Secret Lucidity(20)

It’s only when fourth period arrives that I feel the weight of the day lift a little. I walk into senior English, and Coach Andrews gives me a friendly smile. As I slip into an empty seat, our text exchange from last night replays in my head like a calming hand, smoothing away my anxiety.

Linze drops her books loudly on the desk next to mine, vanishing my revere. “Oh my God! Thank the heavens above that you don’t have Government with me. What a nightmare.”

“That bad?”

“Taylor and her little sidekick, Roxy, are in my class.”

“Gross,” I mutter under my breath. My dislike for Taylor stems back to our middle school years.

“She spent the better part of the hour grilling me with questions about your split with Kroy. She is so annoying.” She opens her notebook, adding, “And she’s completely oblivious that she’s a slut.”

“I’m sure she’s aware.”

“Well, if she is, that’s sad, because she certainly doesn’t seem to care.”

When the bell rings, Coach Andrews stands from his desk and picks up a stack of papers. “Welcome to senior lit. I’m Mr. Andrews, Coach Andrews to a few of you,” he says, glancing my way before continuing.

“If I had known how hot your coach was, I would’ve joined the swim team freshman year,” Linze whispers when she leans across the aisle.

I roll my eyes. “He’s new.”

Minutes pass as he goes over the reading list for the year, his eyes landing on mine time and again.

“Do you know how many of these books have been made into movies?”

“Seriously, Linz?”

“I am not spending my senior year with my nose stuck in a book.” She lets out a soft huff. “Plus, I pride myself on the fact that I’ve almost made it through most of high school without having to read a single book. I’ve been able to survive on internet cheat notes and movies.”

My C-average friend smiles at her accomplishment. I have dreams of getting out of this pastoral town though. Not that I yearn to sin—I just yearn to be where nobody knows me. A place where I can freely spread my wings and allow them to guide me in whatever direction they choose. A place where I can start new. A place where the past can’t haunt me.

“Come on,” Linze announces, and when I look around, everyone is already bustling out of the classroom.

I didn’t even hear the bell ring.

“Cam,” Coach Andrews calls from the front of the room, “can you stay behind for a few minutes?”

“Um, yeah.” I shove my notebook into my backpack and turn to Linze. “I’ll catch up with you.”

She nods and heads to the door as Coach walks around to the front of his desk and leans against it. When I sit back in my seat, he moves, taking a seat in the desk next to me.

As student voices cascade in from the hallway, he asks, “Are you okay?”

No.

“Yes.”

He eyes me, seeing through my lie.

“I could’ve done without the morning announcements,” I add.

An awkward pause comes between us before he speaks.

“How’s your shoulder feeling?”

“Better. It’s still sore, and I still wear my brace at night.”

“I know it’s against school policy, but if you’d be more comfortable, I can meet you after hours so you don’t have to be around the other kids. It’s not good that you’ve taken so much time away from the water.”

I nod, knowing he’s right. It’s going to take a lot of work on my part to just get back to where I was before the accident, and I can’t keep pushing it off.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Anything,” he says.

“Why do you care so much?”

He leans forward, folding his hands between his knees, and when he lifts his head to look at me, he says, “Because I owe it to you not to let you give up on yourself.”

I fidget, mindlessly picking at the polish on my nails to avoid the sadness he just evoked. I wonder if my father would be disappointed in me right now. No. There’s no wondering about it. He would be. He was a man who forced me to honor every commitment I made. I wasn’t allowed to quit, which is exactly what I feel like I’m doing.

“You have a talent very few have. I don’t want to see you throw it away.”

“You make it sound so easy.”

“Look at me,” he says, covering my restless hands with his. “I know nothing about this is easy for you. It’s never easy to lose someone. Trust me, I know. But you . . . I worry about you.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t.”

“No?”

I open my mouth to lie some more, but I can’t do it. I know he can tell that I want him to worry, and I do, because it feels good to know someone cares. That someone on this planet understands. As wonderful as Kroy is, he doesn’t truly understand what it is I’m going through or the pain I feel on a second by second basis. But this man . . . I see it in his eyes—he’s hurting too. A shared pain that somehow links us, and he’s not giving up on me. Though this revelation should soothe, the fear of allowing too much transparency with him whispers at me to disengage.

“I should get going,” I say when I reach down and pick up my bag.