Page 8 of Passing Notes

Students milled about at their lockers, chatting and taking their time on their way to the buses or the parent pick-up area. I was in no rush; the sound of the kids drowned out the thoughts pounding around in my head.

Why couldn’t I get her out of my damn mind?

Seeing Clara was like having Pandora’s box blown wide open, my memories of her scattering across the forefront of my thoughts instead of staying where they belonged: packed up, neat, and put away somewhere hidden in the back of my mind.

The sun blinded me as I crossed the parking lot and I squinted against the glare, keeping my head low until I reached my truck. I tossed my messenger bag into the back and looked up.

She was parked in the same spot as this morning, hip resting against her car as she waited for Gracie. My mood veered away from the cloud of confused melancholy I’d been stuck in all day to anger. Why would she park here again? Right by my truck.

Was she taunting me?

“Hey, heartbreaker.” I tried to be impassive, to keep my simmering anger at bay. But a wry, twisted smile crossed my face despite my efforts, and gave me away.

Her eyes flared as her hip came off her car and she faced me, standing tall and just as angry as I was. “Heartbreaker? Really?” she sputtered in surprise. “You have some nerve, Nick.”

My eyebrows shot up. “I?—”

Her eyes flashed and her brow furrowed. “After all these years, that is what you choose to say to me? Heartbreaker?”

“I—”

“I have no patience left for men who don’t stick around and can’t keep their promises, so let’s pretend we don’t know each other, okay?” she hissed. “Kind of like the last fifteen or so years, right?”

I reared back, completely at a loss. “What are you talking about?”

“Hey, Mr. Easton, you look peeved. Did she shoot you down?”

I spun to find Gracie hobbling toward us on her crutches with a huge smirk on her face. “What? No.”

Had she heard?

She couldn’t have. Not when I’d barely heard Clara’s almost-inaudible whispers myself.

“Clara is not in a dating frame of mind right now. I’d steer clear if I were you?—”

As she spoke, I noticed her T-shirt was stained with partially dried-up food. My eyes narrowed as I interrupted her. “What happened to your shirt, Gracie?”

Clara rushed to her side. “Who did this? It looks like someone threw a few pudding cups at you. Is that chocolate?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Does Pindich know?” I prodded. “Did the cafeteria staff report it? If someone is bothering you, you can tell me, and I’ll help you. I hope you know that.” Even though Clara was still right there, I managed to turn my focus to Gracie.

“Thanks, I know. But I’m fine. Nothing happened. I got clumsy with a Snack Pack. It happens.”

“Pindich?” Clara butted in. “Who’s that? That name sounds familiar. What’s going to be done about this?” She gestured to Gracie in her pudding-covered shirt.

I already knew Pindich would do nothing. He was the type to engage as little as possible with the students and staff beyond making demands and acting like a self-important, pompous ass.

“He won’t do shit.” Gracie confirmed the thoughts I hadn’t said out loud. “Pudding bombing someone isn’t really something you can hide, right? Everyone in the cafeteria saw what happened. ‘Kids will be kids,’” she air-quoted, her voice rising in obvious frustration. “A little pudding is no big deal, right? Clara, can we go now? Please?”

“Of course.” Clara opened her door and took the crutches as Gracie folded herself inside.

Gracie’s voice was softer when she said, “To your house, please. Can I borrow some clothes? And maybe take a shower? I’m sticky.”

“What’s mine is yours. Anything you want.”

This situation wasn’t okay. “I’ll look into this, Gracie. No one deserves?—”

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