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“Yeah, little fuckers are vultures,” Macie muttered, bringing the attention back to her.
We all laughed before I said, “Then maybe you should bring some of your old sketchbooks to show them, Pep.”
Her face slackened into a hard line. “Not likely.”
The first bell rang, indicating there were ten minutes left before class started. A couple of students began to mosey inside through the door and sit down. I found my stomach developing knots. I shut my laptop and placed it back inside the office. I found myself somehow thankful for the distraction the three of them had provided me this morning. I hadn’t the time to overthink how I would start class or what I’d say to the students. At this point, I had no choice but to just wing it.
“I’ve got to get to class. Christine is probably wondering where I am,” Penelope said.
“Yeah, me too,” Macie agreed. “But I wanted to catch you this morning because I’m trying to finalize the volunteer list for the dance next Saturday. You’re chaperoning, right?”
“Yep, I’ll be there,” Penelope confirmed.
“And you’ll be there early to help me set up?” Macie grinned.
“Yes, I’ll be there too. Whatever you need, Mace. I am your slave.”
Macie raised her brows. “Don’t get me excited.” She turned to me. “Mr. Carter, do you want to volunteer for the Spring Fling dance next weekend we’re putting on for the students? It’s Saturday–”
“I’m sure Carter is busy,” Penelope interrupted. My eyes darted back and forth between the two of them, my mind completely void of a response.
Macie rolled her eyes and tsked at Penelope. “Anyway, the single teachers normally chaperone the dance so that the teacher’s with families can take the night off.” She looked me up and down. “I assume you’re single.”
I chuckled, “Am I that transparent?”
Her eyes flickered between Penelope and I. “I’d say so.”
I followed her gaze to Penelope. She was chewing on her lip and looking down at her feet, arms crossed. Something about her stance irked me. She clearly didn’t want me attending that dance. She didn’t want me to associate with her friends. Invading her life. I couldn’t understand it.
My instincts wanted to cater to what she wanted. Even if that wasn’t me. But I didn’t want to be the one asshole who refused to volunteer for a school function. It’d be a bad first impression. Plus, if she didn’t want me around her friends, I’d need the opportunity to make some of my own.
“I’ll clear myvery busyschedule and make sure I’m available to help. Just let me know what time I need to be here,” I said.
Macie’s smile was positively feline. She said a quick goodbye and skirted out the door with Jeremy in tow. Penelope grabbed her bag from our office and gave me a strenuously fake smile before heading out the door.
The next week continued exactly like that. We circled each other briefly in the transition of our classes with tight lipped, insincere smiles and shallow nods. I wasn’t even sure I could describe what we were doing as orbiting each other. It didn’t feel as if we were on two different planets anymore, but on two different realms, merely acknowledging the existence of each other when required.
Even before, when it had felt like orbiting, there was something more. There was a level of comfort and acceptance that came with the relationship we held. It was, at times, friendship. But often, it was something deeper, something softer, something unspoken. Before, I was her atmosphere– her protector. She was my shooting star.
Now, it felt as if I was nothing to her at all. A void that roamed within her space.
To me, she felt like stardust.
Chapter Five
Penelope
ICAN’TREMEMBERALOT ABOUT MY LIFE before the age of about nine.
A therapist once told me that it’s a trauma response. When I think about it hard, I see flashes of memories. Sometimes they’re things I want to remember, and sometimes they're moments I’d rather forget. I don’t want to see the bad moments, so I find myself often avoiding memories from my childhood entirely.
I remember meeting Carter, though.
I can’t remember that day hardly at all– the events of it, anyway. I don’t remember the car ride over to what would become my home, I can’t remember seeing my room for the first time. I can’t remember meeting my parents or my siblings. I can’t really remember meeting Carter. I don’t know the first word he said to me, or I to him. What I remember is the way Ifeltwhen I met him. I felt nothing. That nothing was the first time in days that I wasallowedto feel nothing at all. I was supposed to feel sad. I was supposed to be thankful for my foster (who would someday become my adoptive) family. I wassupposedto feel so many things. When all I really felt was pressure.Pressureto love my parents, and love my siblings; because if I didn’t, then I might lose them. And even though I didn’t know them, Iwantedto love them because I wanted—needed—to feel loved. Those types of feelings, the supposed-tos, and the wants, and needs, were a lot for a little girl to process.
When I looked at Carter, there was no expectation there. He wasn’t family, he wasn’t a friend, so I had no obligations to him. I didn’t need his love the way I needed the love of the family I was joining. I was allowed not to like him, or to like him. I was allowed to feel however I wanted about him.
I found comfort in that realization. The first smidge of comfort I’d felt since my mom died.
