A large breath of air filled her lungs. Instantly, her calm collected nature returned. A smile inched into the creases of her lips. Clara exhaled sharply. Everything was going to be all right.
Warm laughter caught her attention—not the sort born from bothering the new girl. It was a simple glance over the shoulder. A pair of dark brown eyes locked on her own silvery-grey ones. They were perfect. He was perfect.
Chapter 4
A piece of broccoli moved from one edge of the pile of mashed potatoes to the other. So far not a single bit of food had made it off the plate. This was different from childhood, when the fluffy white mound used to hide anything green it came in contact with. There were no volcanoes of gravy flowing down mountainsides, either.
“Don’t play with your food,” Mrs. Fawn ordered. It was just like her—making her own answer to why instead of finding out the truth. Parents always thought they knew everything. “Pouting won’t get you anywhere.” She added a sigh for good measure before clearing away her own dishes.
Clara glanced up, barely acknowledging the words. This time, blaming them for not understanding wasn’t going to help, especially since she hadn’t fully grasped what was going on.
Mr. Fawn removed his glasses. “The first day couldn’t have been that bad.” His eyes remained fixed on her.
“It wasn’t.” That was the truth. In comparison to other first days, this one was a good as they came. There were whispers and stares, but that was nothing new.
Newspaper pages snapped open, the daily edition covering her father’s face. “So what’s the problem, then? Don’t tell me you hate moving, either. You know my job means we have to.”
“It’s not that,” Clara replied. “I’m just thinking.” She stood, taking her untouched food to the kitchen.
“Thinking about what?” her father called after her.
Instead of answering, she headed straight for her room and a bellyflop on her own bed. The first one always felt the best. A pillow covered head, but not even it could erase her thoughts. There’d been other good-looking boys before, but none affected her in such a way. This was what it truly meant to be a teenage girl—her heart skipping beats—his face etched in her mind, his charm melting her from the inside out. She couldn’t eat. She couldn’t think. She probably wouldn’t sleep. Emotions were the worst.
Clara sat up, whacking both sides of her face hard enough to leave red marks. Usually that cleared her mind. This time it failed miserably. Apparently, even the force of a hard slap had no effect on the lingering memories of the sound of his laugh and charm of his smile.
Love. The definition of the word was clear, but its true meaning was convoluted, especially for something people said so frequently. She’d never given it much thought: loving her parents, loving a favourite food, loving a new outfit. They were all different feelings. Were her feelings for this boy a new type of love?
Clara shook her head. No... a crush maybe? She’d never had one of those either, not that she knew the difference between the two. She sighed. Whatever it was she wanted, no, needed it to go away. Examining things from a rational perspective was her strength. Mushy feelings were outside her wheelhouse.
Wanting and doing were two different things. Every time she closed her eyes, he was there. Every time there was silence, she heard his laugh. Hank Waverly was annoying. Her own weak spot in the emotional armour she’d been building for most her life. If she wasn’t careful, it would become irreparable. Saying goodbye to friends was hard enough without leaving her heart behind too.
Chapter 5
It was a good thing youth took care of pesky things like puffy eyes. Her lack of sleep went completely unnoticed, other than the occasional yawn, even those she restricted to few and far between. Giving in to silliness easily wasn’t in her nature. She was going to beat this thing. She was going to triumph over Hank Waverly. Clara pulled a balled fist into her side.
“Did you win something?”
She didn’t need to look. She knew who it was. Her head turned slowly to the side anyway. “I made it to day two without doing anything embarrassing. I guess the record stops there.” Her vision averted. The frown creeping over her features halted. A warm laugh wasn’t the response she anticipated.
“That’s funny,” Hank said, taking a few steps closer. “You’re the new girl, right?” He rubbed his hair. “I guess that was a pretty stupid question. It’s rather obvious you’re new. I mean, you weren’t here before.”
The corners of her lips curled upward. He was flustered, maybe even as much as she was. “Yesterday,” Clara blurted out. “I transferred here yesterday.”
“Right,” Hank replied. “I saw you in the hallway.” He paused. “What brings you to town?”
“A car,” Clara replied.
“Huh?” His expression went blank.
“Oh,” Clara groaned. “That was my poor attempt at humour.” Blank eyes stared back at her. “What brought you here? A car... because we drove into town.” One hand waved in front of her face. “Never mind... um... my parents travel for work. We move around a lot.”
“That makes sense.” Hank raised one hand, catching a football mid-flight. “You should come out with us later.” The ball flew across the hallway barely missing heads. “Touchdown!”
“Go with you where?” Clara asked.
“There’s a shake shop at the crossing,” Hank answered. “We all go there after school. It’s about the only thing to do in town.”
Another boy jogged to their location. “Nice throw.” He smacked Hank on the back. “Davey got his old man’s ride. Let’s go.”
“Yeah!” Hank was in the same position she was earlier. There was one huge difference between them, though. When he pulled in a fist, there was nothing lame about it.
The air from her lungs escaped in a sigh. Was it relief? Maybe.
