Page 82 of I'm Gonna Get You Back
@haikuforyou
A light, searching knock
Soft eyes at the open door
Breaths become tumbling.
MITCHELL AND KENJI AREdetermined to be the two most annoying people on the fucking planet. We’re supposed to pick up Clara for the play, which wastheiridea, but they’re so caught up in their warped version of Shakespearean English that we haven’t even left yet. I forgot what they’re like when they get together; they eclipse everyone else for each other. But I can’t really be mad because Clara and I used to be like that, too.
I wonder all over again if Kenji has a thing for Mitchell. Mitch has always had girlfriends, that I know of, so I don’t know if he even notices.
I catch one last glimpse of myself in the hall mirror before we go, and I almost laugh because I spent thirty minutes nervously messing with my hair only to get it to look how it did before I even touched it at all.
And I can’t believe I’m wearing this shirt.
As soon as I walk into the living room, Mitch throws something at me.
“A notice for thee from the outside world!” he announces. The sharp corner of the letter hits me square in the forehead before landing on the floor. I glare at him while I rub the spot.
“‘Thou art a boil, a plague sore,’” I mutter.
“Dude, you can’tactuallyquote Shakespeare; that ruins it,” Kenji complains.
But their voices fade to the background as my focus narrows to the envelope on the floor with the Stanford logo. The one holding a letter that probably says the same thing the email did this morning. Heart racing, I tear it open.
Fuck.
That’s exactly what it is. The official notice about my academic probation. There isn’t enough air in this room. This ridiculous shirt, too tight.
What’s my dad going to say when he sees this? What’s he going todo? The memory of his recovery flashes through my mind. How he had only been in the hospital a few days but had looked like he’d aged a year. How Julianne pled with the insurance company with panic in her voice.
I promised myself then that I’d do everything I could to help our family. And I’mfailing.
If I don’t figure out what to do, I’m going to lose everything we’ve worked for.
Everything my dad wanted for me.
Hopefully buying myself a little more time, I crush the paper and toss it in the kitchen trash. “We’re late.” My sharp tone cuts through their jovial one.
“You okay?” Mitchell asks me as we walk to the car.
“Fine. Let’s just get this over with.”
At least my knee is feeling better after the hot springs. If I can manageto stay off it the rest of the weekend, the rumors should die down and no one will be the wiser.
Well, except Clara.
We arrive at her house ten minutes later, and I’m a sweaty, nervous wreck. Still stressing about the letter sitting in the trash can, and the fact that Mitchell’s warped perception of things probably gassed me up too much. Gave me too much hope that she’ll talk to me. Her front door opens before Mitchell even comes to a complete stop, and she stares at the car with a furious look on her face.
“Damn,” Kenji says appreciatively as he watches her slowly walk toward us.
Both of us smack him simultaneously.
“What? I’m just saying what we’re all thinking.”
He’s not wrong.
She’s wearing dark jeans and a black long-sleeve shirt that clings to her. Her hair is tumbling across her shoulders, free from its usual ponytail, and her eye makeup is dark. She looks… problematically good.
