Page 69 of Tell Me Softly
“It’s home stuff. And I don’t really want to talk about it right now.” I felt so guilty. He was the one who ought to have been upset these days: it was the anniversary of the time his father gotcaught cheating on his mother with mine. I should have been there forhim, not him for me. But I couldn’t help it because it had been a terrible time for me too.
“Hey,” he said after we had changed the subject and talked a while about our biology project on sexuality. “I won’t be in class tomorrow. I’m not sure if I can see you this weekend, either.”
I nodded but didn’t look him in the face until he grabbed my chin and forced my face upward.
“Stop blaming yourself, please,” he insisted, pressing his forehead into mine. “Are you going to be OK?”
“Taylor, how can you be the one asking me if I’m OK?”
He almost scowled. “Kami, do you not understand that I care about you? That there’s probably nothing else I care about more? What can I do to get you to grasp that?”
I shook my head. “It doesn’t matter. Forget it.” I felt sad, and I tried to make myself angry to cover up that sorrow. “I need to go,” I said, and stood up.
Taylor watched me, unsure what was going on with me. I wasn’t sure myself. I knew he didn’t deserve that. Not with that generous heart of his: it almost seemed he had forgotten what my mother had done, what running my mouth about it had done to his family. But him being so sweet to me––there was something about it I couldn’t take just then! It only made me feel worse.
I stopped, bent over, and kissed him on the lips.
“I love you…and I’m sorry.” I walked out. And everyone in the cafeteria watched me go. Everyone waited for something to happen. Because…
Kamila Hamilton was no longer a cheerleader.
Kamila Hamilton no longer hung out with the cool kids.
Kamila Hamilton no longer drove a convertible to school.
And Kamila Hamilton was no longer the girl everyone wanted to be.
***
That afternoon, on the way to the library—after a few hours I’d actually had to myself now that I’d quit the team—I wished I could skip detention and just go home.
It was Thursday, and having to see Thiago the three days before had been torture. Everyone sitting in that room seemed to have something to say to me, some reproach—even Julian because I’d been avoiding him since the day we watched that movie together. He hadn’t done anything wrong, but there was just too much on my mind.
I sat at my usual desk and noticed that Thiago was looking sad. Very sad. His downcast eyes were like a knife to my heart.
It’s your fault he’s like this. Everything is your fault.
I looked down at the white piece of paper in front of me.
I looked down and started to draw.
I barely realized it as I traced a line here, a line there, cross-hatched shadows, retouched the features until they were perfect. I’d had that image in my head a long time. The four of them looking at the camera, smiling, happy, calm before everything went to shit.
I spent all two hours of detention working on that portrait. And when I finally allowed myself to look at it, simply to look at it and take it in… My God. I could feel the tears come to my eyes, and two seconds later, a shadow fell over the drawing and over me.
I looked up and saw Thiago standing there.
I saw something in him––pain at first, I thought, pain so deep that only someone who had lived through what he’d lived through could understand it. But then rage eclipsed it, covering him like armor that kept me from seeing his heart.
He grabbed the picture and balled it up cruelly. His stare seemed to dare me to say something. And he announced,“Detention’s over.”
I didn’t respond. I just stood, ignored everyone’s glances, and walked out.
Taylor ran up behind me shouting, “Kami!”
I only stopped because I knew he didn’t deserve to be ignored.
“What happened? What was that all about?”
