He’s been lecturing for about twenty minutes now, and I haven’t done a single thing I’ve fantasized about doing during the twenty minutes I’ve been in his class. I’ve wanted to scream at him, call him an adulterer, tell the entire class about his affair with my mother, hack the intercom system to tell the whole school.
But I haven’t done any of those things, and I’m proud of myself for it. I’ve remained extremely calm and composed, and as long as I keep my eyes off him, I think I might be able to make it through the entire class and escape without a confrontation.
Seventeen looks good on me. I’m practically an adult now, thank God, because I can’t rely on my mother to raise me anymore.
Lexie: Efren is growing on me. I’ll have my first Friday off since we’ve been talking and he just asked if I wanted to go on a date.
I smile when I get her text.
Me: What’d you say to him?
Lexie: I told him no.
Me: Why?
Lexie: Kidding. I actually said yes. I’m shocked. He’s so short. But he’s kind of mean to me, so it makes up for all the many things he lacks.
She’s the pickiest person I know when it comes to guys. I’m honestly very surprised she agreed to go out with him. Relieved, but surprised.
I start to type out a text to her when Jonah says, “Clara, please put your phone away.”
My chest heaves at the sound of his voice. It makes my skin crawl. “I’ll put it away when I’m finished with my text.”
I hear a couple of people gasp in the room, like I just cussed at him or something. I continue typing my response to Lexie.
I need to ask administration if I can switch classes. There’s no way I can look at Jonah for the rest of the year. I don’t want to be in the same room as him, the same house as him, the same town as him, the same world as him.
“Clara.” He says my name with a gentleness, almost as if it’s a plea not to make a scene. He can’t allow me to text when no one else is allowed to have their phones out. I understand his awkward predicament, not wanting to call me out but being forced to. I should feel bad, but I don’t. I kind of like that he’s uncomfortable right now. He deserves a dose of how I’ve felt since I saw his hands pawing at my mother while his tongue was in her throat.
God, I can’t get it out of my head no matter how hard I try.
I lift my eyes and look at him for the first time since walking into his classroom. Jonah is standing at the front of his desk, leaning against it, his feet crossed at the ankles. He’s in teacher mode. Normally I would respect that, but right now, all I see when I look at him is the man who cheated on my aunt Jenny. With my mother.
When he nods his head toward my phone with a pleading expression, silently asking me to put it away again, all I see is red. I grip my phone in my right hand, and I hurl it toward the trash can near the classroom door. My phone crashes against the wall and falls to the floor in pieces.
I can’t believe I just did that.
Apparently, no one else in the class can believe it either. There’s a collective gasp. I think one of those gasps is mine.
Jonah stands up straighter and walks to the classroom door. He opens it and points out into the hallway. I snatch up my backpack and push myself out of the desk. I march to the door, more than ready to leave this room. I glare at him as I pass through the doorway. I’m sure he’s about to walk me to the office, so it doesn’t surprise me when he closes the door to his classroom and follows me.
“Clara, stop.”
I don’t. I’m not listening to him. Or my mother. I’m done listening to the remaining adults in my life. I feel it might be counterproductive to my mental health.
I feel Jonah’s hand grip my upper arm, and the fact that he’s trying to stop me and have a conversation with me infuriates me. I yank myself from his grip and spin around. I don’t know what’s about to come out of my mouth, but I can