Page 32 of Strange Love

Class begins, and we’re all settled in when an elderly woman enters the room, looking flustered and confused. It’s obvious - we have a substitute teacher today. Having a sub means a free period to goof around and do anything we want. This particular sub is wearing white pants that are a bit too snug and a red sweater with shoulder pads that make her look more like one of my teammates than a teacher. Her pink lipstick is slightly smudged as she calls the attendance roll. The class takes advantage of the situation, becoming louder and rowdier than normal.

Mrs. Simmons writes her name on the chalkboard and then turns to address us, speaking loudly to be heard over the racket.

“Class, please listen,” she says. “Mr. Payton would like you to work on your project during this class. Please break into your assigned groups and get started.”

I waste no time grabbing my notebook and moving to the desk next to Ivy’s.

“What about the rest of the group?” she asks.

“If they want to join us, they can. We’re the best in the group, anyway,” I joke, causing her to chuckle. It’s not long before Taz and the others also move closer to us.

“So, who besides me hasn’t even read the book yet?” Taz says.

When no one else offers any support, I chime in. “Looks like you’re the only loser, Taz.”

He shrugs. “I’ll get Cliff’s Notes.”

“Why do we have to do it when Ivy said she can do better than us anyway?” Amber chimes in with a mocking tone.

“That’s not what I said,” Ivy responds defensively.

“Ivy could easily handle this assignment independently, but it’s a group project, and we all need to contribute,” I interject.

“I wrote a few things down,” Ivy starts, but as she reaches into her backpack to grab some notes, a small doll tumbles onto the floor. Her face flushes with panic, and she frantically tries to shove it back into her bag, but not before Amber and her friends take notice.

“Is that a Strawberry Shortcake doll?” Amber hisses, laughing with her friends. “Aren’t you, like, eighteen?” she mocks.

Ivy jumps up, fumbling with her backpack, and rushes toward the front door. “I don’t feel well,” she says to our substitute teacher, who is too busy reading Ladies Home Journal to notice what’s happening.

“Stop it, Amber,” I say.

“Come on, Corey,” she laughs. “She totally wigged out. Even you have to admit that’s pathetic.”

“You could have just ignored it,” I reprimand, throwing my backpack over my shoulder. “But you couldn’t resist being ugly. Again.”

I’m right behind Ivy as we leave the room, not giving anyone a chance to stop me. I catch a glimpse of her backpack disappearing into the women’s restroom.

“Ivy,” I say firmly, knocking on the door with three sharp taps. “Come out so we can talk.”

“Just leave me alone,” she sniffles from inside.

“If you don’t come out in three seconds, I’m coming in. I’m serious.”

“I don’t need a fake boyfriend right now, Corey,” she snaps back.

“Three,” I start counting down.

Silence.

“Two.”

Silence again.

“One.” I push on the door, but Ivy opens it before I can enter. Her eyes are red, and tears glisten on her cheeks. She tries to push past me in embarrassment, but I grab her elbow and turn her to face me.

“I’m not here as your fake boyfriend,” I state. “I’m here as your friend.”

“I can’t go back in there,” she says weakly.