Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 82255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
He heads for the door and glances over his shoulder one last time. “It wasn’t your fault, son. It was never your fault.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
STELLA
I ARRIVE at Mr. Carter’s office at exactly 7:28 AM. I’m already sweating bullets, trying to conjure up a viable excuse for why I only wrote half a page last night. He’s probably going to rip me a new one, and in my current emotional state, I’m probably going to cry.
I already went to the office this morning and confirmed what my mother told me. There’s still twenty thousand dollars left on my tuition bill, and it needs to be paid in one week or else I’m out. All the scholarships have already been used up for the year by other students, and I’m on my own to figure it out. In a matter of a few hours, my life has been turned on its head, and suddenly, staying at Loyola Academy isn’t just a goal, it’s a necessity.
While I laid in bed last night staring up at the ceiling, I considered all my options. I have an aunt in Florida on my dad’s side, but she hasn’t spoken to him since I was about two, and I don’t even know her, so it’s not as if I can ask her for help. Even if I could, from what my dad has told me, she already has three kids to support and very little money. So regardless, she’s out of the equation. In just a few days, I’ll be a legal adult and fully responsible for myself. I knew this day would come, but I stupidly thought I’d still have a soft place to land.
I can’t believe my father would do this to me. My heart feels like it’s been smashed to bits with a wrecking ball. It hurts to breathe. It hurts to think. I didn’t even want to get out of bed this morning. I just keep wondering if he even thought twice before he left. Is he thinking about me at all? Does he even care?
These are questions I don’t have the answers to right now. But what I do know is I don’t have the luxury of time to wallow in my circumstances. I have to keep going. I have to figure something out. Starting with Mr. Carter, who is now ten minutes late. What the hell?
I peek inside his locked office. All the lights are off. There are no signs he’s been here this morning, and I know I couldn’t have missed him. But I’m going to miss my first class if I don’t get going soon. I can’t imagine him ever being late, and in the back of my mind, I wonder if he’s okay.
I set my backpack on the floor and rip out a piece of pink paper from my notebook. My search for a pencil comes up empty, so I settle for my red lipstick instead. Scrawling a hasty note across the paper, I examine it to see if I should add any other explanation. But I think that says it all.
* * *
I WAS HERE. You weren’t.
Stella
* * *
“THAT OUGHT TO DO IT,” I whisper to myself as I slide it under his door. At least now he won’t be able to complain about my half-assed essay. Unless he complains that I didn’t leave it behind, at which point I’ll have no defense.
Glancing at his door one last time, I sling my backpack over my shoulder and head off for my first class. I have a busy day ahead of me and a lot of shit to figure out.
SOMEHOW, I manage to survive the day on autopilot, even successfully acing a pop quiz in my Computer Applications class. When I arrived at detention, I was disappointed to find that Mr. Carter wasn’t there either. In his place was Mrs. Chen from the science department. And surprisingly, I wasn’t the only student in detention today. There was another girl from Brentley Hall who got caught skipping class along with two boys who snuck into the science lab and blew shit up in the dryers, apparently. We made idle conversation while Mrs. Chen listened to a romance audiobook that was so loud, we could still hear it through the earbuds. The boys giggled every time they heard the word member, and Mrs. Chen was none the wiser.
Cheer practice comes and goes with Sybil nagging at me about my focus while she plies me with gummy bears and energy drinks. By the time we finally finish, I’m dead tired, but I know the real work is just beginning. As we traipse back toward our dorms, Sybil nudges me with her elbow.
“Hey, are you okay?”
I nod because I don’t want to allow the possibility that I’m not. Sybil will inevitably find out what happened, given that her father works with mine. I wouldn’t be surprised if she knows by this weekend. But right now, the wound is too raw, and I can’t admit it.