I Kissed Shara Wheeler(77)

“Is that right?” Wheeler asks.

“Yes,” she says, and for good measure adds, “sir.” Ew. Hated that.

Wheeler studies her face, which she schools into something she hopes is contrite.

“Do you want to explain why a student reported Georgia Neale to me?”

“It happens all the time,” Chloe says quickly. “We look alike, and we’re always with the same people and doing the same things, and since last fall we even have almost the same haircut, and lowerclassmen are idiots, but—but I swear, it was me. I mean, Georgia’s never broken a rule in her life, I’m the one who does that, so you can call my m—my parents instead and tell them what happened. But don’t punish Georgia for what I did.”

Wheeler contemplates this, leaning back in his tall leather chair with a creak.

“Sexually inappropriate conduct on campus is strictly against the Willowgrove student handbook,” Wheeler says. “Normally, something like this would be grounds for suspension. But at this point, that’d just be sending you on summer break early, wouldn’t it?”

Dread expands in a horrible bubble inside Chloe’s gut, like she’s ratcheting up to the big drop of a roller coaster. She knows where this is going.

“But when a wolf is after your flock, the shepherd has to make it clear that it’s not welcome,” Wheeler says. “Set a precedent. How about … a ban from the graduation ceremony?”

“Fine,” Chloe hears herself say.

“That means no walking across the stage, no awards, no cap and gown, no pictures with your little friends.” He pauses, folding his hands in front of him on the desk. “And, if you happen to get the grades for valedictorian, well … I hope you didn’t waste too much time working on a speech.”

It hurts. Of course it hurts.

But Georgia’s not ready for this, and that matters more. Every time she’s ever made an enemy of Wheeler will be worth it for this.

“I’m gonna ask you again, Chloe,” Wheeler says. “Are you sure it was you?”

Chloe swallows the burn in her throat and nods.



* * *



When she walks out to her car thirty minutes later, after a quick cry in the very bathroom where she’s supposed to have committed the unforgivable crime of kissing a girl, Georgia is sitting against the front driver’s side tire.

She remembers now, all the unfinished sentences of the last month. Georgia tried to tell her about Auburn. Maybe she was trying to tell her about Summer too.

“Are you okay?” Chloe asks.

Georgia sniffs and nods. “Are you?”

Chloe shrugs and holds out a hand. “Taco Bell?”

Georgia nods again, letting Chloe pull her up. “Taco Bell.”

They walk into Belltower with two heavy bags of burritos and wave goodbye to Georgia’s dad as he passes the night shift off to Georgia. If Chloe had been paying closer attention, she could have seen the signs. Georgia’s been managing the store as much as her parents for the last six months. Of course she can’t leave.

They climb up the ladder to the loft and settle amid the rare books, on the patchy rug that once sat in the living room of Georgia’s house until her parents got a new one and recycled it for the store.

“Remember when I got my license,” Chloe says, punching her straw out of its wrapper, “and I picked you up from your house, and we got Taco Bell and then went to Walmart and just walked around for an hour? Didn’t you get fifteen flavors of Laffy Taffy?”

“It was Airheads.”

“That’s right. And I bought a Super Soaker.”

“We were drunk on power.”

“God, that was the best day,” Chloe says with a sigh. “Why is the freedom to wander around Walmart unsupervised so intoxicating?”

“I don’t know, man.” Georgia laughs.

Chloe laughs too, and then she says, “I’m sorry,” at the exact same moment Georgia says, “Thank you.”

Chloe puts down her drink.

“You first.”

“I just—” Georgia starts. “You really jumped on the gay grenade for me today. Thank you.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Chloe says. “I’m … I’m sorry I wasn’t around, and that I stole the key, and that I lied to you, and that I got so caught up in my own stuff that I let it make me a crappy friend. And for the French essay.” She exhales. It really is a long list. “And I’m really, really sorry I didn’t apologize to you until now. I would jump on a gay grenade for you every day of my life, and it sucks that I wasn’t acting like it.”

“I know you would,” Georgia says. She pokes at her nachos and continues. “And I—I know I could have brought up how I was feeling earlier instead of blowing up at you.”

“I kind of deserved to be blown up at.”

Georgia makes a serious face. “Still.”

“Well,” Chloe says, “if our relationship is gonna be long distance, we have to promise that we’re gonna be better at communication, okay?”

“You’re not still mad at me about Auburn?”

“I was never mad at you about Auburn,” Chloe says. “Did you think I was mad at you about Auburn?”