Elara
Never make your choir director angry when you have already been dishonest with him. I am discovering this through direct, unpleasant experience. And my father cannot get me out of it.
Dinner is a quiet, strained event. Anderson is sitting right next to me. Dad and his wife, Sophia, are across the table. I twist spaghetti onto my fork, secretly hoping Dad will speak up for me, or use his authority as the school principal to make Anderson change his mind about my punishment.
"Anderson," Dad says at last. I try to keep my hope in check, but a smile touches my lips. Sophia meets my gaze for a second before looking down, but I see her quick, hidden smile. "Do you not think Elara's suspension from choir is too severe? Perhaps you could limit it to one or two weeks?"
My stepbrother finishes a mouthful of food and sets his fork down on his plate. He rests his folded hands on the table and gives my father a look that would have landed me in serious trouble.
"Would you like it if someone told you how to run your school?" he asks. His voice is low and flat. "That is a fucking cheap move." Dad lifts his hands in a gesture of peace, and my heart plummets. Sophia keeps her attention on her meal, and the awful understanding dawns on me: I am completely on my own here. "Thank you, Marcus. And no, the punishment is not too severe." Stepbrother dearest turns his head just enough to look at me. "If she is prepared to show disrespect to her teacher and her fellow students, she must be prepared to face what comes next. You play a foolish game, you get a foolish reward. Is that not right?"
"Right," Dad agrees, giving me a sorrowful glance.
The spaghetti suddenly has no flavor. I might as well be chewing on dirt covered in tomato sauce.
"Dad," I mumble, after pushing my food around for ten minutes. "He is not telling the whole truth. I did not exactly yell at him." I grip my fork harder as three sets of eyes turn to me. "I was not shouting at him."
"Who were you shouting at, then?" Dad asks.
"The air," I say.
Sophia covers her mouth to hide her laugh. Anderson does not bother to conceal his contempt. He finishes his dinner and leaves the table. The sound of his feet on the stairs as he goes up to his room fills the dining area, and for the next few minutes, that noise is all I can hear.
The rest of the meal passes in near silence. Dad and Sophia finish eating, but my plate is still almost full.
Sophia gestures to my food. "Are you going to eat that?"
I shake my head and push the plate toward her. She collects the dishes, leaving me alone with Dad to talk about my current situation. I still believe Anderson went too far. It is normal for someone my age to be ruled by her feelings sometimes. If he plans to be in a high school for long, he needs to learn that.
Mr. Prescott would never have thrown me out. To be completely honest, I would never have lost my temper if Mr. Prescott had been in charge today. I miss him.
"You were not shouting at the air, Elara," Dad states. The ridiculousness of my own words makes my brain scramble for a way out. I start to speak, but no good excuse comes to me. "That is not what the other students reported."
"Ask Iris," I insist.
Through good and bad, my friends always support me. Dad knows this. That is why he says, "No. She will just try to protect you. You should have known better." We stare at each other, and our strong family resemblance becomes more apparent: the same full lips, the same defined cheekbones, the same light dusting of freckles across our noses. "Your teacher informs me that you are failing chemistry."
"Oh, for god's sake. That is Mr. Andy's fault for giving us a surprise test on the second day of school."
"It was only one test."
"And you earned an E, Elara."
When your father is the principal, you are doomed to have conversations like this all the time. He is always current on my progress. "You are the only one who received a failing mark out of thirty students."
The sound of someone on the stairs reaches us. Anderson reappears, picks up his phone from the table, and does not leave. I wish he would. He caused all of this. He sits in the empty chair to my left, and I pull my legs in to avoid any chance of touching him. Does he not understand privacy? This is a conversation between a father and his daughter.
"If your chemistry marks do not get better, I am sorry, but Anderson will not be allowing you back into the choir." Just wonderful. Absolutely perfect. He turns to Anderson. "Has she apologized for yelling at you?"
Oh, god. No. Please do not make me do this.
"She has not," Anderson says.
My dad stands up. "You know what is required."
Then we are alone. I do not want to be alone with him. Anderson rests his arm on the table. "Well?"
"You should have just let me sing," I say.
"I believe you have several things to be sorry for."
Anderson tips his head in that unconscious way that makes him look even more attractive, his hair falling across his eyes. It is shorter in the back and longer in the front. One push of his hair and I am thrown back to that night. Does he ever think about that kiss, the way I do? I am sure he does not. With a face like his, he can have any girl and any kiss he wants. Good for him. His chair makes a noise against the floor as he stands. "What is your plea, Elara? Guilty or guilty?"
"Not guilty."
The sound of him walking away is all I have left. At this point, I should probably get used to the idea of sitting in the audience, watching Christie or Regina take my spot. I stomp all the way to my room. If I am not back in choir by tomorrow, I am putting a dead rat in Anderson's bag.
Later, as I am getting ready for bed, my door opens with a soft sound. I straighten up. Sophia is there, giving me a small wave. I motion for her to come in. She is a kind person, but her son is absolutely not.
Sophia sits on my bed, and I join her. She puts an arm around my shoulders. For a little while, neither of us speaks. I think I know why she is here, and I do not want to discuss him.
"Your son is an asshole," I say suddenly. The quiet was too heavy; I would have choked if I had kept those words inside. To my surprise and relief, Sophia laughs, and it makes me want to tell her everything. All of it. "I think he is just angry, and he is taking it out on me."
"Angry about what?" she asks.
"Angry about the…"
I stop myself just in time. I grab my pillow from the bed and let out a frustrated scream into it. My anger surges up again. I force it back down. There is so much inside me that needs to come out, and I cannot tell a soul, not even my best friends.
Sophia pulls me into a half-hug. I let out a soft sigh. "Elara, you do not have to talk about it if you do not want to, all right?" she says. That is exactly what my own mother would say to get me to confess everything. "I will talk to him."
"My dad or Anderson?"
"Both of them, I suppose."
"Thank you."
"It is all right. We women have to stick together."
After Sophia leaves, I creep to Anderson's room. His door is right next to mine. It is slightly open, so I slip inside without a sound. Anderson is lying on his back on the bed, his legs hanging over the side. I take one more step forward. It is just an apology, is it not? I can do this.
I stop in front of him and tap his knee. His eyes stay shut, but he speaks. "Close the door on your way out."