“I had to use the bathroom after first period. I’m sure you understand.” I raise an eyebrow. “Women troubles.”
“Mr. Roberts already called the office. Said you didn’t show. That’s another mark.”
I roll my eyes. “Thanks for the update.”
“Always an attitude.”
“Mrs. Marsh, Diane is always running late, so I had to catch the bus. What do you expect me to do when she’s the adult in the household?”
“Then I need to speak with her about making other arrangements.”
“Fine.”
“Come with me.” Her tone brooks no argument.
Reluctantly I follow her into the lion’s den. She lifts up the receiver at her desk, ready to dial. “What’s her number?”
“You’re calling her now?”
“Of course.” She frowns at me over heavy spectacles that rest on the bridge of her nose. “Is she too busy to care about you flunking out of high school?”
“She’s at work.” I sigh. “I figured her number would be on speed dial by now.”
“If I can reach her, maybe she’ll pay more attention to getting you here on time, when I interrupt her day.” Lowering her voice, she allows a touch of humanity to cut through. “Elizabeth, you are smart, with so much potential. I want to see you apply yourself. Go to college. Principal Mitchum said you haven’t applied to any schools.”
“I can’t afford it.”
“Scholarships,” Marsh suggests, “or student loans.”
“Who would give me a scholarship? I’m practically failing. And I don’t want to acquire crippling student loan debt; no, thanks.”
“I know you can do better.”
“It’s too late. I’m a lost cause.”
“Elizabeth, you’re seventeen. You have your whole life ahead of you.”
I’m too tired to argue, and nausea replaces the frustration in my chest. I can feel bile rising, and I don’t want to be sick in the school office. The stress of my situation keeps becoming more real. It’s like I’m standing outside my body looking in, a silent intruder into this conversation.
“What’s Justin going to do after high school?” Justin Pence is my boyfriend of a year, and his plans are as disconcerting as mine. Whereas mine are pretty standard—get a job and hope to swing being on my own—he has delusions of grandeur that involve moving cross-country and becoming the next Tony Hawk.
“Still up for debate.” I swallow hard.
“Well, he’s got his looks to fall back on.” She attempts a smile, which makes her look constipated. Justin’s insanely handsome, in a California surfer kind of way. He has longish blond hair, green eyes, and a face that is devilishly attractive, reminiscent of male models straight out of a Calvin Klein ad. It doesn’t hurt that he is six three and built not from the gym but from hours spent working at a scrap-metal yard.
Just thinking of him leaving me for another life, a better life, sucks the air right out of me. He’s my rock, and if it weren’t for him, I’d be a sunken ship instead of treading water with this clusterfuck I call my life.
Shoving a hand over my mouth, I sit forward in the chair, resting my hands on my knees.
Marsh’s beady eyes express concern. “Are you okay?” She pushes a trash can near me. “Are you sick?” Out of the corner of my eye, I see a well-dressed woman pausing in the doorway. I see perfectly coiffed brown hair and assume she must be a goddamn PTA president, so I don’t bother making eye contact.
It’s also the same point I lose the contents of my sugary breakfast. Admittedly, the cookies were better going down than they were coming up.
“Can I help you?” I hear Marsh say with an air of dignified authority.
“I just found what I’m looking for.”
The voice.
It’s her voice.
Scared to make eye contact with the source, I shut my eyes, praying she’ll disappear. I don’t want to see the remnants in the trash can or the woman standing in the school office.
What the hell’s Charlotte doing at my high school?
And more importantly, How did she find me?
I told her I went to an entirely different high school.
Not only that, I gave her a completely bogus story.
“Are you okay?” A tissue is pushed into my outstretched fingers. After wiping a hand across my mouth and blowing my nose, I nod.
Eyes watering, I boldly meet her dazed expression. She darts her head between Marsh and me like it’s on a swivel.
Alarmed, I grip the tattered backpack lying on the floor between my legs tighter in my hands as she whispers, “Elle.”
Now it’s Marsh’s turn to be caught off guard. I can’t say I don’t enjoy the surprise in her dry voice, since she is rather nosy.
This interruption takes the attention off my embarrassing display of public puking.
“You two know each other?” Marsh intones.
Charlotte’s face relaxes into a smile, relief palpable on her face. I’m unfamiliar with the emotion because I’ve never seen Diane show anything but disdain for me.
Grumbling, I look up at Marsh. “This is my aunt.”
“Since when do you have an aunt in town?”
“It’s Diane’s sister. Aunt Charlotte.”
“Her?” She turns her nose up. “They don’t look anything alike.”
“Half.” I smirk, adding, “Guess it’s clear who got the better gene pool.”
“She seems young.” Marsh taps a gnarly finger to her lumpy chin.
“Uh . . .” Charlotte’s stumped, unable to form a complete sentence. She’s not a very good actress. I assumed she’d be better at lying, considering what she’s been able to twist into truth, especially on the witness stand.
“Half,” I say again. “Diane’s at work, so she brought my lunch.” I leave out the fact that I’ve never seen Diane bring home a paycheck from her job, and Charlotte actually has one, from what I’ve dug up on her.
“I forgot money for lunch.” I then turn to Charlotte. “You brought it, right?”
All she can do is nod as Marsh quips, “I hope it’s ginger ale and saltines.”
Charlotte takes a hesitant step toward me. “Are you okay?”
“No. I feel like I’m coming down with something.”
“You better go home.” Marsh has seen students use every trick in the book to cut class, but even she has her limits when it comes to dislodging the contents of your stomach in front of her. “Do you want to wait in the car while I speak to her about your attendance?”
Shaking my head, I moan, “No.”
“Then I’ll say the same thing I’ve already said to you.” Marsh pushes her glasses up her nose, her eyes enlarging behind the gigantic frames. “Please pass along to Diane that if she”—Marsh gives a stern nod in my direction—“continues to be late, she won’t graduate on time. Better yet, I have a letter for Diane to read and sign.”
Charlotte looks between us. Baffled, she says nothing.
“This can’t keep happening,” Marsh sniffs. “The importance of her being in class and on time is . . .”