Eighteen (18)(4)

Fowler disappears after attendance. Good to know. I will be cutting this class regularly.

After that my day is economics, then lunch, then English, science, and driver’s ed rounds out the day.

Everyone takes driver’s ed in tenth grade here, and I’m a senior, so that teacher makes me his assistant. I like driver’s ed. I can feel this guy’s very low expectations of us the minute he opens his mouth. Plus, the person in the seat next to me is interesting as f*ck. She’s a tiny Filipino girl named Quinn who is married at fifteen. Last month, that might’ve shocked me. This month, no way. I’m so out of my league, I just accept it and move on.

Quinn looks like she’s in training to be a CEO with her skirt suit and black pumps and she spends the entire class complaining to me about her in-laws as we pretend to watch a movie.

When the final bell rings I make my way to the farthest building on campus where my locker is located. Usually the seniors get lockers in the main building where the offices are. But I’m new, and it was December when I got here, so I’m in no-man’s-land.

After that I walk all the way across campus to the front and start heading across the street to the arcade. I have a few acquaintances there from school and I’m just starting to wonder if any of them might have a joint to share when a horn honks and scares me half to death.

Mr. Bowman smiles as he eases his car alongside of me. “Going over to Gilbert, Miss Drake?”

“Shit,” I say.

“You forgot?”

“I did. Mr. Bowman, I don’t have a ride and I don’t even have bus fare—”

“Get in.”

“What?” I say, looking around.

“I’ll take you. But I can’t take you every day, Shannon. You’ll have to figure this out.”

I rub my head because it’s beginning to ache, but if he’s offering me an easy way to get there, I might as well take it. So I walk around and get in the passenger side.

“How’s your birthday going?” he asks, pulling onto Lincoln Avenue.

“Shitty. I might as well be invisible, that’s how much people give a f*ck about my birthday.”

He laughs and I look over at him. I’d say he’s late forties, with blond hair that is just about to go gray, and he’s lean and athletic. Not a bad-looking guy for a guidance counselor. And he’s tolerant with my f*cks. I sorta like that about him.

“It doesn’t get any easier, you know.”

“I figured as much.”

“But I’ve been in this school for ten years and I rarely see kids with so much potential come through needing help. So I’m taking a personal interest in you.”

“Great,” I mumble.

“I’m sorry about your sister.”

I swallow hard and look straight ahead as we ride down Lincoln.

“It’s got to be hard to be uprooted in the middle of your junior year, moved out to California, and then have to switch schools three times in nine months.”

“Well,” I say, rummaging through my backpack for a cigarette, “it wasn’t a picnic, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

“So your brother-in-law?”

“What about him?” I ask, lighting up and blowing my smoke out the window.

“He’s…” I look over at Bowman. “Good to you?”

“We tolerate each other.”

“And the baby?”

I nod and take another drag. “She’s sweet. I love her.”

“He’s doing OK with her?”

“Why do you want to know?” I ask, getting pissed. “I’m not a chatty girl, Bowman. And I’m private. So if you’ve got a question, don’t beat around the bush. Just ask, and if I want to answer, I will.”

“Is he taking care of her, Shannon? We had a meeting about you when you first registered. So everyone knows your situation. And I was asked today to find things out. I’m pretty sure you’re a girl who can take care of herself. But a three-month-old baby is something else entirely. If you need help in that area, I want you to come to me. Understand?”

I take another drag of my cigarette and blow rings. “He’s doing as well as any guy would if their wife OD’d and left them with an infant. She’s in daycare and he works his ass off to pay for it, so that’s why he can’t take off work to cart my ass around. And besides,” I say, suddenly feeling very tired, “as you pointed out this morning, I’m eighteen now. So I’m just lucky he lets me stay at the apartment.”

We pull into a parking lot and Bowman stops the car. “OK, just checking. I’ll wait and drive you home if you want.”

I grab my pack and open the door. “No, thanks. I can hitchhike.” And then I slam the door and walk off.

Nosy-ass bastard.

Please, God, I say, feeling my Catholic upbringing coming out. Just give me a break in here. It’s my birthday. I deserve at least one break.





Chapter Three




“Mr. Bowman called about you.”

“I bet he did,” I say dryly.

“We weren’t going to have any trig classes this semester, but he put in for a special request for you before Christmas.”

“He did?” Jesus Christ. The f*cker’s been looking out for me.