Damaged: A Violated Trust (Secrets) (15 page)

Unfortunately it’s not isolated enough to keep me from seeing Harris’s table. And I’d have to be blind not to see that it looks like he and Emery are getting back together again. I’m sure that makes Emery very happy. Now she’ll have an escort for homecoming. I hurry to wolf down my burger, quickly escaping outside, where I almost feel like I can breathe again. Will this ever get any easier?

I don’t know what to do or where to go. Mostly I’d like to go home, climb into bed, and just sleep. Sleep seems my only escape. But since I have art next, I head over to the art room. Hopefully, no one will be there and I can hide for a while. But I’m barely in the room when Ms. Flores calls out hello from her office.

“Oh, hi,” I call back. “Do you mind that I came early?”

She smiles. “Not at all.”

I just nod, making my way to my art locker, where I retrieve my current project and carry it to the far back table. Then I go to the front of the class to gather my supplies, and Ms. Flores comes out of her office.

“I can’t help but notice that you seem sad, Haley.” She looks closely at me. “I mean, compared to when you first came here. You seemed happier then, more confident. Is something troubling you?”

I don’t know how to respond. I’m not used to a teacher being this tuned in. Most of them seem to want to get the job done and get out. But Ms. Flores seems like she really cares. “I, uh, I guess I’ve had some boy troubles.”

“Oh.” She nods. “Well, that can be a bummer. I’m sorry.”

Tears come to my eyes now and I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s just her sympathy that’s getting to me. “Yeah — ” My voice breaks. “I’m kind of having a hard time with it.”

“Like I said, I’m a good listener.”

“Thanks.” I use my hands to wipe the tears that are streaking down. “It’s just that, uh, I don’t think I can talk about it right now.” I glance at the clock, seeing that it’s only ten minutes until class. “I mean without falling apart.”

“Well, whenever you’re ready, Haley, I’m here.”

“Thanks.”

I feel like a drowning person who’s just been thrown a life preserver — and I know I should grab it. But I just can’t. Something in me just can’t say the words out loud. It would sound so ugly and nasty and disgusting. How will I ever be able to speak those horrid words to anyone? And what will happen when I do?

I go back to my table and begin to work, hoping I can lose myself in the painting. A break would be nice. But as the other kids trickle in, Poppie and Zach relocate themselves to my table.

“Why are you sitting back here?” I demand.

“Why are you?” Poppie shoots back.

“Maybe I just want to be alone.”

“That’s not very social.” Zach pulls out a chair and makes himself comfortable.

I just shake my head. “Whatever.”

“Hey, that’s looking good,” Poppie tells me.

“Thanks,” I mutter.

Zach points to where I’m working on the truck’s license plate. “Really nice detail there, Haley. You look like you’ve done this before.”

I just shrug. “Thanks.”

“See, we’re not so bad.” Zach sets up his own tools.

“Have you decided what you’re going to demonstrate yet?” Poppie asks me.

“Huh?” I look up, confused. “Demonstrate?”

“At the fall art fair. Remember you volunteered? That means you get to demonstrate one of the medias. I’m going to do acrylics and Zach is doing block printing.”

“You could do watercolors,” Zach tells me.

“Or pottery,” Poppie says. “No one’s signed up for that yet.”

“But maybe she’s not into pottery,” Zach says, almost like I’m not there.

“As a matter of fact, I am into pottery,” I inform them.

“Are you any good?” Zach asks.

“I’m okay.”

So now Zach goes up and tells Ms. Flores that I’m a potter, and the next thing I know I’m signed up to demonstrate pottery making on the wheel. “The art fair is two weeks away,” Ms. Flores tells the class. “And I’d like to have some of your work ready to be displayed a few days before the show, so if you have pieces that need matting or framing or whatever, please make sure you plan ahead for how you’ll handle that.”

Then she comes over to where I’m sitting and places a hand on my shoulder. “Haley, do you have any finished pottery pieces you can bring for the show?”

I look up from my painting. “I, uh, I didn’t bring anything when I moved down here to live with my dad. I suppose I could ask my mom to send some to me, but she might not —”

“I have a better idea. Why don’t you come in here after school and make a few pieces? I assume you’re comfortable throwing pots, right?”

I nod, without admitting I was considered one of the best potters in my old school.

“Great.” She smiles. “The sooner you get on it, the better the chances your pieces will be glazed and fired in time for the show. Want to come in this afternoon to get started?”

I shrug. “I guess.”

“Perfect.” She gives my shoulder a squeeze, then goes across the room to help another student.

I’m still trying to figure out how I got roped into this, but, strangely enough, I don’t really mind. Maybe it will be a distraction to my troubles. I continue painting, vaguely listening as Poppie and Zach chat and banter about this and that, nothing that interests me too much. But to my surprise I’m disappointed when the bell rings. I think this is the first time I’ve come close to enjoying myself since that horrible night with Harris. I suppose it should give me hope.

But I’m on my way to my next class when I see something that turns my stomach upside down. I’m just coming around the corner of the senior locker bay when I spy the back of Harris. In his arms is Emery and they are kissing.

Hoping no one sees me, I spin around and go the opposite direction. I duck into the restroom, head straight for the stall, and cannot decide whether I’m going to cry or hurl. As it turns out, I do both. I stay in there several minutes until I hear the bell ring, then dash out and hurry to PE, knowing that if I get ready and in line before roll call, I won’t be marked tardy.

At the end of the day, I feel exhausted again. All I want to do is go home and go to bed and sleep and sleep. But I remember my promise to Ms. Flores and for some reason that matters to me. So, feeling like zombie girl, I trudge back to the art department.

...[CHAPTER 14].................

“O
h, I’m so glad you’re here,” Ms. Flores tells me as I enter the art room. “I was hoping you wouldn’t forget. I wanted to show you around the pottery room before I go to a staff meeting.” Then she gives me a fast tour and I assure her that it’s not much different than my old school, and she heads off to her meeting.

I’ve just sliced off a slab of clay and am vigorously wedging it, slamming it down again and again, far more than necessary since I know any air bubbles are long gone by now, but it feels good to whack it down on the block.

“Sounds like someone’s getting her aggressions out in here.”

I look up to see Zach watching me from the doorway. Without saying anything I pick up the lump of clay and begin slapping it into a large ball.

“Not that I blame you. I’d be mad too.”

“Mad about what?” I push a strand of hair from my eyes as I study him.

With his woodblock and a carving tool in hand, he comes over to a workbench, pulls out a stool, and sits down. “Mad about the way Harris treated you.”

I just shrug and continue smoothing out the ball of clay.

“I’m curious about how much you know about Harris …”

This sounds like a leading question and, although I hate giving him the satisfaction of my curiosity, I can’t help myself. “What do you mean?” I slam the ball of clay onto the wheel —
bull’s-eye.

“Well, you obviously know about Harris and Emery.”

I roll my eyes at him as I turn on the wheel, then dip my hands into water and hold them over the clay.

“I mean their history, Haley. Do you know anything about the history between those two?”

I shrug, keeping my eyes on the clay as I pull it taller.

“They’ve been a couple on and off for several years. They go together happily for a fairly long period of time — then bam, they break up. And shortly after they break up, Harris takes out another girl.”

I glance up at him as I dip my hands in water again.

“Harris stays with the new girl a couple of days or maybe even a couple of weeks, but eventually, he and Emery get back together again.”

I frown as I push my thumbs into the cylinder of clay, gently pulling the side out, widening it into a bowl.

“It’s a pattern. And from what I hear, it’s a twisted, sick pattern.”

I remove my hands from the clay and study him. “What do you hear?”

“Just that Harris gets what he wants from the other girl and when he’s done with her, he goes back to Emery.”

I look back down at the clay and wish I’d never asked. I put my hands back onto the clay now, but they’re trembling and I go off center and, just like that, what was becoming a nice bowl turns into a deformed, ugly mess.

Kind of like my life.

To my relief, Zach says nothing as I grab the wire and cut the mess off of the wheel, then wad it into a ball, which I feel like hurling at Zach.

“I’m not telling you this to hurt you, Haley. Most of the girls in school know not to get involved with Harris during these mini-breakups; it never turns out well for them.”

“Oh …” I try not to allow any emotion into my voice as I scrape the wheel clean of clay. “So I must look like the Mitchell High village idiot now.”

I give the wheel a quick scrub with a damp sponge, toss the tools back in the toolbox, then walk out. Maybe Zach means well, but his words feel like salt in my wound. If I wanted more pain, I’d go bang my head against the wall.

On my way home, I think about what Zach was telling me. I also think about the warning letter I received and about Emery’s words, telling me she would eventually get Harris back. Obviously, she knew what she was talking about. A few questions rumble through my mind. If Harris really likes Emery, like he seems to, why does he break up with her like that? And why was he so attracted to me? And was nothing he said to me true?

Mostly I wonder, does he feel any guilt or responsibility over what happened to me? And if not, why not?

……….

The following day, I do better in the art room after school. I manage to throw a decent pot and two fairly nice bowls, and Ms. Flores seems pleased.

“These are very good, Haley. Thanks for hanging in there and getting it done.”

“Yeah … I just couldn’t get it together yesterday.”

“Zach told me why you left.”

I blink, then turn away.

“Like I said, I’m a good listener. If you feel the need to talk, I’m always around after school.”

I just nod as I wash my hands, carefully scrubbing them clean.

“I hate to be pushy, but sometimes it helps to get things out into the open. Sometimes in the light of day, problems don’t seem so bad.”

“Thanks.” I turn and force a smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.” Then I grab my sweatshirt and hurry out of there.

For some reason, I think this woman could break me. Her sincere blue eyes and easy smile are tempting. But at the same time I’m worried that if I actually open my mouth to talk about what happened, it will come spewing out of me in the worst sort of way — and it will be repugnant and sickening and poison to anyone who’s forced to hear it.

Before I leave the building, I rush into the women’s restroom for a quick stop, and as I’m coming out of the stall, I’m shocked to see Emery entering the bathroom. She looks almost as shocked to see me as I am to see her. But she quickly recovers.

“Hello, Haley,” she says politely.

“Hey,” I say quietly.

She’s standing in front of the door and, short of plowing her down, there’s no easy way out. “How are you doing?”

I shrug, looking down at my shoes, which are splattered with clay mud. “I’m okay.”

“You probably won’t believe me, but I’m sorry you got caught in the middle of things with Harris and me. I’m sorry you got hurt.”

Something in me snaps. “I got
hurt?
Do you have any idea
how
I got hurt?”

She gives me a blank look. “What do you mean?”

“You’re right, I did get hurt. Harris hurt me deeply. I don’t even know how he can live with himself after what he did to me. For that matter, I don’t know how you can live with him.”

“I warned you, Haley. I told you he’d eventually come back to me. I wish you would’ve listened.”

Now I’m angry. I step closer, looking directly into her pretty face. “Do you understand who Harris is? Do you know what he did to me?”

She sighs. “I know he used you. I don’t like it when he does that. But I do understand.”

“You
know
what Harris did to me? And you
understand?”
What sort of horrible person is she? The same kind of monster as Harris?