Clever Girl

Chapter 10: You are going to that party, Veronica.

Detention for an entire week will cost me exactly six hundred dollars.

That's six hundred dollars that I can't put towards helping my mom. That money is hanging on Jay's head. Yes, I displayed a rather disrespectful tone towards Cranston, but I wouldn't have been in his office in the first place had it not been for the Golden Boy of Apollo. But I've decided to not confront Jay. With any luck, I won't have to see his smug, pretentious, self-obsessed face at all for the rest of the week, and I can leave this place behind at ease.

I'll need to triple my tutoring sessions for Matty's classmates this weekend. It's the only way to make up all the lost time. Matty suggested I raise my prices, since several students have already received A's after a couple of lessons. "It's all about supply and demand," he said to me over dinner last night. My father had then spent the rest of the night explaining the law of demand, the law of supply, and how they really relate to one another, to a frustrated Matty.

For the past couple of hours I've been working on a schedule, which is now practically airtight. Matty has agreed to take over some of my chores for the week, and I've also managed to get myself a part-time job. Only on weekends. I'll be doing minor paper work for a nearby car dealership. Filing. Labeling. Child's play. My dad knows the owner and called him for a favour.

Every hour of my life is now held up by reality. The reality of a family hanging on by a thread. The reality of a life consumed by only responsibilities. And in this reality, I'll have to cancel on Will. My only friend in the world. But maybe it's only a small price to pay ensure everyone I love is okay.

"Veronica, can we talk?" my father says as he enters the living room.

"Sure, what's up?" I look up from a book I'm reading, and smile.

He seems upset. "John called and told me you asked to work on Friday night? I thought you were going to that party."

My initial plan had been to tutor until eight, then go to the party. But now I'm scheduled to work at the dealership until nine instead, then get in an hour of online tutoring. I did not anticipate the owner of the dealership telling my dad. I guess I should've, seeing as how they know each other. "Dad, it's really no big deal."

"But this was your first party. I hate that you're going to miss it."

"It's totally fine. I'm sure there'll be other parties," I say, knowing perfectly well there won't be.

"Veronica, you can't keep doing this."

"Doing what?"

"Placing every moment of your life into this family. You need to go out, live your own life.

"And what if I want this family to be my life? What's so wrong about that?"

"It's wrong because no matter how hard you try to hide it, I see the sadness and resentment on your face. I see the loneliness. You need to go out and have fun, Veronica. With people your own age. You need to separate yourself from us, and stop acting like we're holding you back." He doesn't say it with bitterness or anger, but a rather curious truth, like he's almost daring me to keep contradicting him.

"Trust me, I'm not sad or lonely. I'm happy being here with you and mom and Matty." Though as I try to analyze my feelings, I know he's right. 

"You're going to that party, Veronica. End of discussion. I've already asked John to take you off the schedule."

Would it be wise to argue? Perhaps not, but what will happen if we're behind on our bills? If I can't save enough money to help my mother? And all because of a party? Though as I try to think of a way to verbalize any of this without making it seem like I'm burdened, he swiftly exists the room.

***

It's Wednesday. The middle of the longest week of my entire life. It's as if time itself knows what I plan to do, and it's decided to stretch itself out. Torturing me. Making each second pass as if an entire existence lives within it.

As I sit in World History class, staring at the clock and wondering if there may be more ways to make money, I hear whispering. Snickering. It's two voices coming from behind me. Annoyed but not fully interested, I let my eyes shift out of focus, as thoughts of Pearl Harbour and Mousellini and nationalism all blend together. Though it's not five minutes later when I hear my name.

I turn to find the source, and I'm not surprised to find Stella leaning back in her chair, her perfectly lined eyes fixed on me. The corners of her lips are curled in a wicked smile. "Can I help you, home-wrecker?"

"What?" I whisper, meek and confused.

"What, you don't like the term 'home-wrecker? Would you prefer 'slut' instead? Or how about 'whore'?"

"What are you even talking about?" I'm not sure if I want to keep digging. Maybe the best route is to face the front again and pretend like this little encounter didn't happen. 

"Not even going to apologize for throwing yourself at Jay? You really are a shameless slut."

"I didn't throw myself at anyone," I say, feeling slow, aching tears building up. 

"Just like a slut to play innocent. So not only are you stupid, you like to think no one can see through your bullshit."

"I'm sorry girls, but we did not suffer through thousands of years of oppression, only to be stuffed back into a box full of such derogatory terms. Stella, you can spend the next two days in detention, thinking about why you think it's okay to use these awful words," the teacher interjects thankfully, cutting this vicious confrontation short.

I spend the rest of the class trying to decipher Stella's accusation, figuring out exactly how many seconds are left in the week, and attempting to think up excuses to give Will for why I'm going to cancel on the party.

"Hey ho," Stella hisses as she passes me through the doorway. The teacher has just dismissed the class, and already Stella's managed to pounce, her friend in tow. "Would you like to explain to Evie here why Jay has left her high and dry?"

"I told you already, I don't know what you're going on about." I hug my history textbook to my chest, maybe in a way to block out the viciousness.

Stella's blue eyes seem to shine with hatred, "You are relentless. I have no idea what Jay even sees in a worthless, burnout loser like you."

There's not a book in the world that can teach you how to deal with a situation like this. I can recite the finer points of quantum theory, but I can't figure out how to respond to a mean person. How pathetic is that? As I stare at her, trying to formulate a proper comeback, her wicked smile grows.

"That's right bitch, stand there in silent shame. I'm sure Jay'll come to his senses soon. And when we're all off studying at the best universities in the world, you'll still be here, probably cleaning floors or scrubbing toilets, or whatever else it is that talentless, unintelligent rats do."