This Girl: A Novel

exits . . . just as my faculty advisor enters.
    Shit!
    •••
    IF THERE’S ONE thing I’ve learned how to do well in my life, it’s adapt.
    I somehow made it through the observation unscathed and somehow made it to the end of last period without bashing my fists into a wall. Whether or not I’ll make it through the rest of the day just knowing I’m right across the street from her is still up in the air.
    When Caulder and I pull into the driveway, she’s sitting in her Jeep. She’s got her arm over her eyes and it looks like she’s crying.
    “Can I go to Kel’s?” Caulder asks when he climbs out of the car.
    I nod. I leave my things in the car and shut my door, then slowly make my way across the street. When I reach the back of her car, I pause to gather my thoughts. I know what needs to be done, but knowing something and accepting it are two completely different things. I asked myself over and over today what my parents would have done in this situation. What would most people do in this situation? Of course, the answer is obviously to do the right thing. The responsible thing. I mean, we went on one date. Who would quit a job over one date?
    This shouldn’t be this hard. Why is this so hard?
    I walk closer and lightly tap on her passenger window. She jerks up and flips the visor down and looks in the mirror, attempting to wipe away traces of her heartache. When the door unlocks, I open it and take a seat. I shut the door behind me and adjust the seat, then prop my foot on the dash. My gaze falls to the note that I left under her wiper this morning. It’s unfolded, lying on her console. When I wrote the words, see you at four o’clock, this isn’t how I envisioned four o’clock at all. I glance up at her and she’s avoiding looking at me. Just seeing her causes my words to catch in my throat. I have no idea what to say. I have no idea where her head is right now.
    “What are you thinking?” I finally ask.
    She slowly turns toward me and pulls her leg up into the seat. She wraps her arms around it and rests her chin on top of her knee. I’ve never wanted to be a knee so bad in my entire life.
    “I’m confused as hell, Will. I don’t know what to think.”
    Honestly, I don’t know what to think, either. God, I’m such an asshole. How could I have let this happen? I sigh and look out the passenger window. I can’t for the life of me hold my composure if I keep looking into those eyes.
    “I’m sorry,” I say. “This is all my fault.”
    “It’s nobody’s fault,” she says. “In order for there to be fault, there has to be some sort of conscious decision. You didn’t know, Will.”
    I didn’t know. But it’s my own damn fault that I didn’t know.
    “That’s just it, Lake,” I say, turning to face her. “I should have known. I’m in an occupation that doesn’t just require ethics inside the classroom; they apply to all aspects of my life. I wasn’t aware because I wasn’t doing my job. When you told me you were eighteen, I just assumed you were in college.”
    She looks away and whispers, “I’ve only been eighteen for two weeks.”
    That sentence. If that sentence could have just been spoken a few days ago, this entire situation would have been avoided. Why the hell didn’t I just ask her when her birthday was? I close my eyes and rest my head against the seat, preparing to explain my unique situation to her. I want her to have a better understanding of why this can’t work between us.
    “I student teach,” I say. “Sort of.”
    “Sort of?”
    “After my parents died, I doubled up on all my classes. I have enough credits to graduate a semester early. Since the school was so shorthanded, they offered me a one-year contract. I have three months left of student teaching. After that I’m under contract through June of next year.” I look over at her and her eyes are closed. She’s shaking her head ever so slightly like she doesn’t comprehend what I’m saying, or she just doesn’t want to hear it.
    “Lake, I need this job. It’s what I’ve been working toward for three years. We’re broke. My parents left me with a mound of debt and now college tuition. I can’t quit now.”
    She darts her eyes toward me, almost like I’ve insulted her.
    “Will, I understand. I’d never ask you to jeopardize your career. You’ve worked hard. It would be stupid if you threw that away for someone you’ve only known for three days.”
    Oh, but I would. If you would just