Chapter Five

CHAPTER FIVE

Milo

Mondays were my least favorite days of the week. Especially the Mondays after I fought with my father. Those Mondays always sucked the most.

Last night, my father called me a depressed adolescent. I called him a drunken asshole who’d abandoned me. Both comments were true, but he only focused on my failures, not his own. I knew I was depressed. That was a given. My depression had lingered for over three years since Mom got her cancer diagnosis. It started with me crying in the darkness of my closet alone at age fourteen because I didn’t want her to hear my tears. I knew that would only make her feel worse, so I hid my pain the best I could. I performed my best when I was around her and others. Everyone bought my act, too, except for Mom. She’d always notice the cracked parts of me that everyone else seemed to miss. She’d stare at me the same way birthday girl had—as if she were peering into the depths of my soul.

Most people thought depression meant lying in bed or sitting in darkness for weeks, but it wasn’t that way for me. In the beginning, I’d laugh through my depression. And once I’d become sexually active, I fucked through the pain. I built a false sense of confidence that helped me find women who helped me forget for a little while. I moved through life as if I were a normal person, but it was in the quiet parts of me where the depression thrived. I only felt a crippling sadness or a complete indifference to everyone and everything around me.

Mom had me in counseling and on medication to help with my depression until she died. I stopped all of that after she was gone. The medication made me feel better mentally. It worked wonders, and I knew it sounded messed up, but I didn’t think I deserved to feel better with her gone. I didn’t want to feel better. I didn’t want to feel anything. For the most part, I’d also wished I was six feet under. Because what was the point of life if you didn’t have your best friend anymore?

Dad and I had that same mindset. We didn’t discuss it, but I saw it enough in his drinking. He was trying not to feel, too.

I thought about the dead more than I did the living. I blamed my mother for that. My mind was a toxic landfill of negativity, and my soul swam in those poisoned thoughts daily.

I deflated into Principal Gallo’s office chair, bored with his repetitive lecture.

His office smelled like chicken wings and protein powder. Not the most pleasant scent in the world, though it seemed the new norm every time I showed up for our weekly meeting. He’d remind me how I was weeks away from needing to repeat my senior year due to my failing grades.

Failure seemed to be one of my greatest talents. Just ask my father. He made sure to point out my shortcomings consistently. It was his favorite bedtime story each night. If only he knew my ability to zone out was at an ultimate high regarding his parenting styles. Besides, lately, he entertained the whiskey bottle more than me. He was never truly a parent—Mom took on that task. And now, with her gone…

“Milo. Did you hear me?” Principal Gallo asked, snapping his fingers.

I looked up from the coffee stain on his yellow carpet, the stain I’d focused on since being summoned to his office. No cleaning product could get that shit out.

“You should’ve soaked that up,” I muttered, unamused by…everything.

He arched a bushy eyebrow. “What?”

I pointed toward the stain. “That’s never going to come out. Your carpet is fucked.”

He tensed up at my comment. I was a professional at stressing out Principal Gallo. “We’re ripping the carpeting out in two weeks. Milo, are you—”

“Are you getting hardwood floors?”

“Milo—”

“A nice oak would do you good. Maybe some more paint on the walls and—”

“Milo!” he shouted, slamming his hand against his desk. “Focus.”

Why?

I was in a hopeless situation, anyway. What did it matter if I focused or not?

“We have one of the best tutors set up for you. You’ll meet with her each day down at the library after school. She’s been tutoring students since she attended school here, and everyone she helped has passed their courses. She’s busy with college classes, but I put in a good word for you.”

“No.” I began to rise from my chair. “Thanks, anyway.”

“Milo,” he barked. “Sit back down.”

I considered telling him to piss off briefly, but Mom would’ve probably lectured me about disrespect.

Why did I care what my mom thought? She was dead. Her opinion didn’t hold weight anymore. Still, I respected it.

Principal Gallo clasped his hands together. “You’re seeing the tutor.”

“Or?”

“Or you’re flunking out.”

“I’ll take flunking for two hundred,” I mocked him as if life were a game of Jeopardy! .

Mom’s favorite show was Jeopardy! .

I’d watch it with her every day after school.

There I was again, thinking about the dead.

Principal Gallo sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Milo, what would your mother—”

“Don’t.” I cut in with a slight headshake. “Don’t talk about my mother.”

“I get that losing Ana was hard for you. Trust me, I know.”

“You have no idea.”

“She was my sister, Milo. I lost her, too.”

I looked at my uncle and felt a pit in my stomach. Of course I knew he’d lost her, too. It was why I showed up to his office weekly for the conversations about how I was screwing up my life. It was why I sat down in his uncomfortable chair. It was why I stared at his godforsaken carpet.

Because he had her eyes.

He had her smile.

He had her genuine concern, too.

I both hated and loved him for those reasons.

He took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. That was how I always knew it was time to talk to my uncle instead of my principal. When the glasses came off, Principal Gallo became Weston.

“I’m worried about you, Milo,” he expressed.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not. Your grades are slipping, and you’re failing three classes, almost four. Ana wouldn’t want this for you. I don’t want this for you. You need to take the tutor.”

“What if I flunked out? Would that be the worst thing in the world?” I was tired of caring. I didn’t have much energy left in me to care.

“You’re not going to flunk out. I refuse to let that happen.”

“Unfortunately for you”—I placed my hands on the arms of the chair and pushed myself up from it—“you don’t get to make that choice for me.”

I started walking toward the door to leave his office, and he called out to me, but I ignored him. He called again. I still ignored him.

“She left you a letter,” Weston said.

The hairs on the back of my neck stood straight. I turned to face him. “What?”

“Your mom…she left you a letter.”

“No, she didn’t.”

“Yes,” he urged. “She did. I’m supposed to give it to you at—”

“Give it to me,” I ordered. My cold, tired heart started rapidly pounding.

Weston shook his head. “I can’t. I’m supposed to give it to you on your graduation.”

“Who the hell cares? She’s not here to control the timeline. Give it to me.”

“I won’t.”

“Weston—”

“It was her dying wish to me, Milo. I’m not going to disobey her request.”

“I hate you,” I told him.

Weston nodded. “I know.” He placed his glasses back on and sat straighter in his chair. He was now Principal Gallo again. Splendid. “You’ll also have to attend all your classes to get the letter.”

“Was that Mom’s rule, or are you just being a dick?”

He didn’t answer my question. “Your tutoring starts today, Milo—three o’clock at the library. Please don’t give her a hard time. If you do, she’ll report back to me.”

Damn tattletale. Why did I get the feeling that woman would become the bane of my existence over the next few weeks?

As I was about to leave, I huffed. “Do you know what’s two weeks away from today?” I asked him.

“Yes.” He grimaced. “The first anniversary of Ana’s passing.”

Anniversary.

What an odd word to use for such a tragic situation.

He pushed his glasses on top of his head. “How are you handling it?”

I didn’t reply because I wasn’t handling it at all. I was mentally shutting down every single second that passed by me.

I walked into the hallway, into a tornado of students zipping past me, yet I felt as if I were moving in slow motion, treading through quicksand that sometimes I’d consider allowing to swallow me whole. I wondered if other people felt that way—as if they’d rather sink away into the earth, never to be seen again, than keep walking mindlessly through the fog.

She left me a letter.

What did it say?

Did Weston keep it in his possession?

That thought made me want to break into my uncle’s house and flip the whole thing upside down in search of said letter. If I knew my uncle well enough, he probably had those things in a locked safe.

I wasn’t in the mood for school that day, but honestly, I wasn’t in the mood for school any day. Yet I was in the mood to get said letter from my uncle at the end of the semester, so I dragged myself to my English class.

“So nice of you to join us, Mr. Corti. I was beginning to think you forgot what this classroom looked like,” Mr. Slade mentioned as I walked into class fifteen minutes late.

“You know me. Can’t avoid a trip down memory lane,” I muttered. I tossed my backpack to the side of my desk and slid into my chair, already disappointed that I chose to show up to class. My uncle got into my head about that damn letter my mother left for me.

“I hope you’re caught up on the reading, seeing how we have a pop quiz today,” Mr. Slade said as he picked up a stack of papers. The whole room groaned in annoyance. I was almost certain teachers got off on stressing students out with pop quizzes. It was probably the best high of their week.

“Do you even know what book we’re reading, Mr. Corti?” he asked as he stood over my desk.

“Let me guess, See Spot Run ?”

A few people snickered.

“I bet your future appreciates those jokes,” Mr. Slade said. “Or lack thereof one.”

I flipped him off when he turned his back to me.

Mr. Slade was a dick, but I was certain he felt the same way about me. I wasn’t the easiest student to deal with, and there was a 99 percent chance I was about to bomb the quiz he’d set on my desk. He knew that to be true, too. I didn’t care about his lack of faith in me, though. I didn’t believe in myself, either. It seemed to be a universal belief pattern.

I went to dig in my backpack for a pen to butcher the exam when a person came rushing into the classroom.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I got turned around, and there was traffic, which isn’t an excuse because I should’ve left earlier, so I’m sorry about that, but I’m here. I’m sorry. Hi.” The voice was packed with nervous energy. I didn’t care enough to see who entered. I still needed a damn pen.

Mr. Slade cleared his throat. “No worries. You’re right on time.”

I huffed to myself, not looking up. Sure, she could be late, but I couldn’t. Hypocrite.

I kept digging in my backpack, unable to find a damn pen. That was when Savannah reached out with an extra. Big sister to the rescue. I wondered if she was sick of my bullshit over the last few years. If she was, she never showed any signs of her annoyance. She kept checking in to make sure I was okay.

I nodded. “Thanks.”

“Always,” she replied.

Mr. Slade clapped his hands together like a toddler gathering our attention. “Class, I’d like to introduce you to Ms. Evans. Our new student teacher for this semester. She’ll be shadowing me and taking over lesson plans occasionally,” Mr. Slade said.

As I looked up to the front of the class, shock washed over me when I saw her standing there. Birthday girl.

“Fuck,” I blurted out without any thought at all.

The muscles in my neck and shoulders clenched as all eyes shot in my direction, including hers. Her brown eyes that only a few days ago were locked in on mine. Her full lips that only a few days ago were moaning out for me. Her stunned expression mirrored my own.

My fingers fidgeted as a feeling of restlessness overtook me. I didn’t like the sensation of all eyes on me. Especially hers, because they stared at me in such a distinct way.

I wrung my hands together several times before rubbing them against my pants. She shook her head, quickly averting her eyes from mine. She turned to Mr. Slade and pushed out a tight-lipped smile. It wasn’t her real smile. I’d seen her real smile. It was a beautiful one. Innocent. Rare. It wasn’t every day you saw someone’s real smile. Yet at that moment, her grin was covered in anxiety and nerves. She was mortified.

Me, on the other hand?

Slightly uneased but intrigued.

Really damn intrigued.

“I’m looking forward to working with you all and forming great working relationships with each individual,” she said, gesturing toward all the students.

Mr. Slade instructed us to start our quizzes as he pulled Ms. Evans over to his desk, where he’d talked to her about work or some bullshit. I couldn’t take my eyes off her, and I could tell her stare was working overtime to avoid glancing my way. Her nerves were somewhat cute, and she was beautiful. There was no getting around that. I knew that the first moment I looked at her, from her long legs to her phenomenal curves. Her hair was straightened that afternoon, unlike when my fingers got tangled up in her curls three days ago. She looked good with straight hair, but I liked the wildness of her curls a little bit more. She wore a navy-blue top with a pencil skirt and tan high heels. She was completely covered from head to toe, but I could still envision what was beneath the fabric resting against her skin.

Her lips were painted crimson, and my eyes couldn’t look away.

I knew this situation was killing her, but she had to remain professional. I had to give her some credit on that front. Most people would’ve run out in panic.

Ms. Evans.

The thought of calling her that in bed might’ve crossed my mind. Even though by the end of our night together, I found myself in the middle of a panic attack, the moments leading up to that had been some of the most satisfying times of my life. The panic attack was probably a once-in-a-blue-moon situation that had nothing to do with her. At least, that was what I was telling myself as I daydreamed about tasting her once more.

Ms. Evans.

Ms. Fucking. Evans.

Many inappropriate thoughts formed in my head at that moment, things I knew would’ve made her blush. I didn’t know why, but that idea somewhat thrilled me. Seeing her professionally dressed in that skintight pencil skirt made me want to rip it from her skin. I wanted to bury my face between her legs, tugging at her panties with my teeth to pull them down her thick, luscious thighs. I wondered how she’d look bent over on the teacher’s desk with me behind her, smoothing a hand over her bare ass.

Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I did like this school thing. With the right incentive, I could look forward to the lesson plans.