This Girl (Slammed #3)(43)
Eddie sets the backpack in a desk and holds her palms up, backing out of the doorway. “My bad. Continue,” she says.
As soon as the door is closed behind her, I begin to panic. Whatever Eddie just witnessed, it obviously wasn’t a conversation between a teacher and his student. I’ve just added yet another shit-tastic thing to my list of screw-ups.
“That’s just great,” I mumble. How the hell do I even begin to fix all of this?
Lake rises out of her seat and begins walking toward the door. “Let it go, Will. If she asks me about it, I’ll just tell her you were upset because I said ass**le. And jackass. And dickhead. And bastar—”
“I get your point,” I say, interrupting her before she can finish her stream of insults. She picks up her backpack and reaches the door.
“Layken?” I say cautiously. “I also want to say I’m sorry . . . about last night.”
She slowly turns toward me. The tears have stopped but the residual effects of her mood are still written across her face. “Are you sorry it happened? Or sorry about the way you stopped it?”
I don’t really understand what the difference is. I shrug my shoulders. “All of it. It never should have happened.”
She turns her back to me and opens the door. “Bastard.”
The insult cuts straight to my heart, right where she intended for it to hit.
As soon as the door closes behind her, I kick the desk over. “Shit!” I yell, squeezing the tension out of my neck with my hands. I let out a steady stream of cusswords as I pace the classroom. Not only have I screwed this up even worse with Lake, I’ve also screwed it up by making Eddie suspicious. I feel like I’ve somehow made this entire situation ten times worse. God, what I wouldn’t give for my father’s advice right now.
MRS. ALEX AND her pointless questions once again make me late for third period. I don’t really mind being late today, though. After the interaction in my classroom yesterday with Lake, I’m still not ready to face her.
The hallways have cleared out and I’m nearing my classroom when I pass by the windows that look out over the courtyard. I stop in my tracks and step closer to the window and I see Lake. She’s sitting on one of the benches, looking down at her hands. I’m a little confused, since she should be sitting in my classroom right now. She looks up at the sky and lets out a deep sigh, like she’s trying not to cry. It’s apparent that the last place she can be right now is two feet from me in a classroom. Seeing her out there, choosing the bitter Michigan air over my classroom, makes me hurt for her.
“She’s something else, huh?”
I spin around and Eddie is standing behind me with her arms crossed, smiling.
“What?” I say, undoubtedly trying to recover from the fact that she just caught me staring at Lake.
“You heard me,” she says, walking past me toward the courtyard entry. “And you agree with me, too.” She walks out into the courtyard without turning back. When Lake looks up at her and smiles, I walk away.
It’s not a big deal. Lake is a student skipping my class and I was looking at her. That’s all. There wasn’t anything happening there that Eddie could report. Despite my failed attempts at reassuring myself, I spend the rest of the day a nervous wreck.
12.
the honeymoon
“LET ME GET this straight,” Lake says, glaring at me. “You were being an idiot, staring at me through the courtyard window. Eddie sees you staring at me, which only piques her curiosity at this point. But then the next weekend in your living room when Eddie figured it all out, you get mad at me?”
“I wasn’t mad at you,” I say.
“Will, you were pissed! You kicked me out of your house!”
I roll over and think back to that night. “I guess I did, huh?”
“Yes, you did,” she says. “And on the worst day of my life at that.” She rolls over on top of me and interlocks her fingers with mine, bringing them over my head. “I think you owe me an apology. After all, I did clean your entire house that day.”
I look her in the eyes and she’s grinning. I know she’s not upset, but I actually do want to give her a sincere apology. The way I acted at the end of that day was purely selfish, and I’ve always regretted how I just kicked her out at one of the lowest points of her life. I bring my hands to her cheeks and pull her to the pillow next to me while we change positions. I lay her on her back and rest my head on my propped-up hand, stroking her face with my other hand. I run my fingers up her cheek, over her forehead, and down her nose until my fingers come to rest on her lips. “I’m sorry for the way I treated you that night,” I whisper, bringing my lips to hers. I kiss her slowly at first, but the sincerity in my apology is apparently quite attractive to her, because she pushes my arm away and pulls me to her, then whispers, “You’re forgiven.”
“WHAT ARE YOU doing?” I ask, waking up from a nap induced by pure exhaustion. Lake has her shirt on and is pulling her jeans up.
“I need some fresh air. Wanna come?” she says. “They’ve got a really nice pool area and it doesn’t close for another hour or so. We can sit on the patio and have coffee.”
“Yeah, sure.” I roll out of bed and search for my clothes.
Once we’re outside, the courtyard is empty, as is the pool, even though it’s heated. There are several lounge chairs, but Lake takes a seat at a table with bench-style chairs so we can sit together. She curls up next to me and rests her head against my arm, holding her coffee cup between her hands.