Honeysuckle Love (21 page)

Rebecca pushed open a stall door and dangled the wallet over the toilet.

“Stop!” Clara cried as she watched Rebecca drop the wallet. It splashed into the dirty toilet bowl.

“Let’s see. What else?” Rebecca asked.

Clara shook violently, an explosion hovering right on the edge of her skin, and she feared what she could do. She also welcomed it. It felt brave and sure and all of the things she usually wasn’t.

She wriggled out of one of the girl’s grasps and slapped her hard across the face. The friend howled in pain and backed away giving Clara the opportunity to pounce on Rebecca. And she did. She took her to the floor trying to wrestle her purse from Rebecca’s hands. Rebecca’s fingernails dug into her wrists, and she wrenched a hand free, wrapping it around Rebecca’s throat. She squeezed hard thinking she would kill her. She felt empowered for that second she saw terror in Rebecca’s eyes. It was short-lived, but it was glorious.

“Fucking bitch!” the other friend yelled grabbing Clara’s hair from behind. She pulled Clara backwards on to the tile floor. Clara cried out in pain and frustration. Her hands flew to her assailant’s trying to free her hair. Rebecca peeled herself off the floor, her face flushed with fury.

“I was just going to put your stupid wallet in the toilet, Clara!” Rebecca shouted. “But then you had to go and do that!”

Clara’s scalp screamed as the friend twisted her fingers harder in her hair. She jerked Clara’s head, forcing her to watch as Rebecca dropped her cell phone, sunglasses, car keys and lip gloss into the toilet bowl.

Rebecca threw Clara’s purse at her and bent low to address her. “I dare you to tell anyone about this. The principal. Your mom. Evan. You’d be wise to keep your fucking mouth shut.” Rebecca stood back up.

“She slapped me, Becky!” her friend said.

Rebecca looked annoyed. “Stand up, Clara.”

“Kiss my ass,” Clara said, then screamed when Rebecca’s friends hauled her off the floor.

Rebecca trapped Clara’s upper arm and addressed her friend Erin. “Well, here’s your chance. Hit her already.”

Erin slapped Clara across the face. It was so forceful that Clara saw white spots. She stood blinking trying to reorient herself to her surroundings, unaware that Rebecca had let go of her arm. Another swift slap but harder this time, and she grunted from the pain. Rebecca stood in front of Clara massaging her hand, looking satisfied and smug.

“Now you’ve paid up, bitch,” Rebecca said. She walked out of the bathroom with her friends following close behind.

Clara stood against the wall rubbing her offended cheek with one hand and her aching scalp with the other. She heard the door open again and tensed, balling her fists once more and readying herself for Round Two. She thought absurdly that she had lost the first round and needed to make up points in this one.

Florence rounded the corner and froze. “Clara?” She dropped her book bag and ran to Clara.

Clara relaxed and let Florence hug her then take an assessment of her.

“What happened to your cheek?” Florence asked.

“Nothing.”

“Bologna,” Florence said, and Clara winced at the word.

Bologna. Bologna sandwiches. That’s what got her into this mess to begin with. She wished she and Beatrice had never gone to that restaurant. Had never run into those girls. Had never engaged Rebecca in conversation forcing Beatrice to assault her with that fucking milkshake.

“Clara, tell me what’s going on,” Florence demanded.

Clara considered Florence. She thought she could trust her to keep a secret. Florence really didn’t talk to anyone at school except her anyway.

“Some girls were paying me back for something that happened,” Clara said. She walked into the stall and started the disgusting task of retrieving her personal belongings from the toilet.

“That’s all I get?” Florence asked. “That’s all you’re gonna tell me?” She watched Clara gingerly extract her dripping car keys and place them in the sink. “What the hell? Is your whole purse in there?”

“Just about,” Clara said, tossing her sunglasses and lip gloss in the trash.

“Clara,” Florence insisted.

“Florence, I will tell you,” Clara said patiently. “But you cannot tell anyone. And I mean it. If you so much as tell—”

“I won’t tell a soul!” Florence interrupted.

“Okay,” Clara said, then recounted the story at the burger restaurant and what just occurred in the bathroom while she cleaned her car keys, change, and license, ATM, and lunch cards with warm soapy water. She tossed her wallet and wrapped her ruined cell phone in a wad of paper towels. “I cannot believe I’m going to have to buy a new cell phone.”

“That’s what you’re upset about?” Florence asked, bewildered. “How about the fact that you were just assaulted?”

Clara shrugged.

“Clara, you can’t let those girls get away with that,” Florence insisted. She eyed Clara’s bright red cheek.

“Oh yes I can. And so will you. You promised, Florence,” Clara said sharply.

Florence sighed.

“It would be worse for me if I told, and you of all people should know that,” Clara said.

Florence bristled. “Yes, Clara. I know that nerds can’t stick up for themselves or it just comes back to bite them in the ass.”

“I didn’t mean to insinuate that you’re a nerd,” Clara said gently.

“Well, I am. And I don’t care. I was just thinking of you and how unjust it is. How unjust everything is,” Florence said. “I freaking hate high school.”

“Me too,” Clara said. She sighed as she dried her change with a paper towel.

“I won’t tell,” Florence said as she watched Clara gather her belongings. “But I hope you know that if Evan knew, he’d do something really awesome to defend your honor.”

“I don’t want him defending my honor,” Clara said wearily, opening the bathroom door for Florence.

“Clara, you’re a really smart girl and really stupid at the same time,” Florence said.

Clara thought she should be offended by the statement, but it made her smile instead. And then she winced when she smiled because her cheek still hurt.

“Who doesn’t want to be the princess that the handsome prince rescues?” Florence asked.

“I don’t know, Florence.”

Chapter 12

“The most wonderful thing has happened, Clara!” Beatrice squealed when Clara walked through the front door. Clara was tempted to ask if she was rehired by the ladies on Oak Tower Trail.

“Tell me,” Clara said heading to the kitchen for a glass of water.

“I auditioned for a solo in the school play, and I got it!” Beatrice danced around the kitchen clapping her hands.

“Bea, that’s awesome!” Clara said. She high-fived her sister. “So tell me all about it.”

“It’s a play that the third, fourth, and fifth graders are putting on at the end of this month. We’ve been practicing for a long time already, but they didn’t give out solos until today! It’s about celebrating different cultures, and oh, Clara!” Beatrice said dreamily. “I get to sing about Switzerland!”

Clara looked at her sister doubtfully. “Switzerland? Like skiing and hot chocolate?”

Beatrice noted her sister’s sarcasm. “No Clara. Their culture,” she said.

“Like skiing and hot chocolate?” Clara asked again. This time she grinned.

“Don’t make fun, Clara! I’m singing a lovely important song about the Swiss culture.”

Clara opened her mouth to reply.

“And it doesn’t have anything to do with skiing and hot chocolate!” Beatrice exclaimed.

Clara closed her mouth and smiled. “So what about your costume, Bea? Do you have to wear anything special?”

Beatrice was reluctant to reply.

“Bea?”

“Ski gear,” she mumbled.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Clara said, and went out to collect wood for their fire.

***

Ms. Debbie stared down Clara at dinner that night. Clara felt her eyes and tried to ignore them.

“I cannot believe this weather!” Ms. Debbie exclaimed. “November and you’d think it was January.” She looked at Clara expectantly.

“Will you pass the potatoes, Ms. Debbie?” Clara asked sweetly.

Ms. Debbie grabbed the bowl with her pudgy hand and shoved it under Clara’s nose.

“I’m wrapped in three blankets in my bed, and I’m as big as a house!” she said.

Beatrice stifled a giggle.

“It’s quite all right, Beatrice,” Ms. Debbie said. “You can laugh. We all know that I’m a large woman.” She turned back to Clara. “The point is that I’ve got enough blubber on me to keep me warm in forty-degree weather wearing a bathing suit!”

Clara tried to block out the mental image of Ms. Debbie in a bathing suit.

“And I’m snuggling under mounds of blankets because even
I’m
freezing,” she went on.

Clara scooped the potatoes on her plate and dug in.

“I can’t imagine what it’s like for people living out on the streets,” Ms. Debbie said. “Or in houses with no heat.”

Clara rolled her eyes and put down her fork.

“Ms. Debbie, we—”

“Had a deal,” Ms. Debbie finished.

“I like sleeping next to the fire,” Beatrice said. “It’s very romantic.”

“Beatrice, I’m sure it is not,” Ms. Debbie said flatly. She looked back at Clara. “So?”

“Ms. Debbie, you’re the one who came up with the plan. I don’t remember agreeing to it,” Clara said.

“Clara Greenwich!” Ms. Debbie huffed.

“I’m close to paying off the electric bill,” Clara lied. “But I told you that we would stay over if it got unbearable. It’s not unbearable yet.”

Ms. Debbie drummed her fingers on the table. “You are one stubborn child,” she concluded after a moment. “You get that from your mother, you know.”

Clara made a mental note of yet another bad trait she inherited from her mom. She sat through an hour listening to Ms. Debbie go on and on about the importance of heat when you live in a state where it snows. Clara tried hard to understand what snow had to do with it. Plenty of other places in the world without snow had cold seasons. She realized Ms. Debbie wasn’t trying to sound like an expert on anything. She just wanted to scare Clara into living with her. Clara knew Ms. Debbie’s persistence was fueled by love and concern, but she had all she could take.

“Bea, I’ll meet you at home in a minute,” Clara said after dinner as Beatrice opened the front door. She nodded and left. Clara waited a few moments before rounding on Ms. Debbie. “Did I inherit anything good from my mom?”

Ms. Debbie was taken aback. “What?”

“You heard me,” Clara said. “Bea’s telling me I’ve got no self-confidence. You’re telling me I’m stubborn. I just want to know if I inherited anything good.”

“Clara,” Ms. Debbie said gently. “What a thing to say.”

“And there’s my answer!” Clara yelled. She didn’t mean to yell. It just came out.

“What are you talking about?”

“You can’t think of anything to say! There’s nothing good here,” she said jabbing her thumb into her chest. Her anger grew, and she knew the longer she stayed the more likely it would be that she’d say something she would later regret.

“There’s plenty of good in you,” Ms. Debbie said. “You’re responsible and loyal. You have a caring heart. You work hard. You’re a very good role model for your sister, Clara. I only made the stubborn comment because I’m worried about you. Why do you keep trying to do everything on your own? You won’t even let me offer my shower to you and Beatrice.”

“You’re not my mother,” Clara spat. “You’re not my grandmother. Stop acting like you are.”

“Clara, I’m not going to let you talk to me like that in my own house,” Ms. Debbie said. “I know I’m not your mother. If I were your mother, I would have never left you. And if I were your grandmother, I’d spank you for being so disrespectful.”

Clara’s eyes went wide. “Ms. Debbie. You wouldn’t.”

“I would. I’d paddle you until you couldn’t sit down.”

Clara stared at her neighbor, the image of being spanked at seventeen playing over in her mind until she giggled.

“Oh, that’s funny?” Ms. Debbie asked.

“No,” Clara replied, but she giggled anyway.

Ms. Debbie cracked a smile.

“I guess I deserve to get spanked,” Clara admitted. She burst out laughing.

Ms. Debbie laughed too. “Help me wash these dishes, honey,” she said in between chuckles, and Clara followed her into the kitchen.

“I don’t know how to ask for help,” Clara admitted after several minutes of contented silence where the women stood at the sink washing and drying dinner plates, pots and pans.

“All right. Then how about I ask you questions and you answer?” Ms. Debbie offered.

Clara nodded.

“Are you too cold at night?”

“Not yet.”

“Will you tell me when you are?” Ms. Debbie asked.