Left Behind

He leans his forehead against mine. “Tell me about it. I’ll be sitting in English class with a hard-on now.” I blush, but totally love what our kiss can do to him.

“Nice of you to join us today, Mr. Martin, Ms. Fallon,” Mr. Davis says as we walk into class five minutes late, my lips still swollen from our kiss. “Your lateness just volunteered one of you to be the first to share your poetry assignment with the class. Which one of you will it be?”

Zack looks to me; his eyes bulge for a second and he looks down then back to me. I follow where his eyes silently lead and find a noticeable swell in his pants. My eyes widen. Zack looks amused as he catches my gaze again.

“I’ll do it, Mr. Davis,” I volunteer. Zack smirks and quickly sits.

I walk to my desk, pull out the poetry assignment that was due today and quickly reread it. I wrote it a week ago. Shit. There’s no way I want to read this to the class. Not with Zack in the room anyway. When I wrote it I was hurt and sad and it seems like a lifetime ago. I also never thought anyone but Mr. Davis would read it. My thoughts are too personal to share. “Mr. Davis. I don’t seem to have the assignment with me,” I lie.

Mr. Davis squints and walks to me. He takes the paper I’m feverishly trying to shove in the back of my folder out of my hands and glances down at it. “Here it is.” He points to the front of the classroom. “Go. Or sit down and take a zero and Mr. Martin can read his today.”

The short walk to the front of the room feels more like I’m walking the plank. I take a deep breath and look to Zack. He’s watching me intently with a confused look on his face. I don’t look up as I read the words from my page.

Shattered like glass.

A million tiny little pieces surround my bare feet.

The sun was shining.

Now clouds loom low in the once bright sky.

I try to move.

But I can’t.

The shards that remain cut my feet with every step.

Reminding me.

The birds once sang a song that was music to my ears.

Now my world is silent.

Blood seeps from the wounds inflicted at my feet.

The pain keeps me from walking away.

I wish he had remained silent.

Never let me hear his voice.

Never let me in. Only to push me out.

The blood will dry. Cuts will heal.

The pain will never be forgotten.

The room is silent when I finish reading. I walk to my seat without looking up and quietly slip in, wishing I could disappear. I feel Zack’s eyes on the back of my head from the seat behind me, but I don’t have the courage to face him.

Eventually the bell rings. Zack is standing beside my desk before I can even get my books into my backpack.

“Nikki, could you please stay after for a moment?” Mr. Davis calls from the front of the class as the classroom begins to empty. I look to Zack and he appears as stressed as I feel.

“I’ll meet you in the parking lot. I’ll skip practice today,” he says, his voice low.

“I have practice too.”

“You’re skipping too.” His tone tells me it’s not something he plans to discuss. I nod and he leaves me with Mr. Davis, a weary look on his face.

***

Zack opens the car door for me. We’re both still quiet when he slips into the driver’s seat. The roar of the engine the only sound in the stillness of the car as we pull out of the school parking lot.

“You hungry?”

“Not really.”

Zack nods and pulls onto the parkway. He turns the music on to occupy the miles of space that separates us. We drive for a while in silence until he pulls down a road. A lighthouse I’ve never seen before looms ahead.

“Do you know all the lighthouses in California?” I try to make light of the tension that fills the air.

He smiles. “I looked them up on the internet when you said you liked them. Probably passed them a million times and never even noticed they were there before you.”

We walk up the narrow damp stairwell to the top of the lighthouse in silence. Climbing through a small window frame, we sit with our backs against the wall, our feet hanging over the edge. The sound of the waves crashing against the shoreline calms me…or maybe it’s the boy sitting next to me.

When he turns to face me, the look on his face is so serious, so intense, it scares me for a minute. He brushes a stray lock of hair that escaped from my braid behind my ear. “I’m so sorry I made you feel that way.”

There’s pain and sadness in his face. “It’s not your fault.”

“Yes. It is.” His voice grows louder, insistent.

“You were struggling. I get it. You lost someone you loved. I know you said you felt guilty for being happy, but I’m sure it was more than that. It probably felt disloyal to be with me. It’s not the same, but sometimes I feel that way with Aunt Claire. We’ll have fun just sitting around talking or shopping or something and then I get sad afterwards because I feel like I’m dishonoring my mother. Like I’m letting someone take her place.” I pause. “I wrote that poem almost two weeks ago. A lot has changed since then. We’ve changed. Let’s not look backward anymore, let’s keep moving forward.”

He shakes his head and smiles. “How did I get so lucky to find you? I can’t find the words to tell you what I need to say, but here you are, knowing exactly what I was feeling.” He’s quiet for a long moment before he looks up. “I’m just going to say it one more time, because I need to. I’m so sorry for hurting you.”