I Kissed Shara Wheeler(17)

She knows the office well enough that if there’s anything out of place, anything that would point to where Shara’s gone or if she’s even gone at all, Chloe will spot it.

“Chloe Green,” a deep voice drawls.

Mr. Wheeler looks the same as usual, all chin and beach tan like he should be giving fishing tours on a fifty-foot yacht. He drops a pile of folders on his desk and takes a seat in his creaky leather chair.

“Mr. Wheeler,” Chloe says back.

“I was hoping to see you in here less now that you’ve almost graduated.”

“You know, I actually think I might miss our weekly meetings,” she says. “What can I help you with this time? Ready to finally update the English curriculum? I have a lot of ideas.”

He stares calmly back at her. Mouthing off at Wheeler isn’t even that fun because he never gets that angry, unlike Mrs. Sherman, who Chloe will probably send into cardiac arrest one day. Wheeler just looks tired.

“I’m glad you have a sense of humor.”

“Only got a few more weeks to use up the rest of my material.”

“You know,” Mr. Wheeler says, “people aren’t going to give you as many chances as I do out there in the real world. You should remember that.”

“Sure,” Chloe says. He’s said it nearly every time she’s been in here, but if she’s learned anything from her mom, it’s that the real world is where people who hate high school go to be happy. “So, what’s the infraction this time?”

“You already know,” he says. “Mrs. Sherman said you were practically showing off your nail polish to her.”

“I thought she might like it.”

Wheeler sighs, rubbing his brows with his thumb and forefinger. “Why do you keep doing this, Chloe?”

“You seem stressed,” Chloe says, seeing an opening. “Any particular reason?”

“Excuse me?”

“Just, you know,” she says. “I noticed Shara wasn’t in first hour today.”

She’s not sure what she expected, but it’s certainly not the way Wheeler chuckles.

“Rumors going around already, huh?” He takes out a sticky note and jots down sermon on gossip. “You know, you try your best to lead your flock, but sometimes they wander right to the cliff anyway.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that gossip is against God’s will, and so is lying,” Wheeler says, putting his pen down. He shakes his head, offering Chloe a white-toothed smile. “Shara’s visiting family. That’s all. I hate to disappoint y’all, but there’s really no story here.”

It’s a good lie, and he’s good at delivering it, which isn’t surprising, since he spends his whole life telling students God cares about spaghetti straps. It’s almost believable.

“It’s not gossip as long as it’s for a prayer chain,” Chloe says. “What family? Do they live here?”

There’s a pause a millisecond too long, and she sees something flash in his eyes the way she has a few times before, when she catches a crack in his fake geniality—something like contempt, or maybe even fear. She swears she’s seen it once in Shara’s eyes, too, that day in precalc. That’s okay. She’s spent a long time converting that into energy. She’s like a plant that’s learned to photosynthesize spite.

“Look, Chloe,” he says. “I’m gonna level with you. You get away with more than most people could get away with at this school. Do you know why that is?”

She thinks, Because you can’t afford to expel the example of academic excellence that you dangle in front of parents of prospective students for tuition money, and you need a new pool.

She says, “No, I don’t.”

“Because you have potential, Chloe. You are an exceptional student. You set the curve in all your classes. You work harder than almost any student I’ve ever seen at this school.” He leans back in his chair, springs groaning ominously. “And I would hate to see all of that go to waste because of the choices you make between now and graduation.”

She presses the toes of her shoes into the floor. She’s pretty sure that’s a threat to not dig any deeper.

“Am I getting detention?” she asks in the politest tone she can manage.

Wheeler considers this. Chloe stares at the framed photo on the desk: Mr. Wheeler and his beautiful wife and daughter in white linen and khakis, smiling up from the deck of a sailboat with the name Graduation etched in cursive on the stern. Chloe wants to pinch Shara’s little blond two-dimensional head off.

“Not this time,” Wheeler says. “You’re free to go.”

“Thanks,” she says, and she leaves without looking back.

She got what she came for though. When Wheeler took out his Post-its, he jostled the stack of folders on his desk, and Chloe saw the corner of a pink card peeking out. Shara’s stationery.

Shara left her parents a note, just like the rest of them.

She really is gone, and not even Wheeler knows where she is.





FROM THE BURN PILE


Personal essay exercise: Smith Parker Prompt: What is a moment in your life that you felt truly yourself?

When I was twelve, I threw my first real touchdown pass. My dad used to take me out in the backyard and tell me I could have one lap around the yard on his shoulders for every time I got the football through the tire he hung from our tree. The summer before third grade, we had to come up with a new system, because I was getting so good, he almost threw out his back. Dad played football at Bama, but he never got to start.