Erin Watt - One Small Thing - the gripping new page-turner essential for summer reading 2018!

9

I haven’t passed a note since the fourth grade and that was to Scarlett asking her if she wanted to learn how to skateboard. I’d watched a YouTube video of some girls in Afghanistan burning it up and wanted to be as cool as them. Scarlett had said no.

We need to talk. Meet me at my house. Midnight , I scribble while Ms. Dvořák talks about the dead white guys we’ll be studying in Music History. I’ll be sneaking out.

Eh. I erase the last part. He doesn’t need to know that. Besides, it’ll be kind of obvious. I fold the notebook paper and glance over my shoulder. He’s two rows over and one row back, staring intently at his textbook. How do I get his attention while not creating a spectacle of myself?

I cough lightly.

“You okay?” Scarlett hands me a water bottle, but Chase doesn’t move.

I wave her off. I tap my pencil on my desk. Ms. Dvořák pauses in midsentence. I lay my pencil down. Still nothing from the boy in black. Isn’t it kind of clichéd of him to wear all black? Is he trying to announce that he’s a bad guy? He has a record and everyone knows it. He could wear white every day, and half the school would still mark him down to star as all the villains in the school play.

I wiggle in my seat, trying to make it squeak.

“Ms. Jones, do you need to use the restroom?” Ms. Dvořák asks. “Then, please, enough with the background noises, all right?”

I could die of embarrassment. “Yes, ma’am.”

My gaze drifts over to Chase again, only this time I’m not terribly covert about it because Ms. Dvořák notices.

“Ah,” she says. She clucks her tongue sympathetically. Rapping her knuckles on the table, she calls out, “Mr. Donnelly.”

His head pops up. “Yes, ma’am?”

“Please go sit in the hall. You are disturbing the class.” Her plump, friendly face has grown cold.

What? I straighten up and lift a hand to motion that I’m all right. A few boys in the back snort and chuckle.

“Mr. Donnelly. Did you hear me?”

Everyone is staring at him now. Someone throws a crumpled piece of paper at him. He doesn’t flinch, but there’s a red flush creeping up his neck. Silently, he gathers his books and rises.

The whispers grow, like a wave, pushing at his back. One of the football players loudly proclaims that this day is going to be killer. The whole classroom erupts into laughter. Even Ms. Dvořák’s lips twitch.

I track Chase’s path with stunned horror. The muscles of one defined arm flex as he twists the doorknob.

The door closes softly behind him and the sound crescendos.

“God, I cannot believe he’s allowed in this school,” Scarlett says.

“I don’t know why he would want to come here,” I reply. I wanted to crawl under my desk earlier, but whatever I’m feeling can’t begin to compare with Chase’s humiliation.

But why am I sympathizing with him, dammit? I’m supposed to hate him, just like everyone else hates him. I’m supposed to feel sick that I allowed him to touch me.

Maybe I shouldn’t hate him, then. Maybe I should hate myself .

I groan in distress, causing Scar to glance over. “You okay?” she asks.

No, I’m not okay. At all. But I manage a nod.

“Did you see how he walked out of here? All swagger and shit. Like he’s proud of what he’s done. It’s disgusting.” My friend’s face screws up like she’s smelled one of Allyn Todd’s infamous farts.

“Yeah,” I echo vaguely. He didn’t seem intimidated at all—not by the other students, not by the teacher, not even by me. There’s something intriguing about that. It’s what drew me to him before, when I only knew him as Chase, a random hot guy at a party who gave me attention when I needed it.

Ms. Dvořák calls the class to order and continues her lecture, but my attention is broken. Shouldn’t I be having the same feelings as Scarlett? Shouldn’t I be mad at this guy? Shouldn’t I be horrified that I have to breathe the same air, sit in the same class? What’s wrong with me that I’m not?

Why do I feel like it’s my classmates and Ms. Dvořák who are the problem here and not Chase? I half expected the class to rise up and yell “Shame” like some scene out of Game of Thrones . And that doesn’t sit right with me.

It’s been three years since Rachel died, but no one wants me to let go.

After the bell rings, I linger at my desk until Ms. Dvořák notices me.

“Is there something I can do for you, Elizabeth?”

I pick up my supplies and make my way to the front. “About Charlie—”

“I can’t kick him out of the class every day,” she interrupts. “You’ll have to talk to the principal about that.”

“I know. I...I’m actually not bothered by him.”

“You don’t need to say that. I’m not thrilled to have to teach him, either.”

I grapple for an argument that she’ll buy. “My family believes in forgiveness,” I lie. “That an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind. That sort of thing.”

Ms. Dvořák’s face softens. “That’s very generous of you.” She leans forward and pats me on the shoulder. “I’ll do what I can to minimize his disruption. I suppose I can ask Principal Geary myself to have him transferred to another class. If he needs a fine arts credit, he can take something else.”

My mouth falls open slightly. She totally mistook my attempts to smooth things over as a complaint in disguise.

“He’s not a disruption,” I repeat.

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