I nod, snatching up my phone and keys, and follow her out. I realize my backpack is absent. I’d left it behind last night in my rush to escape. Oh well. I’ll have to do without today.
I wave to Sal as she hops in her car and I race to mine, throwing the car in reverse and backing out as quickly as I can, narrowly missing her mother’s rose bushes. I drive like a bat out of hell, not eager to give my mother more reasons to punish me. She has plenty after last night. Truthfully, I’m shocked she didn’t show up here like a lunatic, demanding I get my ass home.
A small mercy.
Sal and I arrive at just about the same time, only five minutes late for class. A win, all things considered. We race in together, flying through the halls and into Mr. Hayes’,Theo’s, classroom, collapsing into our seats.
He watches us from his desk, reclined in his chair with a coffee in hand, looking like he doesn’t have a care in the world. When our eyes finally meet, something flickers across his face… regret? But it’s gone before I can pin it down. I hadn’t even had time to dwell on our night together, but now the memory hits me like a train and anxiety sets in.
“Nice of you two to join us.” His voice is dry and dripping with sarcasm, and the class snickers like it’s the joke of the year. Ha-ha. Honestly, I expected better. Something more witty, a sharper quip. I let my disappointment show on my face. I hope he sees it.
“Thankfully, you haven’t missed anything—but don’t make a habit of being late to my class.”
Ah. Back to being a hard-ass. Got it.
“Yes, sir.” I say, syrup-sweet, biting my lip to stop myself from giggling when his jaw tenses. Sal stifles a laugh beside me.
Maybe that was a bit too bold.Oops.
He clears his throat and rises from his chair, sharp and controlled. The fabric of his black trousers moves seamlessly as he moves to stand before us, tailored to perfection. His dark blue dress shirt stretches taut around his biceps, the top button undone at his throat. He looks handsome, too handsome, it’s just unfair. But, honestly? I prefer him in sweatpants. I picture him that way, daydreaming of seeing him soundoneagain.
If only.
He passes out papers to the class, circulating them through the rows of students, and I realize I’ve missed everything he’s said. When the stack reaches me, I take one and pass the rest to Sal. A poem.Great. I nudge Sal, seated next to me, texting furiously on her phone hidden under the desk.
I whisper, “What are we supposed to be doing?”
She doesn’t look up. “Read it. Underline anything that stands out.”
Oh, okay. Easy enough.
My eyes drop to the paper in front of me, reading the title—The Things We Dare Not Tell—by Henry Lawson. My breath hitches in my throat, the back of my neck prickling. Maybe I’m reading too much into this, but something about it…
I start to read.
The fields are fair in autumn yet, and the sun's still shining there,
But we bow our heads and we brood and fret, because of the masks we wear;
Or we nod and smile the social while, and we say we're doing well,
But we break our hearts, oh, we break our hearts! for the things we must not tell.
I reread the lines, committing them to memory. The words sink their hooks into me.The masks we wear.
The lines feel personal, threading through the cracks of my carefully controlled world.
There's the old love wronged ere the new was won, there's the light of long ago;
There's the cruel lie that we suffer for, and the public must not know.
So we go through life with a ghastly mask, and we're doing fairly well,
While they break our hearts, oh, they kill our hearts! do the things we must not tell.
It’s beautiful, in a heart-wrenching way.
We see but pride in a selfish breast, while a heart is breaking there;
