I know I can't take one more step towards you
'Cause all that's waiting is regret
Clare's words reverberated into the soaking wet night. "I was never enough for you, was I?" Never enough. Never enough for you. No, no. Never enough.
Fitz seemed not to have any audible answer.
And don't you know, I'm not your ghost anymore?
A teacher patrolling the halls spied Clare, Mark and Eli at a standoff in the hallway. Absolutely appalled, she dragged them by the ear to Principal Simpson's office, who incidentally, couldn't have been more shocked.
The Fitzgerald boy, that one came as no surprise.
But the new student, Elijah Goldsworthy? Though seemingly a bit odd, he made the honor roll each semester and gave no reason for Simpson to keep too much of an eye on him. Until now. Which was surprising, considering the way Elijah had been able to stay under the radar for the past months of the new school year.
But Clare Edwards? Deliberately missing her midterm exam? That came as quite the shock. Only vaguely was Clare able to register his astonishment.
After asking for the other two to wait outside, Simpson spoke to her alone.
"Clare," he spoke clearly, genuinely confused. So much so that he barely seemed angry. "What is going on?"
Clare's eyes remained distant and watery, though she promised herself she was done with all the tears. Forcing herself to respond with at least some small shred of dignity, she only shrugged. "I couldn't take it today, Mr. Simpson."
"Excuse me?" he sputtered. Never would he have guessed such a response.
"I can't do it anymore," Clare sniffled into her hand, breaking her promise. Again and again she felt the waves crash into her chest. The tide pulling her in, taking her under. How could she be expected to take a ridiculous exam on European monarchs in history when it felt as if her stomach were about to heave up the sorry remnants of her shattered heart?
She was no longer talking about the test—if she ever had been—but something more entirely, Simpson was sure.
"I just can't do it anymore, Mr. Simpson."
He looked at her with sympathetic eyes. She knew he was remembering. In his mind's eye, watching her grow up all over again. Watching her take her first steps down these high school halls. Remembering the way he knew it before when it happened with Darcy. Then, he let him assure himself it was nothing. But now he wouldn't stand for it.
"What's going on, Clare?"
"I—" She struggled for words, only somehow managing to finish her tale. When she finally did, Simpson only nodded, his eyes wide with concern and something like understanding.
"I think it's time you go home. We'll talk about this later."
You lost the love I loved the most
Nervously, Clare exited Simpson's office, head bent down, unsure if she could face him again. But Fitz was nowhere to be seen. Typical. Clare knew she should have known. Perverse and pathetically, she speculated whether or not she was glad he fled. Whether or not she was happy to be rid of him. If such a feeling were even possible after everything. Because surely this meant that it was over.
But Clare could not have been more wrong.
Their story was far from done.
Who do you think you are running round leaving scars?
Collecting your jar of hearts?
Tearing Love apart?