Chapter 49

Graduation felt so close yet so far away. Clarke wasn't sure which would come first, the diploma or her baby. But waiting for both was starting to become painstaking.

Harper seemed to be handling the wait better. She was busy with more rehearsals and had more performances coming up next month, so she seemed to feel like time was almost passing by too fast. On the way to their classes, she talked Clarke's ear off about how worried she was the spring performance wouldn't come together in time and how she wished they just had a few extra weeks to practice.

When they got to the fountain outside the student union, Harper came to a halt and said, "Hey, let's stop. Make a wish." She reached into her pocket and pulled out two quarters, then squeezed her eyes shut and whispered something like a prayer before tossing her quarter into the water. Clarke flicked hers in with less enthusiasm, only because she'd never really been one to believe in the power of a wishing well.

"What'd you wish for?" she asked her friend.

"For the spring show to go off without a hitch," Harper replied unsurprisingly. "You?"

Clarke answered with a sigh. "Oh, lots of things."

Harper cringed, looking behind Clarke as she said, "And I'm guessing Finn's not one of them."

"Oh, definitely not."

"Well, too bad. He's heading this way."

"What? No!" Clarke whined. "Hide me."

"I can't. You're huge," Harper said.

Whimpering, Clarke braced herself for impact. "Clarke!" she heard her ex call as he came nearer.

"Just tell him we have to be on our way," Harper suggested.

"Okay." She turned around right as he got close. "Finn. What're you doing here?"

"Oh, just killing some time with some friends," he said. "I'm glad I ran into you, actually, 'cause . . ."

"Oh, you know what? We really can't stay and chat," she cut in quickly. "We're going to, um . . ." She looked to Harper for help with an excuse.

"Dance class," Harper filled in.

"Right," Clarke agreed stupidly before realizing how absurd of a lie that was. "No, wrong. I can't dance right now. It's . . . cooking class."

"Right," Harper said. "We're making . . . quesadillas."

Clarke blurted, "Frittatas," at the exact same time, so their lies definitely weren't perfectly aligned yet. She doubted Finn though much of it, though, so she tried to just keep the conversation rolling. Rolling towards an end. "So, yeah, we really have to be on our way."

"Oh, this will only take a minute," Finn said, whipping out his phone. "I just wanted to show you something I saw online."

Clarke exhaled impatiently and shot Harper an annoyed look as Finn searched . . . something. Probably something completely pointless.

"Here," he said, finally showing her his screen. It was a picture of a stuffed unicorn, sold pretty cheaply on Amazon. "Little girls like unicorns, right?" he said. "I thought Avery might like something like that."

He was right. She might. But she also might like dolls or aliens. She and Bellamy had purchased a wide variety of stuff to match whatever preferences she would develop. "She's already got plenty of toys," she said, effectively shooting him down. "She doesn't need anymore."

Finn's smile faded slowly, and he looked . . . discouraged. Maybe even a little hurt. "Oh."

"Let's go, Harper," she said, linking her arm with her friend's so they could get out of there and continue on their way to class.

"That was awkward," Harper remarked.

Yeah, it sure as hell had been. If she could have gone back and made another wish, she would have wished for Finn to just mind his own business. His daughter wasn't his concern anymore.

...

Having gotten to work half an hour early, Bellamy found himself getting hungry for lunch early, too. The day felt like it was dragging, but he was going to power through. Had to. The only way he stood a chance of getting Emerson to change his mind about giving him a raise was to impress the hell out of him. And the only way he was going to be able to pay his mom back soon was to get that raise.

He'd been assigned to work at headquarters that day, on smaller projects that didn't require any on site construction. Roan was there, too, as were some of the other guys. They were nice enough guys, but Roan was the only one he'd really befriended since he started working for the company. The dynamics weren't what he was used to back in high school on the football team. These guys didn't revere him. They were all in the same boat, working a job that didn't pay as much as it should have. The manual labor wasn't easy, and they worked hard.

Shortly before lunch, Emerson called Bellamy into his office. This is it, Bellamy thought. Somehow, what he'd said last Friday had worked. Emerson had reconsidered. Maybe it was just going to be a small raise, but it'd be a raise nonetheless.

"You wanted to see me?" he said, closing the door.

"Yes. Go ahead. Sit down," Emerson told him.

He sat down at his boss's desk and started with an apology. "Hey, I'm really sorry for just springing that raise stuff on you last week. I should've arranged a time to meet with you. Now's a better time to talk about it."

Emerson seemed . . . not as present as he usually was. He wasn't even looking Bellamy in the eye. When he spoke, his voice wasn't as loud as it usually was, and he sounded regretful. "I'm not sure there was ever gonna be a good time."

Bellamy waited for him to say more, but he didn't. And that made him start to feel uneasy. "What do you mean?" This didn't feel like happy conversation so far. And it should have.

Emerson sighed heavily, and that one sigh may as well have said it all. But he said it himself anyway. "Bellamy, there's no easy way for me to go about this. The company's decided to make cuts, and you're one of them."

Cuts? Bellamy's mind absorbed that word. Cuts?

"I'm sorry," Emerson apologized, "but I have to let you go."

At first, Bellamy just stared at him in disbelief. This . . . definitely wasn't what he'd been expecting. In fact, it was pretty much the opposite of a raise. It was the ultimate demotion. "You're firing me?" he finally spat out in disbelief.

"I wouldn't if I didn't have to," Emerson assured him. "But I have superiors, people I have to report to. They told me I had to lose five people from my crew."

"But you were the one who chose the five," Bellamy said. Emerson could try to lay the blame on his superiors all he wanted to, but ultimately, it'd been his decision.

"I tried to be fair," Emerson said. "You just haven't worked for me as long as the other guys."

"Yeah, but . . ." There were other things to take into account when it came to fairness. "Come on, sir, you know what I've got goin' on," he said pleadingly. "I'm gonna be a dad. I'm supposed to provide for my family." There was a guy named Chuck who'd worked there even longer than Roan, but he was a lazy stoner who showed up late most of the time. Would he still get to keep his job? Any money he earned was just going to drugs. That sure as hell wasn't fair.

"I understand your situation," Emerson said, "but . . ."

"No, I need this job," Bellamy cut back in. "Clarke's not gonna be able to work after she has the baby. At least not for the first month. She's gonna need me to . . ." His mouth felt dry, and he felt like he was trying to catch his breath as he thought about how much she'd be depending on him. Everything he'd learned in those baby classes said that his role was to be a supportive partner, but how was he gonna support her if he didn't even . . . "Please, you gotta help me out here," he openly begged. He wasn't too proud to do it.

"I wish I could," Emerson said. "I'm willing to be a reference."

"A reference?" Bellamy laughed angrily at that. "What if I can't find another job?"

"I'm sure you can."

"But what if I can't?" It wasn't like Arkadia had limitless employment opportunities. "What if I can't find another job, huh?" he demanded. "And then I've got this baby who's depending on me and . . ." How was he supposed to afford diapers and clothes for when she got bigger, and what if she got sick and needed some medicine and he couldn't afford to pay for it? "Please, isn't there anything you can do?" he asked desperately.

"I'm sorry, Bellamy."

God, it was just one apology after another, wasn't it? Emerson just kept saying he was sorry. But sorry wasn't gonna do him any good. Hell, a fucking reference wasn't going to do him any good, either. He was gonna have to go home and tell Clarke he'd gotten fired, and it was gonna be one of the most humiliating things he'd ever done.

As much as he would have loved to storm out of that office, he didn't want to lose the hours. "Can I at least finish out the day?" he asked.

Emerson nodded solemnly. "Of course."

A couple extra bucks then. Enough to get some gas in his car on the way home. Great. Just great.

He felt like a failure.

When he walked out of Emerson's office, all the other guys were still hard at work, but they all looked at him curiously. Had they known? Did they know now?

Roan approached him and quietly asked, "How'd that go?"

"It sucked." No need to elaborate. "What about you?" Roan had been called in that morning, but he hadn't shown any signs of being . . . let down.

His friend shook his head and said, "No."

So Roan Azgeda, father of two and longtime employee at this company, still had a job. "That's good," Bellamy said. He didn't wish this hardship on his friend.

"If you want, I could go try to lobby for you," Roan offered, "get him to change his mind."

"No," Bellamy said. He didn't want Roan doing or saying anything to jeopardize his own job. Besides, nothing would work. "I'll be fine," he said. "I'm sure plenty of people are just itching to hire a college dropout."

"Hey, at least you went to college," Roan pointed out.

"Yeah, for football." It wasn't that impressive.

"Well, your name still means something in this town," Roan said. "You'll get hired."

Because of his name? Because people knew him or remembered seeing him on the news or seeing him play in person? "I hope so," he said. If name recognition got him a job rather than skill or qualifications, then so be it. He'd play any card he had. He really wasn't sure it'd be enough, though. This was the real world, and the real world didn't care if he could score a touchdown.

...

Clarke was relieved when Bellamy finally walked in the door that night. She'd just finished making some spaghetti for dinner, and she'd made plenty, so now they could eat together. "Yay, you're home," she said, greeting him at the door with a hug. "Oh, I was beginning to wonder where you were. How was your day?"

He held onto her pretty tightly, almost as if he didn't want to let her go, and grumbled, "Could've gone better."

Even without her heightened sense of smell, Clarke would have been able to smell the alcohol on his breath. She pulled back a bit and asked, "Have you been drinking?"

Slowly, Bellamy's hands slid off of her sides and hips, and he lowered his head and mumbled, "Yeah. I went to the bar after work."

"Oh, with Roan?" she assumed.

He shook his head. "No."

"So Miller then."

Bellamy stepped out of his shoes and shrugged off his jacket. "No, I went by myself."

She pictured him sitting at Eligius or some other bar by himself, just drinking alone, and that seemed . . . strange. "You went drinking by yourself?" she said. Wasn't that what some people did when they were upset? She couldn't just let it go, so she asked him, "What's wrong? What happened today?"

Bellamy sighed heavily, tossing his coat onto the couch. Then he looked back at her, a serious expression on his face, and waited a few seconds before asking, "You love me, right?"

What kind of question was that? "Yes." Of course she loved him.

He swallowed hard, looked down at his feet again, and spoke quietly, as if he were ashamed of what he was saying. "I got fired."

Clarke squinted at him curiously. "What?"

"Emerson said he had to lose five people, and I'm one them," he muttered, sounding . . . defeated. "I don't have a job anymore."

"Wait . . . I don't understand," she said, still trying to process the news. "Did you have any idea this was coming?"

"Nope. Hell, just the other day, I asked him for a raise." Bellamy shook his head disappointedly. "I think he knew even then. Son of a bitch. He should've just told me."

"Well, why'd he fire you?" Clarke had half a mind to find this Emerson guy herself and give him a piece of her mind. "That's not fair."

Bellamy shrugged dejectedly. "Maybe it is. I'm still one of the new guys. I still don't know how to do all the work they can."

"Yeah, but . . ." She thought about that nursey that he'd put together, right upstairs, and it was so nice and so impressive that she couldn't imagine anyone firing Bellamy. "So that's it then? That's the final decision? Isn't there something you can do to-"

"If there was anything I could do, don't you think I would've done it already?" he cut her off harshly.

She felt her facial expression change, from one of determined anger into one of . . . sadness. He was getting angry with her now, too. She wasn't making the situation any better. But that didn't mean he had to yell at her.

"I'm . . . I'm sorry," he apologized quickly. "I don't mean to be like this. I'm just upset."

"I know," she said. "But it's Emerson's loss. You'll find a new job, something better."

"In Arkadia?" He didn't seem to hopeful. "This is awful. Your mom's gonna find out about this. She'll probably say she saw it coming."

"No, I won't tell her," she promised him.

"She'll still find out."

"Don't even worry about her." She closed the gap between them, put her hand on his arm, and rubbed it gently. "It's gonna be okay, Bellamy," she assured him. "You're gonna find another job, and in the meantime, I'm still working."

"No offense, Clarke, but . . . I don't think we can support a baby on the money you make."

She didn't take any offense to that, because she knew he was right. She made enough to support herself, but not a family. "Once I graduate, then I can find something full-time," she said, even though she knew that'd be easier said than done with the baby set to come right around graduation. "And if things get too tight, then maybe my parents could help us out."

His response was quick and adamant. "No. No, I won't take money from them. Don't tell your dad, either, at least not until I have something else lined up."

She wanted to tell him that there was nothing to be embarrassed about, that she could ask her parents for money herself and that he wouldn't have to do it. But now probably wasn't the time to push for that.

"I'm gonna go to bed," he decided, turning to sulk up the stairs. He didn't even give her a kiss goodnight, which wasn't like Bellamy at all. And it was so early. Usually she fell asleep first.

She looked back into the kitchen, at the heaping bowl of spaghetti she'd made. She could eat a lot of that herself, but it looked like they'd have plenty of leftovers now.

That night, Clarke slipped into bed quietly, even though she suspected Bellamy wasn't asleep yet. He was usually a light snorer, but he wasn't snoring at all. She managed to nod off, but as per usual, she ended up waking up a couple hours later to use the bathroom. When she came back out, she stood in the bathroom doorway for a moment and just looked at him, wondering if he'd been able to get any sleep at all, or if he had incessant stressful thoughts just nagging away at him. She knew what it was like to lie awake at night with insomnia, unable to shut your mind off. She'd experienced it plenty of times.

Clarke got back into bed as carefully and quietly as she could, just in case he was sleeping lightly, and curled up on her side on her big, comfy pillow. Now she felt like she wasn't going to be able to fall back asleep, either. And even if she did, she'd probably just end up having a really bad, really vivid dream anyway.

Beside her, Bellamy moved around a bit, tugging some of the covers up, but still, there was no trademark light snore, so she assumed he was definitely still awake. "Am I keeping you up?" she asked him quietly.

"No," he said. "Can't sleep."

Just as she'd figured. Naturally. "You wanna borrow my pillow?" she offered.

"No, I think you'd better keep that."

Yeah, it probably wouldn't have worked the wonders for him that it often did for her. But she didn't really know what else to do for him.

Just turning over onto her back was a real struggle at this point, and she couldn't lie like that for long, because she started to feel woozy. So she managed to get onto her other side so she could face him. "We'll be okay, Bellamy," she said, concentrating on his eyes, because she could still see those well even in the dark bedroom.

"Yeah, I know," he said. "It's just . . ." He trailed off, hesitating for a few long, drawn-out seconds before he wondered out loud, "What if I'm never something great? What if I work crap jobs for the rest of my life? Are you gonna be okay with that?"

"Of course." That question was just as ridiculous as asking if she loved him. "But you'll find a job you love someday," she assured him. "And newsflash, you're already something great. You're a great guy. That's why I'm so in love with you."

He didn't crack a smile or do anything to indicate that that made him feel any better. He was down, down on himself because of what had happened. "Can you believe people used to think I'd end up in the NFL?" He snorted. "I wonder what they think of me now."

"Bellamy, everybody loves you," she reminded him. "Just not as much as I do." There wasn't one person she knew, besides her mom, who didn't think Bellamy was a totally amazing guy. And even her mom was finally starting to come around a bit.

Bellamy reached over, touching the back of her hand with his, and a few seconds later, he linked his fingers with hers. "You're, like, the best thing that's ever happened to me in my whole life, Clarke," he told her, sounding . . . tearful. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

She smiled at him through the darkness. "That's sweet. But you survived without me for five years."

"Yeah," he said. "And I don't ever wanna do it again."

Neither did she. She gave his hand a gentle squeeze and decided she'd stay awake until he finally managed to fall asleep.

...

Bellamy didn't waste any time the next day getting out there and looking for jobs. He looked around, asked around, and narrowed down his limited options. Some of the jobs just wouldn't be right for him. (Fast food? No, he still couldn't cook very well, so only if it was as last resort.) Other jobs would require more education than what he had. But there were a couple of openings up at the school, and one of them was for a para. He knew what paras did, because there had been paras who had helped him out in elementary school, back when he'd been reading three or four grade levels behind his peers. They worked with kids who needed extra help, and unfortunately, there was a lot of turnover.

It felt weird walking into the high school on a school day as a visitor. A couple people said hi to him, but he made a beeline for the office. Both of the secretaries who had been working there when he was in high school were still working there, and when he walked in, they laughed and made a joke that he'd been sent to the office again. Principal Sydney was dealing with a problem student, so he had to wait for her to come out of her office. She seemed surprised to see him, too, but when he told her why he was there, that surprise multiplied tenfold. She said they'd already conducted interviews and were in the process of making a final decision, but he begged her to give him an interview, too. And she finally gave in, rearranged one of her meetings for the day, and did just that.

As strange as it'd felt to walk into the high school as an adult rather than a student, it felt even stranger to be sitting in his old principal's office, given the fact that he'd done his fair time of sitting in there getting lectured. He wasn't a teenager anymore, though, and he wanted her to know that, so anytime he spoke, he tried to sound mature.

"I have to admit, Bellamy," Mrs. Sydney said, "I never thought someone like you would apply for this job."

Someone like me? he thought, wondering what that meant. "Well, my schedule opened up, and . . . you know, I had some of the best years of my life in this school," he said. "I'd love to come back."

She smiled, as if it made her proud that a former student would want to return as an adult. "Para-educators are the unsung heroes of our staff," she said. "You do realize that, right? They don't get paid nearly as much as they should, and most of the parents and people in this community have no idea how much work they put in with our special education kids."

"That . . . doesn't deter me," he said. Even if he didn't make the money he'd made working construction, it'd be enough to get by. He wanted her to feel like his motivation was more than money, though, so he told her, "I'm gonna have a kid of my own soon. Did you know that?"

"I did hear about that," she said. "Congratulations."

"Thanks," he said. "We're naming her Avery. She'll probably go to school here one day."

"Maybe she'll take after her mother."

"Let's hope." He loved the thought of Avery being a mini-Clarke.

Mrs. Sydney's smile started to fall a bit, and she leaned forward, setting her arms on her desk. "Listen, Bellamy, I have to be honest with you: When it comes to hiring former students, I try not to make a habit out of it. It's just that it can be hard to work with staff members who were once your elders."

"Well, they're still my elders," he pointed out. "I'm just old now, too."

"Oh, how old are you? Twenty-five?"

"Twenty-four," he corrected.

"That's hardly old," she said. "You could be doing anything with your life. Are you sure you wanna tie yourself down here?"

"Yeah. And I don't think I'd be tied down," he said. "I struggled in school; that's no secret. I had dyslexia. I mean, I guess I still do, but . . ." He trailed off, because even though Mrs. Sydney had always known about his reading disorder, he still didn't like talking about it. "My point is, I know what it's like for those kids who struggle," he said. "I know how frustrated they get. I know how hard it is for them. I can relate to them; I can help 'em out. And I can start right away. If you'll have me." He gave himself a mental pat on back for what he thought was a pretty good sell. He'd always been good at interviews. He had people skills and charm on his side.

"Let me think about it," the principal said. "I'll let you know soon, okay?"

"Okay." The both stood up, and he shook her hand and said, "Thanks, Mrs. Sydney." Despite having barely gotten any sleep last night, he felt pretty good about the way this had gone, so hopefully he'd be starting a brand new job later this week.

"You know," she said, "I think this is the only time you've been in my office without being in trouble."

He cracked a smile and laughed a little. Because it was true. Very true.

The halls were quiet, everyone in class when Bellamy left the office. He spotted some stuff in the trophy case that caught his eye, though, some of his trophies. Well, his team's trophies, to be more exact. But there was a picture of him and his coach, too, in a gold frame. It'd been taken after the semifinals game, back when everyone had assumed they were destined to become champions.

Bellamy walked towards the glass cases, gazing in at all the plaques that they'd won year after year for winning their district, all the trophies that had gotten progressively bigger with each year he'd been in high school. Even without the championship trophy, it all still did look pretty impressive. And there hadn't been any trophies since then, not even one district champ plaque.

Shoved down into the bottom right corner of the biggest case, not getting the attention it deserved, was the cheerleading squad's third place trophy from the state competition six years ago. There was a picture of the squad posed with their trophy in front of them, all of them decked out in their uniforms and way too much makeup. Clarke wasn't represented anywhere else in that trophy case, but there she was in that picture, looking so young, so pretty. Almost as pretty as she was nowadays.

Damn. High school had been good to them.

...

It was a pretty rare thing for chemistry class to be quiet, but Bellamy suspected the whole school had fallen silent to hear the names for prom candidates be read over the intercom.

"Zeke Shaw," Principal Sydney began. "Roger Hamilton. Nathan Miller."

"Nice." Bellamy gave his best friend a low high-five.

"And Bellamy Blake."

"Oh, good," Miller said, motioning to Zeke across the room. "It's nice to know we don't stand a chance."

"I'm not guaranteed to get it," Bellamy said, but his friends just shook their heads and scoffed at that.

"And now, your candidates for prom queen," Mrs. Sydney said. "Raven Reyes. Bree Barrett. Shannon Hightower. Clarke Griffin."

Bellamy smiled, wishing he was in class with her right now. He would have loved to see her reaction to being nominated as a sophomore. It wasn't very often that that happened.

"Congratulations to all of this year's nominees."

Everyone began talking, and their chemistry teacher didn't stand much of a chance at quieting them down. Some of the girls were complaining about not being nominated, or complaining about who was nominated, but everyone knew better than to say anything bad about Clarke around him. They were mainly pissed that Bree had been nominated since she'd already won homecoming queen. The guys, in contrast, didn't seem to care much about the nominations. They started hatching post-prom plans right away. Bellamy didn't really take part in the conversation, though. He didn't care what anyone else was going to be doing. Prom night, for him, was going to be all about his girlfriend.

In between classes, Bellamy took a detour into the sophomore hallway to find Clarke. She was at her locker, switching out her books and folders and whatever else good, diligent students brought with them to class. He snuck up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. "Well, if it isn't the prom queen."

"Oh, yeah, right," she said, shutting her locker and spinning around. "Raven's gonna win. Or Bree."

"Oh god, not Bree." He'd been there, done that. Literally. "I don't wanna dance with her."

"Do you have to dance with the prom queen?" she asked.

"If I get crowned king, yeah." It was tradition.

"Well, that's definitely gonna happen, so . . . hmm, maybe I'd better start a campaign," she mused. "Vote Clarke for prom queen. Defy the status quo."

At this point, he wasn't sure it was defying anything. Clarke probably didn't realize it, but people paid a lot of attention to her. It came with the territory of popularity. "You really didn't think you'd get nominated?" he asked her.

"No. I'm just a sophomore," she said. "Don't seniors usually win?"

"Well . . . I've won every year."

"Why am I not surprised?" She looped her arms around her neck and said, "No, I know why I'm nominated."

Because you're amazing, he thought. And talented. And beautiful. And people love you.

"It's because I'm your girlfriend," she said. "If it wasn't for that, I wouldn't be. And next year, when you're gone, I'll just fade back into obscurity."

"Obscurity?" he echoed. "Clarke, you're a cheerleader. There's nothing obscure about that."

"Yeah, but it won't be the same," she said.

He thought about next year, her going to prom with someone else while he was in Orlando, probably getting ready for the spring game. "No, it won't be," he agreed, surprised at how somber the thought made him.

The bell rang, and everyone left in the hallways went scurrying off to class. Clarke groaned, like she didn't want to go, and said, "Biology beckons. I'll see you at the lunch, though." She gave him a quick kiss, then darted off in the direction of her next class. He was in no hurry, so he just stood there, thinking some more about next year, about what it would be like without all of this. And without her.

...

Bellamy liked looking at that photo of Clarke and their cheerleading trophy a lot more than he liked looking at any of the trophies he'd earned. It probably seemed backwards, but it made sense to him. Clarke's accomplishments had only started back then. She'd gone on to graduate second in her class, to go to college with scholarships, and now she was going to graduate with a degree soon. But it was different for him. Everything in that trophy case commemorated the height of his success in life. UCF had never amounted to anything for him, and he'd never gone on to achieve everything people had assumed he would. Here he was now, unemployed and desperately searching for a job. So it actually kind of sucked to look at all those football trophies and think back to how he'd won them. Because it made him feel like he'd peaked in high school.

...

Clarke made sure to step outside so she could greet Bellamy before he walked in the house. She knew the fancy red car in the driveway was going to catch him off guard.

"Hey," she said, cupping his face to give him a kiss.

"Hey." His eyes lingered on that vehicle, and he arrived at the obvious conclusion. "So your dad's here."

"Yeah." She sort of cringed. "I didn't know he was coming; he kind of just showed up. He's on his way through town to go visit a friend in Cape Charles, so he thought he'd stop by." She really wished he would have given her a little more forewarning. Then she could have cleaned up around the house a bit.

"Great timing," Bellamy muttered.

She sighed, realizing it wasn't ideal. But she couldn't very well just tell her dad not to stop by. It happened so infrequently. "How'd it go today?" she asked him as they headed inside the house together.

"Fine," he answered. "I had an interview up at the school."

"The school?" That struck her as odd. Bellamy hadn't exactly ever been a huge fan of school, at least not anything other than the socializing aspect of it. "What are you applying for?" she asked him.

"A para," he replied with a nonchalant shrug. "We'll see how it goes."

"Yeah." Hopefully it went . . . somewhere. She hated seeing Bellamy so down on himself like this.

Bellamy looked out back, where her dad was standing on the beach with his bare feet in the ocean, and said, "I should probably go say hi to him, huh?" He crossed through the house, opened up the backdoor, and walked out onto the porch, calling Jake's name. Clarke decided to stay inside since it was a little chilly out there. Besides, she had to pee. Again.

On her way to the bathroom, her phone rang, so she headed back into the kitchen to get it. Octavia was calling, so she sat down at the counter and said, "Hey, Octavia."

"Hey. How's it going?"

"Oh . . . it's going." Clarke looked outside and watched as her dad and her boyfriend talked. About something. Maybe the weather. Maybe sports. Definitely not work.

"So my brother hasn't been answering his phone today," Octavia said. "I've been trying to reach him."

"Oh, yeah? Why's that?"

"Because . . ." Octavia's voice took on a different tone when she said, "I heard about what happened to him."

Clarke was really glad Bellamy was outside now, so that he wouldn't overhear any of this conversation. "How?" she asked his sister.

"Lincoln has some friends who work on that same construction crew. One of them got fired, one of them didn't," Octavia explained. "Lincoln heard that Bellamy got fired, too."

"Yeah, but keep it on the down-low, alright?" Clarke told her. "I'm sure he'll tell you and your mom at some point. He's just . . . he's kind of embarrassed right now."

"Yeah," Octavia said. "Well, let me know if he needs anything, alright?"

"Alright. Bye, Octavia."

"Bye."

Clarke ended the call, wondering who else knew at this point. It didn't take long for word to spread in a small town.

She was once again about to take her bathroom break when the door opened and in walked her dad again. Bellamy was the one standing on the beach now, kicking at the sand with his shoes, his hands stuffed in his pockets.

"He seems . . . down," her dad remarked.

"Well, what do you expect?" Nobody was in the greatest mood of all time after getting fired. "Look, Dad," she said, "you didn't tell him I told you, right?"

Her father shook his head. "No, of course not."

"Good. Because he really doesn't want people to know."

"I'm glad you told me. I'm your father. It's my job to help you out," he said, standing on the other side of the counter. He took his checkbook out of his pocket, grabbed a pen from the counter, and asked, "Now how much should I make this out for?"

"Just whatever you feel comfortable with." She'd be grateful for anything.

Her dad jotted down a three, followed by three zeroes.

"Oh, Dad . . . that's too much," she told him. She'd been expecting hundreds, not thousands. Maybe a thousand dollars at most.

"No, I want you to have this," he said as he wrote out the amount in words. "This should be enough to alleviate some stress for a while, give you time to focus on the baby."

Bellamy may have been too proud to protest it, but she wasn't. "Thank you," she said. It really would help to not have as much financial stress to worry about.

"And this monthly rent payment can stop," her dad decided. "You don't owe your mother and I any money for living here."

"No, I can still pay rent," she offered. It'd been one of the stipulations of her moving into the beach house in the first place, and she didn't want to flake on it.

"Nonsense," her dad said decisively. "I won't hear of it."

Well . . . that sounded final. And she had to admit, being able to save a couple hundred bucks each month wouldn't hurt. It wasn't like either one of her parents actually needed the money anyway.

The conversation came to an abrupt end, and Clarke had to grab her purse so she could hide the check in it when Bellamy came inside. "Hey, you know what I forgot about?" he said. "We're supposed to have dinner at my mom's tonight."

"Oh, that's right." She'd forgotten, too. Now that her father was there, that sort of complicated things. Because he'd probably want to have dinner with them, too. "Do you wanna come along, Dad?" she asked him.

"I'd love to," he said. "Haven't seen Aurora in years."

"Is that okay?" she asked Bellamy. Knowing his mom, she'd have plenty of food for all of them.

"Sure," he said. "The more the merrier."

In theory, she thought. But nothing about her boyfriend was very merry right now.

...

Bellamy knew he was being a lousy dinner guest. But he just couldn't muster it up to generate much conversation. Luckily, his mom and Clarke's dad did most of the talking. She asked him about Alyssa, and he raved about her. He was pretty open when it came to talking about the miscarriage, too. He said they both had good days and bad days and that Alyssa would have liked to be able to come along today, but she'd woken up and known it was a bad day, so she'd opted to stay home. Bellamy's mom also asked Jake a lot about his job—his six-figure income job—and he told her everything she wanted to know. Bellamy sat there feeling envious, not because he wanted to be an engineer—fuck no, that sounded way too complicated—but because he knew he'd never make as much money as Jake did. He'd never be able to afford the nicest cars or the nicest house. He'd never be that successful.

"Well, your job sounds too complicated for me, Jake," his mom said, folding her napkin atop her empty plate. "I'd better just stick to cleaning hotel rooms and sewing."

"Mom . . ." He hated the way that sounded, so self-deprecating.

"What? There's nothing wrong with that," she said. "I'm not ashamed of what I do."

"Of course not," Jake said. "You work hard. Long hours, on your feet all the time . . . I doubt I could do your job."

Clarke smiled at her and said, "He's easier to get along with than my mom, isn't he?"

"Well . . ." Aurora lowered her head and mumbled, "You said it, I didn't."

"Yeah, Abby can definitely be a little much," Jake agreed. He turned to Bellamy and asked, "How's she been treating you these days? Is she making things difficult?"

"Ah, she was, but . . . she's kinda come around." His current relationship status with Abby was probably the best it was gonna get, but at least it was tolerable for both of them.

"Yeah, it's been better," Clarke agreed. "Plus, now with her engagement, I'm hoping she'll be more blissful."

Jake laughed. "Your mom and blissful. Two words I just can't connect."

"Yeah, me, neither," Clarke said. She sat up straighter, stretched a bit, and groaned, "Oh . . ."

"You alright?" Bellamy asked her.

"Yeah, just achy. What else is new, right?" she said. Then she yawned and added, "Kinda tired, too."

I probably kept her up all night, Bellamy thought. These past couple months, it'd been the other way around.

"It is late," Jake said. "I should probably be on my way if I wanna make Cape Charles before it gets too late."

"Well, it was good to see you again, Jake," Bellamy's mom said, standing up to clear everyone's plates. "Thanks for joining us."

"Thanks for having me," he said.

Clarke didn't look like she felt like moving, so Bellamy said, "You want me to go get your stuff?"

"Yes, please." She smiled at him sweetly.

They'd dumped their coats and her purse in his bedroom, so he headed down the hall to go get it. He was pretty tired himself, so he kind of had to resist the urge to just flop down on his old bed and nod off. He probably could have.

When he grabbed Clarke's purse, he noticed that it was unzipped a bit, so he tried to zip it back up for her. But the damn zipper got jammed, so he unzipped it all the way and then tried to zip it again. As he was sliding it forward, he caught sight of something inside: a slip of paper. But not just any paper. A check. A loose check just floating around in her purse.

Curiosity got the best of him, and he pulled the check out of her purse. And for a second, his heart leapt, because . . . holy shit. Three-thousand dollars. But then his heart sank, because he saw the signature. Jake Griffin.

It wasn't just money she was carrying around. It was pity.