She turned away from him as she opened the door. The heat of his stare was still on her back even when the door closed behind her. She squinted in the bright overhead lights of the lobby. Kids were rushing past. She felt her body tense up the same way it always did when she was in school. Only this time, the anxiety wasn’t from the silent will of Esther pushing her to succeed. She felt anxious because she had started to form a plan.
She would talk to Mr. Wexler. She would approach him casually, as if nothing was wrong. She would ask him some questions. Then, she would act like she was going to leave before she dropped the one more thing.
Emily felt her confidence start to falter. Could she really ask Mr. Wexler if he’d taken advantage of her? He would be outraged. Of course he would be outraged. But would that be because he was innocent or because he was guilty?
“Emily!” Melody Brickel was literally galloping up the hallway. She had a thing for horses, which was only one of the reasons she wasn’t very popular. “You missed band practice yesterday!”
Emily resisted the urge to curl herself into a ball. Mrs. Brickel knew everything. Hadn’t she told her daughter?
“Em?” Melody grabbed her hand and pulled her into Mr. Wexler’s empty classroom. “What’s wrong? You look awful. Have you been crying? But I love your hair.”
“I’m—” Emily’s brain seized. She was in Mr. Wexler’s room. He would be here soon. She wasn’t ready. There was no way she could confront him. She’d meant to write down a list of questions but now all she could think was that she had to get out of here before he showed up.
“Emily?” Melody asked. “What’s wrong?”
“I—” Emily gulped. “Didn’t your mom tell you?”
“Tell me what?” Melody asked. “Were you at Dr. Schroeder’s yesterday? Mom’s not allowed to say anything about what happens there. There’s some kind of rule or something? I don’t know. But you told me you were there so what’s wrong, are you okay?”
“Yes, I—” Emily cast about for a lie. “It’s my period. It started a few days ago and it’s been really bad.”
“Oh, no, poor you.” Melody gripped her hand. “You’re too old to still be seeing that stupid mean goat. You should talk to a proper gynecologist. My mom got me on the pill two years ago and I barely notice my periods anymore.”
Emily didn’t know which was more startling—that Melody had seen a gynecologist or that she was on the pill.
“Don’t look so outraged, silly. The pill isn’t just for sex. Though I live in hope!” She reached into her book bag and presented a cassette tape. “Here, I brought you this but you gotta promise to give it back.”
Emily didn’t know what to do but take the cassette. On the cover, five girls were sitting around in towels with cold cream covering their faces. The Go-Go’s. Beauty and the Beat.
“I told you about it last week.” Melody sounded excited. She was obsessed with music. “Listen to how the vocals slow down in the middle of ‘Our Lips Are Sealed’, okay? It’s not exactly a time signature shift but it kind of reminds me of what the Beatles did in ‘We Can Work It Out’ where they dip from a 4/4 into a 3/4. Or ‘Under My Thumb’ where the Stones—”
Emily’s hearing left her. Mr. Wexler had come into the room. In the periphery, she could see him dropping a stack of papers on his desk. She kept her gaze on Melody playing imaginary drums and tapping her foot to a beat only Melody could hear.
“Listen for it, okay?” Melody said. “It’s so cool. And they wrote the music themselves, which is awesome, right?”
Emily nodded, though she had no idea what she was agreeing with. All she knew was it was enough to make Melody lope out of the room.
Mr. Wexler asked, “What’s got her so excited this time?”
Emily had to swallow before she could speak. “The Go-Go’s.”
He guffawed. “She’s comparing a bunch of chubby little girls to the Stones? Give me a break. They’re just playacting so they can meet guys.”
Last week, Emily would’ve taken him at his word, maybe even laughed along with him, but now she asked, “Don’t guys join bands so they can meet girls?”
“Maybe the hairballs you listen to,” Mr. Wexler said. “The Stones are actual musicians. They’ve got real talent.”
Emily clasped her hands together. She had started sweating again. She had no plan. She couldn’t do this. She wasn’t Columbo.
“What do you need, Em?” Mr. Wexler ate a handful of trail mix from the bag in his desk. “I got so wasted last night. I dragged through my morning run like the ground was quicksand. I need to prep for class.”
“I—” Emily remembered what Cheese had said. She needed to write things down. She couldn’t use her class notebooks. She reached randomly in her purse for something to write on, then clicked her pen. She looked up at Mr. Wexler, but she didn’t know what to say.
“Emily?” he asked. “Come on, what is it?”
“I—” She lost her nerve. “I missed class yesterday. I need to know my make-up work.”
He laughed. “Uh, I think we’re good. You’ve got your A. Don’t worry.”