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Even though I’d never intentionally do anything to make him mad, I feel like all his attention should be mine.
But he’s barely acknowledged me since he started teaching the class. I don’t know what I did wrong. When he tutored me, it was always super friendly.
We talked about stuff that had nothing to do with math. I told him the music I like, my obsession with anime and musicals, the computer games I play, and that Moby Dick is one of my favorite books and one day I’d love to learn to sail or have my own boat where you could sleep out on the water.
Now, he doesn’t praise me, doesn’t go out of his way to talk to me, hardly even looks at me. Then what made it worse was when I got up the courage to give him an invitation to my party, he looked down at the little purple piece of paper, looked at me and just said:
“Sorry. I’m busy.” And walked away.
Gut. Shot.
Did I really think a teacher would come to a student’s eighteenth birthday party? Maybe not, but I thought it would bring back the old Mason. The one that’s helped me through, making sure I was up to speed with the calculus class at a new school, making sure I didn’t screw up my scholarship to Almont Central, where I’m going to start in the fall.
It’s my turn to figure out my life. As long as I keep my grades up and my scholarship in place, I’m ready for what’s next.
What I didn’t count on, was this tug in my gut when I think of moving away.
Not from my mom. Not from Cherry Falls. I barely know the town. I don’t get attached to people or places much.
But, I didn’t count on Mason Thomas. The clutch in my gut wins and a sob closes my throat as I double over, Bo Burnum still talking on his Netflix special ready to launch into his next song on the TV, letting my microphone hairbrush drop to the floor at my feet.
I’m eighteen and no one came to my party…
The buzzing in my ears is interrupted by the thump thump of a loud radio or something outside, and I turn to the window to see Greg Gordon’s huge red truck pulling up out front. I don’t know him very well, but his truck is one of a kind. What I do know is he’s dating Angela Reese, who is in my grade and looks like some perfect Instagram influencer. She’s the ultimate Heather; Teflon, perfect and mean.
That doesn’t bother me, though, I’ve met lots of Heather’s in my time. What bothers me is the day he pulled into the GameStop parking lot when I was walking car and nearly ran right into me, then proceeded to try to get me to get in his truck and go for a ride.
I declined of course.
So, to entice me? LOL, he opened his car door, grabbed his crotch and told me what I was going to miss out on. It was creepy, sure, but there was an evil edge to him that turned up my defense mechanism and my inner honey badger came out and gave him a verbal thrashing.
Not only is he older, from the gossip farm I hear he’s also on probation or parole or something.
Anyway, ever since then, Greg has been telling everyone who’ll listen that I came onto him and that he laughed in my face.
I swallow hard, smoothing my hair down, wondering what I should do. Looking out the window, I see Greg and Angela, and another guy I don’t recognize, and two other girls. One of them I recognize, she’s another of the Heather-esque popular list at school, the other I don’t recall seeing but all of them are heading up the walkway. I glance down, suddenly rethinking my outfit of mom jeans and an oversized Nirvana t-shirt, along with my trusty Doc Martens’ black Mary-Janes.
I run to the kitchen and turn on the music on my phone, clicking Bo off on the TV as I pass and trying to act casual. Maybe kids just don’t show up to parties until later?
There’s a knock on the door, my gut twists, then I hear Angela’s voice.
“Helllloooo?” she sing-songs as I hear mumbles from the others while I hide in the kitchen, counting to five as my pulse rate triples.
Don’t look too eager. Hold. Hold. Hold…okay, go.
“Hey.” I come around the corner, opening the door, acting casual. “Sorry, I was in the backyard…had some other friends here, they had to leave for a store run but they’ll be back.”
I should say get the fuck out. But, I don’t. Gah, high school is just so confusing.
Greg looks around and I see the beer and another bag. I’m not so naïve that I didn’t think someone might bring alcohol, but now that it’s here a tension builds in my eardrums.
