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“Excuse me?”

It wasn’t fair. I had never, in my entire life, said that word in front of an adult. Especially one who held so much power over me. I was in major trouble.

“Mrs. Kinder, oh my God. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to say that. I wasn’t cussing at you. I was cussing at the situation,” I said. I decided my best hope of evading punishment was to bring on the tears. “It’s just been awful!” I cried. “I’m getting picked on, and I’m tired, and there’s sand everywhere!”

Mrs. Kinder’s face relaxed.

“You have every right to be mad, and I should get in trouble, I should! But I’m begging you. Please don’t call my parents! I’ll do morning detention all year if you don’t call my parents!”

I sniffed and wiped my nose with the back of my hand like a four-year-old. It was so pitiful, and I wasn’t even pretending anymore. I pulled the handkerchief out of my pocket and cried into it.

“Honey, it’s okay. And you won’t have to clean up the sand. Calm yourself down and take a seat.”

The hitching in my chest made it impossible to answer, so I nodded and sat down. Right then the office door swung open, and Mr. Connelly walked in. Of course he walked in. Because I was sitting in the office, crying, holding his used handkerchief.

“Cadence? You okay?” he asked.

“Seriously?” I whispered. “Do you have to be in here right now?” I wouldn’t look at his face.

“Yes,” he replied. “I needed to check my mail. I’m sorry if that bothers you.”

“It doesn’t,” I snapped, then took off one shoe and started wiping it out with his handkerchief.

“Hmmm,” he said, watching me.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I replied, looking up at him, waving the handkerchief in his face. “Does this bother you? ‘Cause I’ve been trying to give it back to you, and you won’t take it, so I figured I’d just use it however the hell I want to.” I only cussed then because Mrs. Kinder had gone into the back office to call a janitor. I continued cleaning out my shoe.

Mr. Connelly squatted beside me. “You can use my handkerchief however the hell you want to,” he said softly.

The breath caught in my throat.
Breath, Cadence
. But I couldn’t remember how.

“Now, will you tell me why you’re wiping sand out of your shoes?” he asked.

“Sand in my locker,” I choked out. “It—” I took a long, satisfying gulp of air. “—poured out when I opened the door.”

“Hmmm.”

Just then, Mrs. Kinder came back into the room and called me to the counter.

“Cadence, this is your new lock,” she said, handing it to me. “Here’s the combination. I suggest you learn it immediately and then throw this paper away.”

Twenty-six, 17, 2. Twenty-six, 17, 2
. “I’ve already got it,” I said. “And please shred it.” I turned to leave then stopped and faced Mrs. Kinder once more. “Thank you,” I whispered.

She smiled and nodded.

I left the office without acknowledging Mr. Connelly and returned to my locker. Kenny, the janitor, was already vacuuming the sand from the floor. He turned off the vacuum when I approached.

“Didn’t wanna vacuum your locker ‘til you got your books out. Didn’t wanna touch your stuff,” he said.

“Oh, nothing in my locker is important. If you wanna destroy my textbooks, I wouldn’t care. You can steal them if you like,” I offered.

He chuckled. “Been a long time since I was in high school. And it was bad enough the first time. I don’t need your books to remind me.”

I laughed. I liked Kenny. He was an older gentleman in his mid-sixties with gray hair and a large belly who had worked at Crestview High ever since I started. He was kind to all the students, and most were kind back.

“Do you mind vacuuming out my shoes?” I asked, piling the last of my books on the floor.

Kenny finished cleaning my history textbook before moving on to my shoes. I took one off at a time, standing on one foot then the other so that my bare feet never touched the dirty hallway floor. Kenny was even nice enough to run the vacuum hose over my bare soles, sucking up the last of the obstinate grains stuck to my skin.

“Thanks, Kenny,” I said, shoving my books back in my locker.

“Not a problem, Cadence,” he replied. “I’m sorry this happened to you.”

I shrugged. “Well, I guess I shouldn’t have landed in juvie. Then it’d be a nonissue.”

“Doesn’t matter what happened in the past. Kids shouldn’t be doing this to you,” he said.

“It’s okay. I’ve got a new lock,” I said, holding it up and wiggling my eyebrows.

“Good girl,” and then he said goodbye, pulling the industrial-size vacuum behind him.

***

I was surprised when Oliver slid into the bench beside me. The bus driver yelled for everyone to hurry and sit down. We were behind schedule already.

“Any better today?” Oliver asked.

“What? My day?”

Oliver nodded. I snorted.

“Just peachy,” I said.

“What happened?”

“Well, Gracie wouldn’t sit beside me at lunch, and then after lunch, I opened my locker and a bunch of sand poured out everywhere,” I said.

“How’s that? You’ve got a lock,” Oliver replied.

“Apparently a bad one,” I said. “Or a kid who works in the office is tipping someone off.”

Oliver sighed. “Why don’t we just run away?”

I chuckled. “You and me? We’d kill each other. And anyway, what’s got you wanting to pack a bag and leave town?”

“Like I’d tell you,” he muttered.

“Well, you already have in a sense. You alluded to it.”

Oliver sighed again.

“Okay. Quit sighing and just tell me,” I demanded.

“I thought Kim wasn’t dating Daniel anymore,” he said softly.

“Ohhh.” I shifted in my seat. “Well, if it’s a rumor you heard, then you know it’s not true. Rumors seldom are.”

“They aren’t?”

“Am I a whore?” I asked.

“I don’t know. Are you?” Oliver asked, and grinned.

I punched his arm. “You’re such a butthead.”

He laughed and shook his head. “I really like her.”

“I know you do. You’ve liked her for two very long years.”

“Daniel’s such a tool,” Oliver muttered, balling his hands into fists.

“Yes, he is.” I didn’t know Daniel at all, but I agreed with my brother because he was hurting. If he had said that Kim was a stupid bitch, I would have agreed with that, too.

“When do you think you’ll be able to drive, Cay?” Oliver asked. “This bus thing sucks.”

“I’m trying, Oliver. I really am. Can’t you tell how hard I’ve been working?”

Oliver nodded. “What’s the deal with Mom and Dad?”

“It’s called brutal punishment,” I replied.

“Yeah, but wasn’t that what juvie was for?”

“That was the state’s punishment. Not Mom and Dad’s,” I clarified.

Oliver sighed. Again.

“You’re never getting your car back.”

I draped my arm over his shoulder. “Oh, sure I will,” I said airily. “Probably when I graduate.”

He snorted. “You’re totally ruining my life.”

I stood at the doors to the sanctuary holding a stack of programs. I wore a blue and white striped dress with ballet flats. My hair fell over my shoulder in a thick side braid, and my eyes sported no make-up except for a bit of mascara. I was going for an innocent look. I tried not to sweat on the programs, but my palms were clammy. This was the ultimate form of punishment—saying “hello” to every church member as they passed by me with suspicious or pitying looks. Now I understood why Dad gave me this job. He wanted to remind me that I was being judged, that our church had not forgiven me for my transgressions, and that I had a lot of work to do to reclaim that “good girl” status.

“Good morning, Ms. Warren,” I said sweetly, extending a program.

“Cadence,” she said, and snatched the paper from my hand.

“Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Sunder.”

“Nice to see you, Cadence,” Mrs. Sunder replied. It was kind but reserved.

“Good morning, Mr. Connelly.”

What?

“Hi, Cadence,” Mr. Connelly replied.

“You go to church?” I asked. I’d never seen him before.

He smiled patiently and ignored my question. “This is my mother, Naomi.”

“I’m the one who goes to church, dear,” she said. Her eyes twinkled, and I thought she was up to something.

“Oh. Hi, Mrs. Connelly,” I replied.

“I dragged Mark here today,” she said, nudging me. “Like church is so scary, right?”

I forced a smile. Right now for me, it actually was.

“And I have an ulterior motive,” she went on.

“Mom . . .”

Mrs. Connelly ignored her son. “This church is pretty large, huh?”

I nodded.

“And filled with beautiful women who love the Lord.”

“Mom . . .”

“I’m playing matchmaker,” she said, looking me up and down. She grabbed my arm and pulled me close. “Mark’s been in a dating slump for about—”

“Mother!”

Mrs. Connelly looked up at her son, her eyes suddenly soft and sad. “Honey, I don’t mean to be insensitive.”

“Please stop,” Mr. Connelly said through gritted teeth. His body was tensed to the max, and I was dying to know what Mrs. Connelly was going to say before he interrupted her.

She turned back to me and looked me over once more. Apparently she liked what she saw because she smiled her approval and said, “What are your plans after church, dear? Care to have lunch with us?”

My eyes nearly bugged out of my head.

“Mom, Cadence is one of my students.”

“Oh my!” Mrs. Connelly cried. She grabbed the program I automatically extended. “I swear girls don’t look their ages anymore. Cadence, dear, I’m so sorry.”

I opened my mouth then closed it. And then I opened my mouth again and closed it again. I looked like a fish trying to breathe.

Mrs. Connelly cleared her throat. “So what grade are you in?”

“Twelfth,” I replied. I thought I looked very much like a senior. Mrs. Connelly ought to see some of the girls in my class. They looked like they were in their late twenties.

“A senior,” she said. “Good for you. Do you know where you’ll be going to college?”

She was only asking me these questions because she was embarrassed after discovering I was an inappropriate match for her son.

“I’m waiting to hear back from a few,” I replied. We stood awkwardly before Mr. Connelly addressed his mother.

“We should go in now.” He placed his hand on his mother’s elbow and steered her into the sanctuary.

I watched them meander through the crowd to some available seats. Beside my parents! Dad shook Mr. Connelly’s hand and pointed to the seat next to him. Mr. Connelly nodded and left it open. My seat. Right in between my father and my very cute, very off-limits math teacher.

I wanted to die.

As soon as I heard the music start, I knew it was time to go in. I placed the rest of the programs on a nearby table and tentatively walked inside the sanctuary. I slipped into our usual row and tried my hardest not to look at Mr. Connelly. But it was impossible, and when I did glimpse him, I saw a tiny smile playing on his lips. What was that? I rolled my eyes and directed my attention to the large screen on stage that highlighted the words to the current song.

Ours was your typical big ass non-denominational church complete with Starbucks-toting attendees, a church band that liked to play U2 hits before the service, and a pastor who always wore jeans. He did more teaching than preaching, which I liked very much, never having been the type of girl who enjoys being yelled at or sweated on.

The church was more an auditorium than a classic sanctuary, and there were no pews. Just rows and rows of cushioned chairs. No hymnals. No cross up front. No pulpit. None of the traditional “churchy” things. We rarely took communion. And many people dressed inappropriately, at least according to my mom. She went livid the first time she saw a teenage girl walk in wearing sweatpants with the word “Juicy” plastered on her butt.