroom easily. The door is closed and I peer in through the small window. Wes is at his desk, which is an absolute disaster area. He's bent over a stack of papers and his grade book. I watch him. Every so often, he punches some numbers into a calculator, then records the number in his book. My heart quickens just seeing him.
I open the door, quietly, and step into the classroom.
"Just a minute," Wes says without glancing up.
"Wes?" I say, softly.
Wes' head snaps up. His eyes widen in panic. "Oh, my God!" he cries.
Not exactly the reaction I hoped for.
I shut the door and walk further into the classroom. "Wes, I need to speak to you," I say, still speaking soft and calm. "I want to explain."
Wes jumps out of his chair and backward, knocking into it and falling over. I dash over, bending over him. Wes rubs the back of his head.
"Are you okay?" I ask.
Wes looks up at me, eyes widening again. He springs to his feet and backs away. "You need to leave," he tells me, firmly, holding out a hand.
"Wes, please let me explain," I plead. Tears push against my eyes, wanting to be free.
"You don't need to explain anything. You just need to leave, Shannon." Wes drops his voice. "Oh, my God, what if someone saw you? Are you consciously attempting to destroy my life?"
"I never wanted to hurt you!"
"Are you serious?" Wes demands. "You didn't think this would hurt me? Oh, my God, Shannon! Did you think this would be okay with me? You realize I am nine years older than you? You're still in high school! I feel like a creep. I feel like a lecherous old man. I feel like I violated a child."
"I'm not a child!" I protest and the tears begin to leak out. I can't fight them. I can't hold them in. "How can you say I make you feel dirty? I did everything I could to please you, Wes! I tried so hard! I thought you loved me? You always wanted to be with me. You always wanted to know how I was and what I was doing. You always said sex with me was fantastic. How can you just take that all back?"
"Because now I know you're in high school," Wes hisses. His face softens a bit. "And all those things were true. I did want to be with you and I worried about you and the…and I enjoyed…being with you…because I loved you. I really did love you, Shannon."
"And now? You can't just stop loving me! I'm still the same girl! You have to still love me!"
Wes looks down at the floor. He doesn't answer.
"I love you, Wes. I need you. I don't have anyone else."
Wes clears his throat. "Mrs. Brewer explained about your home life and your parents. I mean, I already kind of knew. I mean, I did meet your dad. I think he's really sick. I can't believe he was going to let us…up in your bedroom. No wonder you're so…" Wes doesn't finish, but I know what he's thinking. You're so screwed up.
"Elizabeth Brewer has wrecked my life. We were perfectly happy before she showed up and tore it apart."
Wes stares at me, an odd expression on his face. "Is that all you still care about? Yourself?" he asks, his voice as odd as his expression. "Mrs. Brewer did us both a favor. Do you even realize how much worse things could have been? At least she was discreet! We could have been discovered anywhere by anyone! You may think your life is wrecked, but can you even comprehend what could have happened to mine? What could still happen? Oh, my God, Shannon, how many people know?"
I mentally add the people in my head. Elizabeth. Kristy. Janet. Anna. Abby. Greer. Sally. Mary Anne. Claudia. Erica. Lauren. Pete. Ross. Tiffany. Maria. Dad. Oh, and Watson and Nannie.
"Hardly anyone," I reply.
"It took you much too long to come up with that answer," Wes says. The panic has returned to his eyes.
"No one will tell," I promise.
"You expect me to believe anything you say?" Wes demands.
"Yes because I know you still love me. You won't deny it," I say. There is hope. There is hope. He still loves me. A part of him does. It's there somewhere, wanting me, wanting to forgive me.
Wes runs his fingers back through his hair. He looks sort of twitchy and nervous. Panicked still. "I should have figured this out long ago," he says, not looking at me. "I was so blind. I should have known something wasn't right. I guess I did know. I just…I just…I liked you so much, Shannon. I knew it was weird the way you always wanted me lying on top of you and your tantrum in New York and you never wanted to leave the apartment…and I was selfish. I should have realized."
I'm losing him. I'm losing him. He's moving away. He will reject me. "It was my fault, Wes. All my fault," I say, soothingly. "Wes, I'll make it up to you. I love you. That wasn't a lie. I proved it to you. I'll prove it again." I begin unbuttoning my blouse, quickly with nimble fingers, and spread it open to reveal the rose-colored satin bra Wes loves me in. "I'll let you make love to me again," I whisper. "Right here. Wherever you want."
Wes backs into a file cabinet. His eyes nearly pop out of their sockets. He looks terrified. I don't hesitate. I don't think. I move toward him, fast closing the space between us. I grab his belt buckle and begin to loosen it.
"I'll give you oral," I offer, even though I hate doing it.
Wes pushes my hands away and slides out from between the cabinet and me. "No," he says, holding up his hands. "You need to button your shirt and leave. Oh, my God, we're in my classroom, Shannon!"
"We can go back to your apartment."
"No! No! This is over, Shannon. We're not getting back together. You're in high school. Sex doesn't fix everything. You seem to think it does. This…this…" Wes moves further away, moving toward the door. "You can't equate sex with love. You seem to think that all you have to do is lie down and let me make love to you and I'll forgive anything. I'm not a pervert, Shannon, even if you've made me feel like one." Wes lowers his hands, apparently deciding that with an entire classroom between us, he is finally safe. "If you really want to make it up to me and prove you love me, Shannon, then you can leave me alone. You have serious problems and I can't fix them for you. I'm sorry. As much as I still…" Wes' voice catches. "Please be gone when I come back." Wes places his hand on the doorknob.
He's leaving me!
"You can't leave me!" I shout. My head fogs. I can't think. Dear Lord. Dear Lord. "If you leave me, I'll tell! I'll tell your boss! I'll tell everyone! If you leave me!"
"You never loved me then," Wes says.
And he leaves.
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Everything is a blur.
I don't recall leaving SMS. I don't recall getting in my car. I don't recall driving home. And yet, here I am, sitting in the garage, gripping the steering wheel and staring at the wall. I've been crying. I don't recall the actual act, but my cheeks are moist and my eyeliner smudged. I wonder how long I've sat here. I wonder if it matters. If it matters to anyone.
It does not.
I get out of the car. I walk to the opening of the garage, dragging my messenger bag behind me. Across the street, kitty-corner, Kristy and Abby race around Kristy's front lawn chasing a soccer ball. David Michael and Emily Michelle are with them. So are Karen and Andrew Brewer, Kristy's stepsiblings from Chicago. I guess it's already their winter break. Mary Anne's sitting on the front steps, knitting. Doesn't she have a home of her own? Doesn't she know what happens when you let the Thomas-Brewers into your life? They rip it to shreds. And they enjoy it.
I go inside.
Mrs. Bryar's in the living room, laying flat on her stomach on the carpet, digging something out from underneath the couch. I stop in the doorway and drop my bag. It thuds on the floor. Mrs. Bryar looks up.
"Hello, Shannon," she greets me. She pushes up onto her knees and struggles to her feet. She has some kind of plastic figurine in her hand. She sets it on the coffee table. "Tiffany and her boyfriend went to his house to do homework. Maria's spending the night with her friend, Lily. She said for you to call her if you need to talk."
I guess Maria's forgiven me for the lice incident.
"And your father called an hour ago," Mrs. Bryar continues. "He's going to New York for the evening. And then, your mother called and said she forgot to tell you, she's going skiing in Vermont this weekend. She said she couldn't remember the name of the lodge, but she's certain you'll be fine."
I shrug. What else is new?
"I had hoped," Mrs. Bryar says, picking up a dust rag from the coffee table and twirling it around, "that the call from Social Services might change a few things around here."
I blink at her. "What?" I reply, confused.
Mrs. Bryar stares at me from behind her glasses.
It sinks in.
"You called Social Services?" I shriek.
"Of course. I should have done it long ago. Long before you started sleeping with teachers and Tiffany started charging for sex."
Maria and her fat mouth! How appropriate that Kristy Thomas is her idol.
"Maria needs to learn to keep her mouth shut," I tell Mrs. Bryar, angrily.
"Maria is twelve years old," Mrs. Bryar replies, matter-of-factly. "And you're all out of control. Shannon, what are you thinking?"
"Nothing's out of control" I protest. "I have everything under control! And you don't understand! How could you? You're like a spinster!"
Mrs. Bryar scrunches her face. "I'm divorced, Shannon. And that has nothing to do with anything. You're right I don't understand. What has happened to you? You've always been such a nice, responsible girl. And now you're dating your teacher – "
"He's not my teacher! He doesn't even teach at my school! And he left me! He left me because Elizabeth Brewer told him I'm only seventeen!"
" – and Tiffany's prostituting herself and Maria's trying to adopt herself out and - "
"You aren't listening!"
"Well, neither are you," Mrs. Bryar snaps.
"Do you realize what you've done?" I demand. "They're going to take my sisters away! They're going to spill all our secrets all over the street! Everyone will talk about us! Everyone will know!"
"No one is going to remove you from this house," Mrs. Bryar says, sternly. "I knew that when I called and filed the report. My cousin is a social worker. I filed the report with her. I know that nothing will be done. Someone will come out, they'll look around your big, expensive house, and that will be it. Social Services is overworked and overcrowded. They aren't going to take you away. Certainly, your parents are already attempting to have the entire problem swept under the rug. I meant this as a wake up call to them. They don't listen to anyone. They only hear themselves. Sort of like you."
I narrow my eyes, practically shaking with anger. She's just like Elizabeth Brewer. Another self-righteous, meddlesome adult. I can't believe how much I used to like her. I can't believe I used to sometimes wish she were my mother. Who is she? She is no one. "Who do you think you are?" I spit out. "You're just the hired help!"
Something flickers across Mrs. Bryar's face. Hurt? Surprise? It moves and disappears too quickly. And then her face goes blank. "Fine," she says, tightly. "I quit." She tosses the dust rag to me. "I'm sick of this family. Tell Maria I said goodbye and that I feel very sorry for her." Mrs. Bryar strides past me, head held high.
I stare at the dust rag, my own words sinking in. And then Mrs. Bryar's. She's leaving? She's leaving me, too? I turn around and chase after her. She's already out the front door, coat tucked under one arm, moving swiftly toward her car.
"Mrs. Bryar!" I call out, leaping across the foyer. "Mrs. Bryar! Come back! Come back!" I skid to a halt on the porch.
Mrs. Bryar turns when she's halfway down the front walk. "You'll find someone else to clean your house," she says, coolly. She turns again and continues down the walk.
"Don't go! Don't go!" I shout after her. "I'm all alone! Don't go!"
Mrs. Bryar drives away.
Across the street, in Kristy's front yard, Karen cups her hands around her mouth. "Hey, Shannon!" she hollers. "Is it true that you're crazy?"
Kristy smacks her in the back of the head and whatever happens next I don't see because I run back inside.