Honeysuckle Love (37 page)

“How can someone who has no rhythm play an instrument?” Clara asked.

“Oh, it’s just with dancing,” Evan said, pulling her close to his chest. “But we
will
dance to the slow ones,” he cooed. “Because I want to feel you close to me.”

“I can’t dance, though,” Clara said into his shoulder.

“Just follow my horrible lead,” he whispered into her ear, and she giggled.

He pulled away from her and took her hand, leading her to the dance floor.

“Are you seeing this?” a girl asked as Clara walked by.

She heard giggles coming from some of the popular girls and tried hard to ignore them. She let Evan pull her close again and moved her body when he did, swaying ever so gently to the music. She wondered if making love to him would be like this, soft, slow and sensual. She was ready to do it tonight, knowing it would purge the memory of that dark January night from her mind forever. She wanted another memory, a good one, in place of it.

She concentrated on his arms around her, holding her firmly, hands splayed on her lower back pressing her into him. She relaxed in his embrace, nuzzled his neck and listened to him hum the melody of the song in his own tune. She chuckled, and he knew why.

“You don’t want me to hum?” he asked.

“You can hum,” she replied, and felt him kiss the top of her head.

“Excuse me,” she heard from behind her.

She broke away from Evan and turned around to see Rebecca standing in front of her, flanked by the same girls who assaulted her in the bathroom. Amy was a little distance away looking on.

“What the hell do you think you’re wearing?” Rebecca asked.

“Go away, Rebecca,” Evan demanded.

“Evan, I thought you had more class than this,” Rebecca sneered.

Clara’s heartbeat sped up. The girls were looking for a fight, it seemed, and she was the target.

“What the hell are you doing in that dress?” Rebecca repeated.

“Leave, Becky! Now!” Evan hissed. He grabbed Clara’s hand.

“‘Becky’? I don’t fucking think so. That was last year, Evan, when you were a friend. You sure as hell aren’t anymore. How the hell could you choose this poor white trash over Amy? And then you bring her to prom wearing Amy’s old dress from last year? Can we say, ‘Super tacky’?” Rebecca said.

Clara felt her skin burn. She couldn’t comprehend the words. She thought she heard them, but she didn’t understand what they meant. She looked down at her dress, and Rebecca saw.

“Amy donated that thing to a consignment shop for poor people,” Rebecca smirked. “The poor people shop where you bought your secondhand dress. The one your boyfriend didn’t bother to tell you about.” Her face lit up with a new realization. “Well, now, hold up,” she said. “Maybe Evan
did
know about the dress and wanted to humiliate you in front of everyone tonight.”

A small group was gathering around Evan and Clara to listen to the exchange. Clara looked over at Amy whose arms were folded neatly over her chest. She smiled sweetly at Clara.

“You must feel really super awkward right now, huh?” Rebecca asked. “I mean, thinking Evan really liked you and all.”

“Come on, Clara,” Evan said, shooting Rebecca a hateful look and yanking Clara’s hand. She stood frozen like a statue.

“The same exact dress,” Rebecca said laughing. She wouldn’t let it go. “You know how we all know? It’s a custom dress. No other one like it. So I know you didn’t pick it up at some bullshit store like Sears or something. I can’t even believe that Evan would bring you here in his ex-girlfriend’s dress. Didn’t I tell you a really nasty joke was coming your way? You should have listened to me, you little cunt!”

“Shut the fuck up, Rebecca!” Evan yelled. He turned to Clara. “Let’s go, Clara,” but Clara couldn’t move. She felt the floor spinning out of control, the leering faces of mean girls bearing down on her, bared teeth ready to sink into her. She heard their voices, a chorus of vicious words coming at her from all directions. They jabbed their fingers at her.

“Amy looked so much prettier in that dress!”

“What a complete idiot!”

“Who do you think you are? You’ll never be Amy!”

“You’re so desperate to be popular. It’s pathetic!”

“Loser!”

“He meant to embarrass you!”

Clara winced at the words, closing her eyes to them as her only shield. But her heart lay wide open, unprotected, absorbing the blows, bleeding out her humiliation and hurt.

Rebecca was addressing the growing crowd. “Do you see what she’s wearing, people? Amy’s old dress! How tacky!”

The boys shrugged and walked off. They didn’t really understand. But the girls did, and they were ready to torture Clara for it. They continued their verbal assault, laughing at her cowering form as she finally let Evan lead her out of the dance hall, head hanging low and shamefully, and into his car.

She shook in the passenger seat, her right hand clutching the door handle for some form of control. Evan drove in silence, seething with rage at Rebecca, terrified that Clara actually believed her. He was desperate to put distance between them and the prom, and pressed harder on the gas.

“Stop the car,” Clara said suddenly.

He didn’t.

“Stop the car!”

Evan pulled on to a deserted stretch of road. There were street lamps but it was still terribly dark. Clara exited the car, and he followed. She walked a few yards ahead and then stopped. She didn’t turn around.

“How could you do this to me?” she whispered. She choked back the tears.

“Clara, I . . .” but there were no words because he knew whatever he said would not make it right. He feared it would never be right again.

“You knew about my dress,” she said turning to face him. His heart stopped beating when he looked at her. He was sure of it. He could see her pain, and it made him sick to his stomach. The tears poured down her face.

He didn’t reply.

“You knew about my dress!” she screamed and she came at him, tight fists beating his chest as he stood there knowing he deserved to take it, wincing at every blow.

“I HATE YOU!” she cried into the blackness of the night.

He put his arms around her and she pushed back.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” she seethed. “You humiliated me. Did you mean to do it? Did you mean to make me look like an idiot in front of everyone?”

“God no! Clara, please!” he pleaded. “I didn’t know. I wasn’t sure about the dress. I didn’t know what to do. I messed up.”

“You didn’t know what to do?!” she screamed. “You fucking tell me I’m wearing your ex-girlfriend’s old dress, that’s what you do!”

“Do you understand what an impossible situation that was for me?!” he asked. “I tell you, you’re humiliated. I don’t tell you, you’re humiliated. I lose either way! You’d never want to see me again.”

“Oh my God!” she yelled. “So you take me to prom to be humiliated in front of dozens of people instead of letting me be embarrassed in the privacy of my own home?”

“I wanted to take you to prom,” he said lamely. “I . . . I wanted more time with you.”

She couldn’t comprehend the words.

“You are SELFISH!” she screamed.

She turned away from him, letting herself sink into the sobbing—low, mournful sounds that made her chest hurt.

She wanted to pay him back, to make him hurt as much as he hurt her. What could she do, say to make him cry as she cried? And then the memory flashed in her mind.

“I fucked someone.” She wheeled around to face him.

He stood there momentarily confused.

“That’s right. I fucked someone.” She let out a quiet moan.

“What are you talking about?” Evan said, bewildered.

“I needed money. So I fucked a man for it.”

She watched his face twist from shock to grief to anger. Fury.

“I needed to pay the property tax. I needed money.” Clara trembled as she revealed her betrayal.

“And you want to scream at me about humiliating you at a goddamn prom?” he asked quietly.

“Oh, that’s right. Go ahead and feel better about yourself. Now that you know I cheated on you,” she spat. “Now that you know I’m a whore. I did what I had to do to survive.”

Evan’s anger exploded. “Why didn’t you just fuck me, Clara? I would have given you the money.”

She stumbled backwards as though the words were an actual physical blow.

He couldn’t believe he said them. He didn’t mean them, could never mean them. He wanted to apologize immediately, but he couldn’t.

She took a deep breath. “I wanted to tell you,” she said quietly. “Not like this. I wanted to tell you and apologize to you. I’m ashamed of what I did. I tried to push it down. To forget it happened.” She looked at him, her face streaming with fresh tears. “But I don’t want to apologize to you anymore. I’m not sorry for it. And I’m glad I never gave myself to you. I can’t believe I was going to let you do it tonight.”

Evan stared at her wondering if she could see the tears at the corners of his eyes.

“I’ll never give myself to you,” she whispered.

He searched for a cruel and crushing reply. “I don’t want you, Clara.”

She looked at him for a half moment, then turned her back on him and started walking.

“You can’t walk home, Clara,” Evan said. It was emotionless, like he didn’t really care either way. He was stunned into indifference.

She continued walking into the darkness of the night. He stood and watched her train drag down the dirty road, fading farther and farther away. He snapped out of the indifference and ran after her.

“You can’t walk home,” he said angrily, catching up to her and grabbing her hand. He pulled her along forcefully to his car. She dug in her heels, resistant, screaming at him to let go. He yanked open the passenger door and shoved her in then slammed it closed. She opened it and tried to get out.

“Stay in the motherfucking car, Clara!” he shouted inches from her face, and she did not recognize him.

He slammed the door again, and she cowered back into her seat afraid of him. She watched him walk around the front of the car, her body jumping at the sound of his door opening. He climbed in and started the ignition.

They drove in silence except for the sounds of Clara’s soft cries. When he pulled into her driveway, she stumbled out, walking like a drunkard to her front door. She didn’t look behind her but heard him pull out on to the street and drive off into the night.

Chapter 23

Her mother made her get up.
Get up get up get up
, she heard from the muted, grainy distance. The words irritated her like a fly that buzzes about the head, and she wanted to swat at it. The covers were thrown back, her body pulled up to a sitting position, a face shoved into hers.

“I know you’re hurting, Clara,” her mother said gently.

She felt arms go around her. She thought she should like the feel of them, but in that moment they felt like a trap, and she wriggled helplessly, frantically, until her mother let go.

“I’ve made an appointment for you to see someone,” her mother said. “A doctor.”

Clara didn’t understand what Ellen was saying. She thought she was sick, but she didn’t have a sore throat. Her head didn’t hurt. She wasn’t running a fever. And then she thought that maybe it wasn’t her body. It was her brain. Coughing up ludicrous ideas, suggesting that she run away and hide under rocks. But she needed to make some minor adjustments first.

Oh Clara
, her brain said.
You’re too big to hide under a rock. But maybe we can turn you into a bug. Would you like that? You could be a ladybug because you’re so pretty and ladybugs are pretty, and then you can hide under a rock for as long as you like. Would you like that?

“Yes, I’d like that,” Clara replied to her brain.

“Good,” her mother said. There was relief evident in her voice. “Her name is Dr. Morton, and she’s very nice.”

“Huh?” Clara asked.

Ellen looked at her daughter patiently.

“Clara, get dressed for school.”

***

She walked down the hallway sweating profusely. She was sure it showed right through her shirt. The hallway swayed just slightly, and she put her arm out for balance.

They can’t see you if you can’t see them
, her brain said, and she bent her head as low as she could.

“Apparently they broke up,” she heard someone say.

“Just as well. That was such a weird relationship anyway,” was the reply.

“What did he ever see in her?”

Clara walked faster. She bumped into someone as she rounded the corner for health class.

“Watch it,” he growled.

She drew in her breath and entered the classroom. She walked to her seat, shaking violently. She heard voices coming from behind her.

“Amy was mortified,” a girl said. “Just mortified that Evan would do that to her. I mean, her dress. Taking another girl to prom in her special dress.”