Good (30 page)

And that’s what hurt the most.

***

Mark: I thought we could actually go out this Friday night.

Me: (No answer.)

Mark: What do you think?

Me: (No answer.)

Mark: Cadence? Are you busy at the moment?

Me: (No answer.)

Mark: Are you sleeping? I know it’s late. I’m sorry to text so late.

Me: (No answer.)

Mark: Well, sweet dreams.

I stared at the screen, watching it blur and then come into focus when I blinked my eyes. The tears streamed continuously, one right after the other for a whole hour until I cried myself to sleep. And I didn’t dream sweet dreams.

***

I faked being sick the next day. The one good thing about being a girl was using my period as an excuse to get out of unpleasant situations. I didn’t want to go to church. I didn’t want to see Mr. Connelly. It annoyed me that he even attended. He didn’t believe in God. Well, that’s not true. He did believe in God. He didn’t believe in Jesus. Okay, that’s not quite true either. He believed that Jesus existed and was a good man, but he didn’t believe he was the Son of God. Whatever. The point is that our church was all about Jesus, so why would he even go? I guess to make his mother happy. It really pissed me off that a man who was so kind and sweet to his mother could be such an asshole to other women. Did she know her son was an asshole? Maybe I should tell her.

“Honey? I really don’t like when you miss church,” Dad said in my doorway.

I had the heating pad on my stomach with my knees pulled up to my chest. I was burning up, but if I was going to get out of church, I had to be convincing. I even put on the I’m-on-my-freaking-period-so-leave-me-the-hell-alone attitude.

“I don’t feel good!” I snapped.

“What’s wrong?” Dad asked.

I turned my face in his direction.

“I’m on my period, okay Dad?” I barked. “I’m cramping really badly and would like to be left alone!”

And that was all I needed to say. Dad nodded and left without another word, closing the door softly and shushing Oliver, who was in the hallway complaining about fairness.

“Yeah?” I shouted. “It’s not fair that I have to be a woman and go through this crap every month!”

I thought that was a nice touch.

I didn’t hear any more voices in the hallway. I did hear my family pile into Dad’s SUV and pull out of the driveway, and I immediately turned off the heating pad and flung it on the floor. I breathed deeply, lying on my bed spread eagled to cool down. I was sweating, my hairline beaded and underarms soaked.

Just then my phone beeped. I grabbed it from the nightstand.

Mark: Cadence? Will I see you today at church?

I debated replying. The mature woman in me said not to because I would end up typing something I’d regret, but the immature seventeen-year-old said to let him have it.

Me: No.

Mark: Oh. That’s disappointing. I was hoping to see you today.

Me: Why?

Mark: ?

Me: I mean, I just figured your new girlfriend would keep you company.

There was a brief pause. I thought he might not respond at all.

Mark: What are you talking about?

Me: I’m talking about the woman you were on a date with last night.

Another pause.

Me: That’s right. I was there last night. I saw you.

Mark: It’s not what you think, Cadence.

I could actually
hear
the condescension through the text.

Me: Don’t “Cadence” me. It was a flat-out date. I’m not a freaking idiot. But you’re an asshole!

Mark: Why don’t we talk instead of text?

Me: Go to hell.

Mark: Cadence? Will you please let me call you?

Me: Fuck. You.

Mark: Real mature.

Me: Don’t talk to me about—

My phone rang, automatically switching the screen to the caller, and since I was in the middle of typing, I accidentally answered.

“Cadence?”

“What?” I screamed.

“Please don’t hang up,” Mark said.

“I think you’re the biggest piece of shit on the planet! I can’t believe I ever trusted you! You’ve been dating girls behind my back this entire time! I knew there was a reason you didn’t wanna see me this weekend!”

I waited for his response. He took his time.

“Her name is Tiffany,” he said.

“I don’t give a shit!”

“She works with my mom, and without my knowledge, Mom set us up on a date. Once she told me, it was too late to back out. I would have looked like a jerk.”

“Why didn’t you tell your mom you were already dating someone?” I snapped.

“What do you want me to say, Cadence?” Mark asked. “You want me to tell my mom I’m dating one of my students who isn’t even a legal adult yet?”

I gasped. “You’re ashamed of me!”

“Cadence, I’m not ashamed of you. I’m practical. You knew from the beginning that we had to keep this a secret. At least until we’re finished with school.”

The rational side of my brain knew he was right, but the emotional side was hurt. And angry.

“You looked at her breasts!” I yelled.

“What?”

“I watched you look at her breasts after you made her laugh!”

“Are you for real right now?” Mark asked.

“Yeah, I’m ‘for real’ right now,” I spat. “And don’t try to deny it.”

“I won’t.”

I gasped again.

“I’m a 28-year-old man. I look at breasts. It’s biological. Sorry if that makes you mad.”

I wanted to come through the phone and strangle him.

“I’m not letting you touch mine anymore,” I hissed.

Mark snorted. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

“Actually, no. I’m not,” I snapped.

“Cadence? I think maybe we should talk later when you’ve calmed down.”

He might as well have said, “Let’s talk later when you’re not being an irrational, emotional female.” My anger escalated to fury.

“I
am
calmed down. I’m just fine, thank you very much. I was merely letting you know that you can forget about touching me intimately from now on because you don’t respect me enough to keep your eyes off other women,” I said.

Mark sighed. “All right, Cadence.”

I wasn’t expecting him to say that. I was expecting him to argue with me, to beg me to allow him to touch me. I’m seventeen. I wanted groveling, damnit!

“Maybe we shouldn’t be doing this anymore!” I screamed. “Maybe we shouldn’t be together!”

I held my breath, waiting for his response.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he replied, then hung up.

***

I doodled in my notebook while Mr. Connelly explained something about limits. I never looked at him once, and while I feared class time would be tricky and awkward, I discovered it was surprisingly boring. I didn’t expect him to beg for forgiveness in front of the entire class, and he didn’t expect me to make a scene. We were both wise. I felt very mature in that moment, having gained a massive amount of perspective the previous night. I had called Avery to ask her a few questions.

“Does Gavin look at other girls?” I asked.

“All the time. Why?” Avery replied.

“Doesn’t it make you jealous?” I asked.

“No.”

“That’s impossible, Avery. Not even a little?” I asked.

“Cadence, men look at other women. Their brains are designed that way. That’s how God made them. And there’s nothing wrong with it as long as they’re being faithful,” she said.

“Well, how do you know Gavin is faithful to you?” I asked.

“Because he’s a terrible liar. I would know in a second if he weren’t,” Avery replied. She paused for a moment. “Is Mystery Man taking a look at the menu?”

I grunted. “Just one item.”

“So why do you care? Does he want to be with that one item or with you?”

“I think with me,” I replied.

“Okay then. Stop being so insecure. He’s only doing what comes naturally.”

I shrugged. “I think that’s a lousy excuse.”

Avery huffed. “No. What’s lousy is berating men all the time for looking at women. Who gives a shit? If he loves you, he loves you. Case closed.”

I grunted. We had yet to exchange “I love you’s.”

“Does Mystery Man make you feel special?”

“Yes.”

“Does he make you feel beautiful and wanted?”

“Yes.”

“Then get over yourself. He’s probably already in love with you, and you’re worried about some woman who doesn’t even matter.”

“How are you so wise at eighteen?” I asked. I meant to be a little teasing, but she answered seriously.

“I read a lot of
Cosmo
and erotica,” Avery replied. “And the Bible. I read that, too.”

“Don’t be disrespectful,” I said.

“I’m not,” Avery huffed. “I
do
read the Bible, you little cunt. I just finished Galatians last night.”

I grinned, thinking about Avery using the words “Bible” and “cunt” in the same sentence when I was jolted back to the present by Mr. Connelly’s voice.

“Hmm?” I asked.

“I said that I’d like you to come to the board and work this problem,” Mr. Connelly replied.

I tensed immediately. He couldn’t be serious. He’d never before told a student to come to the white board. He always asked, never wanting to put a student on the spot. He thought it was a terrible practice. That’s what he told me. That’s what he told everybody in this room. I remembered. It was during the first week of school.

I shook my head.

“I didn’t ask, Cadence. And you need some practice anyway,” Mr. Connelly said.

Why was he doing this? Was he really so mad about our conversation yesterday? I’d gained perspective, and I was going to tell him that, but he didn’t give me the chance.

“I don’t understand it,” I said, gripping the sides of my desk.

“I’ll walk you through it,” Mr. Connelly replied. He handed me his dry erase marker. “Come on.”

I slid out of my seat and walked to the board because that’s what you do. When a teacher tells you to do something, you do it. You don’t complain. You don’t argue. I already did that once and was yelled at because of it.

“Everyone, pay attention to Cadence, please,” Mr. Connelly said. He glanced at me briefly, and I know he could see the panic written all over my face. “All eyes on her.”

I stared ahead at the board. I had no idea what I was looking at. A bunch of numbers and lines and weird symbols that I was supposed to know. And letters. The dry erase marker was slick in my hand, and I thought it would slip out if I tried to write. I looked at Mr. Connelly expectantly.

“There’s no reason you can’t begin this problem, Cadence,” Mr. Connelly said. “The beginning isn’t even the hard part.”

I heard rustling behind me, like students shifting uneasily in their seats. The class knew that Mr. Connelly was picking on me. And they didn’t like it.

“Well?” Mr. Connelly asked.

“I don’t know,” I whispered.

“Um, Mr. Connelly? Maybe I could help Cadence?”

I turned around to see Jacob standing by his desk.

Jacob. He’d had a crush on me since seventh grade.

“Sit down, Jacob,” Mr. Connelly ordered. “Cadence needs to learn how to do this on her own.”

“I don’t know how to do it,” I repeated. My voice shook. My body shook. It was all over in a matter of seconds. I could feel it.

“What’s the limit, Cadence?” Mr. Connelly asked. “The limit. We’ve been reviewing it all year. Perhaps you need to pay more attention in class.”

I brought the marker to the board and wrote a number three.

“I’m not even sure what that means,” Mr. Connelly replied.

I erased the “3” and wrote a number five.

“Try again,” he sneered.

I erased the “5” and wrote a number I couldn’t even say out loud. All the way across the white board from left to right, and in the end, it was about 45 digits long.

I’d reached my limit.

Mr. Connelly glared at me before saying, “You come to tutoring twice a week, Cadence. That’s an extra four hours each week of instructional time. So why can’t you solve this problem like your classmates can?”

My eyes welled instantly. I placed the marker on the white board tray and walked to my desk. I saw the tears plop on to my open notebook. I closed it, gathered my books, and walked out of the room. I closed the door quietly, making sure it was shut securely before letting out a racking sob. I’d never been so humiliated in my life, not even when I stood in front of the judge for my sentencing. This was far worse because Mr. Connelly was supposed to care about me.