Rina's POV
Ten Years Prior
I didn't look at anyone as I left the party, and nobody watched me go. Save for Easton, Jenny, and apparently Kyle, everyone at this school seemed entirely unaware of my existence. I couldn't decide what I hated more: Easton's ever-increasing harassment or the rest of the school's willful ignorance to it.
I walked home in the dark, trying to resist the urge to call Monica for a ride. I knew she would come get me, but I'd have to explain why I lied about where I was. And truthfully, I didn't know why I had. Monica and Chet didn't seem opposed to me going out. In fact, they'd questioned me about weekend plans every Friday night since school started. Maybe it was just the thought that I was coming here with Kyle who, admittedly, screamed bad news to me just as loudly as he would to the Snyders.
It felt stupid going out with him now, considering what happened as a result. Not only did he have nothing to say to me that wasn't innuendo, but Kyle's sudden interest in me—no matter how superficial—drew attention from the person I wanted it from least.
I tried not to think about Easton as I walked, but thoughts of him ran through my mind like a current no matter how hard I tried to keep him out. Like it was all still happening, I could smell the alcohol on his skin, the way his hands had gripped me hard and fast, with a desperation I didn't quite understand, when he told me he didn't want me going out with Kyle. Moreso, I could feel Easton's tongue in my mouth, his hands on my hips, and the sting of my palm against his cheek. I didn't know what I expected when he cornered me in the basement, but I certainly hadn't predicted that.
He was drunk. Absolutely wasted. Clearly. I could taste the alcohol on his tongue when he kissed me and he seemed so unsteady on his feet that if I'd pressed against his chest just slightly, he'd have toppled over. Maybe he was so drunk that he forgot who he was in the closet with, or maybe he just didn't care. Maybe he, like Kyle, just viewed me as an object, a warm body interchangeable with anyone else's in the dark. That's how men always viewed my mom, and I guess that's how they saw me, too.
But that didn't make sense. Easton knew who I was the entire time considering we'd spent the previous ten minutes arguing. It was like a flip switched in him, and suddenly I wasn't trailer trash and built like a twelve-year old boy. Suddenly I was just a girl. Just someone he was attracted to enough to kiss in a dark closet. One moment I was the object of his hatred, the next I was simply an object. I wasn't sure which was more insulting.
I thought about him my entire way home, contemplating what else I could do to get him to leave me alone but coming up empty of ideas. So far, I'd tried ignoring him and fighting back whenever he took it too far. I wasn't sure which one caused a worse reaction. His behavior begged the question, what the hell did he want?
By the time I stumbled home, I hadn't come up with any answers, but my legs were numb from the evening chill, and I was desperate for water. I hadn't had anything to drink the entire evening considering I wasn't dumb enough to drink anything Kyle handed to me. Now my throat was dryer than the Sahara Desert, and it felt like something was pounding inside my skull.
I unlocked the door as quietly as I could, relieved that the downstairs lights were off, and stumbled towards the kitchen. Turning on the kitchen faucet, I drank greedily until my stomach felt full. Ignoring the photographs of Ashley staring at me like a ghost in the night as I walked upstairs, I barely made it into my bedroom before I collapsed on the bed, falling asleep on top of the covers.
I lied low the rest of the weekend, mumbling excuses about homework whenever the Snyders tried to talk to me. Saturday night, they attempted to get me to go out to dinner with them, but the idea of leaving the house had my skin crawling so I feigned a stomachache, and they left without me. Monica brought me home a to-go container of fettucine alfredo, and I ate a few bites begrudgingly before she finally went to bed. I knew I should be more grateful for what she'd done—none of my previous foster parents would have offered to take me out to eat, let alone to bring me something back when I'd declined—but I was too wrapped up in my thoughts.
Kyle texted me a few times throughout the weekend, starting off with a "Where'd ya go?" and ending with several question marks and a "Hello?" when I didn't respond. Even if Easton hadn't reacted so poorly to seeing me with Kyle, the last thing I wanted was to spend another evening with a guy whose chosen topic of conversation was how big and nice his jeep was. By the third time he'd mentioned it, I wondered if he was using "jeep" as a euphemism for something else.
It was painfully obvious that Kyle had only asked me out with the intention of getting into my pants. And even though I knew continuing to hang out with Kyle would get under Easton's skin—something that, prior to Friday evening, I relished in the idea of—I wasn't about to give Kyle any indication that I was interested. They were both bad news, and by Monday morning, I'd decided it was best to avoid them both completely. Which meant steering clear of any more parties, because, if the way they drank was any indication, they both seemed to be regular attendees.
When I got off the bus Monday morning, I walked into school with my head held high, even though my stomach was once again in knots. It felt like the first day of school all over again because, just like then, I had no idea what Easton was going to do. Surely, he was mad about me slapping the shit out of him. Unless, of course, if he'd blacked that part out completely. Maybe he'd be so embarrassed about kissing his sworn enemy that he'd steer clear of me. That was the best option I could hope for.
I didn't see him or Kyle in the hallway on my way to AP literature—a small mercy I was hoping would continue the rest of the day—but as luck should have it, this wasn't the case.
My AP literature class was taught by Ms. Tepper, a wiry woman with hair the color of ash and a mouth that fell into a thin line whenever someone talked over her in class. Which was often, because the opinions on what we were currently reading—The Awakening by Kate Chopin—ran strong amongst the different genders. There wasn't a day that went by that Trent Crawford, a fellow senior with a mouth that ran faster than his brain could keep up, didn't have something to say about the futility of the feminist movement.
I took my usual seat in the third row, happy to sit in silence while Trent argued with anyone who would bite about men's rights, when Easton Clarke walked into our classroom. Ms. Tepper blinked up at him in confusion, a half-eaten orange on her desk, as he handed her a slip of paper. She looked at it and sighed.
"Isn't it a little late in the term for a transfer?"
"My father wanted me to take a heavier load before college," Easton mumbled, his backpack slung over one hunched shoulder. He looked like hell. His usually gelled back dark-brown curls were wild all over his head, and he was in sweatpants rather than his usual khakis.
"I admire that, but we're already well into our first novel, so you're going to have to play catch up. Have you ever read The Awakening?"
"Yes," Easton said quickly, his voice so level that neither Ms. Tepper nor I could tell if he was lying. "It's been a while, but I've read it."
"Well, today we'll be discussing chapters twenty through twenty-four, primarily focusing on the symbolism of Mademoiselle Reisz's piano playing and Edna's depression as it relates to her desire for independence. I won't expect you to actively participate today, but if you could refresh your memory on the book between now and Wednesday, that would be helpful as I'll be assigning a project at the beginning of class."
"Yes, ma'am," Easton said quickly.
"I believe the only available seat is at the back right corner, so please make yourself comfortable," Ms. Tepper said, reaching beneath her desk. She pulled out another copy of The Awakening and handed it to Easton. "Make sure you know this book backwards and forwards, Mr. Clarke. There's the upcoming project as well as a paper on it at the end of the semester worth thirty percent of your grade."
Easton passed directly by my desk—an unnecessary feat as I was on the opposite side of the classroom—on his way to his seat. Against my better judgment, I looked up, expecting his angry expression but instead, I found his face unreadable. He was staring me down as if he wanted me to see something, but his face was a blank mask. Like he just wanted me to notice him as he passed, nothing more and nothing less. And I hated that I did notice him.
Trent stumbled into the classroom a few moments later, his face twisted up in a scowl already at the sight of Ms. Tepper writing on the board. It seemed he hated this class, but it was one of my favorites because I found his arguments against Edna's wishes in The Awakening amusing. He spoke as if he were on a soap box every period, talking like he knew everything about our main character, but it was evident he had no idea how to relate to her. It was easy to view Edna as a spoiled housewife who should be grateful for her leisurely life, when you, like Trent, had never heard the word "no" a day in your life. It's easy to pretend something like sexism isn't real when you've been fortunate enough to never have to experience it.
Ms. Tepper, after finishing the rest of her orange, stood at her podium while the rest of the class sat down. I watched her lick her finger as she sifted through her notes before she finally addressed the class.
"Good morning. I trust your weekends went well?" She asked, her tone far more firm than conversational. She was tiny—short, and maybe one hundred and ten pounds soaking wet—but she had this presence like a bulldog ready to bite when she stood in front of you. I'd been in her class for nearly a month, and I still hadn't grown any less scared of her. The rest of the class nodded but no one said a word. It seemed to me that everyone but Trent was equally as terrified of Ms. Tepper as I was. I was tempted to look back at Easton—I knew how poorly his weekend went, and I wanted to see it written all over his face for my own satisfaction—but I kept my gaze straight ahead. "We have a new student in class with us. Mr. Clarke, why don't you introduce yourself and tell us why you are taking my class?"
As if we don't all know exactly who he is, I thought. I heard Easton sigh as if he thought the same thing and turned my attention towards him. He rose from his seat, his disheveled appearance all the more apparent now that his face was twisted in a scowl. "My name is Easton. I transferred into this class because I wanted to get another gen-ed requirement taken care of before college. And, uh, because I like to read. I look forward to discussing the literature with you guys. That's all."
"Thank you, Mr. Clarke, you may have a seat. Today, we will discuss chapters twenty through twenty-four of The Awakening. I trust you are all nearly finished with the novel, as the deadline to submit online reflections is this Friday. Thus, before we begin today's discussion, I wanted to outline the upcoming assignment due in three short weeks. As you all know from the syllabus, you have an individual essay on The Awakening due at the end of the semester. However, to foster further discussion on the themes of the novel, I want you to work in groups of two to complete an analysis of the book. Within these groups, each partner will argue an opposing viewpoint on the social roles put forth in the novel. My hope is that some of you will argue a viewpoint you may not necessarily agree with. This will further develop your persuasive writing skills, which, as we have discussed, are imperative on the AP exam. You and your partner will present your analysis to me in written format by October nineteenth. I will provide you with an outline of the topics I am expecting you to discuss. Any questions?"
"Do we get to choose our partners?" A girl, Shelley, asked, her voice strained.
"While I would like to allow you to choose your own partners, I worry that those you choose will be too likeminded to complete the assignment with the level of depth I would like to see. For this reason, I have paired each of you off based on the opinions you've demonstrated in your reflections," she said, ignoring the groans that sounded out throughout the room. "Mr. Clarke, this puts me at a bit of a dilemma, as I organized this assignment based on an even number of students. As you just transferred, I do not have a partner for you. I can have you submit a portion of the assignment on your own minus the partner; however, this would detract from the benefits you would receive from completing this work as I've organized it. I'll have to get back with you on a solution that would be more beneficial to you in preparing for the exam."
"I have a solution," Trent said suddenly, standing up from his seat in the front of the room. "I've been thinking for a while that this class might not be for me, and I think I might transfer down to the honors class. I can go talk to my counselor right now if you'll give me a hall pass."
I saw Ms. Tepper try hard to hide her relief, and though she kept her eyes from giving her away, the edges of her mouth twitched upwards. "Well, Mr. Scott, that is your prerogative," she said, her voice still cool and even as she walked back towards her desk. "We will, of course, miss your lively discussion in class."
She handed Trent the hall pass and he exited the classroom without another look in her direction.
"Well, Mr. Clarke, though I know nothing of your opinions regarding the book, I suppose I will just pair you with Trent's partner. If, for some reason, he is unable to transfer classes, I think it might be beneficial to have Trent complete both sides of the assignment on his own. I've noticed, from his behavior in class, that he much prefers to argue with himself anyways."
Molly, a girl with dyed purple hair and a nose piercing—and a favorite sparring partner of Trent's—cackled from across the room. Ms. Tepper remained professional by not acknowledging Molly's outburst, but the smirk she sported did nothing to hide her satisfaction with the situation.
"Now, I will go ahead and read off the list of partners. Please bear in mind that I will not change partners for any reason unless I receive a written request from your guidance counselor. Do not ask without this documentation in hand, as doing so will disrupt other groups. So, let me see..." Ms. Tepper trailed off, shuffling her notes again. "Yes, I have Molly with Hunter, Isaac with Kenneth, Victoria with Ryan, Mr. Clarke, I'll put you with Rina..."
My blood ran cold, a ringing in my ears drowning out Ms. Tepper's voice as she read off the rest of the names. I would have dreaded this assignment had I been paired with Trent, but the thought of spending any amount of time with Easton had me feeling like I was about to be sick.
The rest of the class passed by in a whirlwind, with me unable to listen to the discussion on the book as I was too deep in my own thoughts about Easton. My goal of avoiding him completely was now in shambles as, at least for the next three weeks, I was academically required to interact with him. Perhaps he'd be willing to complete the assignment over email without any face-to-face interaction involved. However, I was concerned this would be evident in our written work, and I'd receive a lower grade because of it.
"Well, the bell is about to ring, so everyone take one of the required topics for the analysis assignment and pass them back," Ms. Tepper said, passing a stack at the head of each row of desks. "Remember, this is an in-depth assignment, and though you haven't completed the novel yet, you need to already be thinking about which positions you want to argue. This assignment will require a lot of communication with your partner so it is wise to exchange contact information."
I started packing up, thinking of arguments I could give to my counselor to get me out of working with Easton that wouldn't require explaining exactly why he and I's relationship was so tense. I couldn't exactly TELL them that I'd acquired my high school bully by accidentally walking in on him shooting up. Not without breaking Easton and I's agreement, that is. It was as I was thinking of potential lies to feed my counselor—I am a closeted lesbian and men make me gag but I don't want anyone to know—that I saw a pair of feet land in front of my desk. Though I didn't recognize the shoes, I knew instantly it was Easton.
I looked up, trying not to look as much like a deer in headlights as I felt. His expression was clouded, his eyes on me but also someplace far away, like his thoughts were tied up somewhere else entirely.
"I guess, I should give you my email address," he said slowly, his voice hoarse. "I haven't read the book in a while, so I don't have strong opinions yet. Just tell me which sides you want to argue, and I'll do the opposite."
"Are you going to re-read the book? I'm not going to fail the assignment just because you can't remember what it's about."
"Yes," he snapped, impatient. "I'll read it over the next couple days."
"Well, then, I'll send you an email with the side I'm going to take on each topic. After that, we can spend the next week fleshing out our own answers. We should probably meet up to critique each other's work once, but after that, if you send me your written responses, I can format them like Ms. Tepper wants and hand it in. I'd like to get this out of the way sooner than later, so don't procrastinate."
"Alright, Sergeant," he smirked, amused. It wasn't the response I was expecting—normally, when I got smart with him, he just got mad. The sudden change made me uncomfortable. "Here's my email."
He handed me a sheet of notebook paper with his school address written hastily across the page: [email protected].
"Thanks," I mumbled, shoving the paper into my bag. I couldn't get out of the room quick enough as the bell went off.