Pack Secrets || WLW

Wicked Mango Margaritas

Fucking the English teacher doesn't stand out in my memory. Part of me knew what I was signing up for when I knocked on his door after the last school bell rang. I'd asked for an extra credit opportunity but everyone knew the way he looked at me during class the entire year. When the tears started flowing, he stood up and hugged me. That was the moment I knew. Extra credit wasn't going to be an extra paper.

Although the act itself doesn't stand out, the next day does. Someone must have seen us because the teacher was arrested right from his classroom and I was known as the girl who got the overly-charismatic, easygoing English teacher fired.

The small group of peers I'd wedged myself to fit in with deserted me. They'd never really liked me anyway. I knew that, but lunch was still hard. A full thirty minutes sitting at a plastic table with empty benches stretching for an eternity. People stared, didn't even try to hide it. They'd at least cover their mouths while they whispered about me but their words were loud and clear.

She's such a slut

Why'd she have to get Mr. Katz fired?

He was my favorite teacher

I don't remember her getting up or making her way across the cafeteria. I only know she must have because she'd always sat on the opposite side of the room before, with the popular kids. Angela set her tray of cold pizza and apple juice on the tabletop. The action was as aggressive as her statement. She glared back at the people who gawked while I stared at her with wide eyes.

Finally, when the drama died down, she picked a pepperoni off her pizza and popped it into her mouth.

"It was bad, huh?"

I raised an eyebrow at her while she chewed the pepperoni slice.

"The sex?" she clarified and then waved it off. "I guess we can't call it that since it wasn't legally consensual but... Come on. Give me the scoop. I always thought Mr. Katz would be terrible in bed." She pulls another pepperoni from her pizza. "All talk, no game. Right?"

In that moment my chest cracked with relief. I hadn't known what I needed but Angela did. She took my mind off it, made it smaller than it was so I could process. The next day, we sat next to each other in all our classes. We became best friends. Inseparable until college. I'd listen to her talk for hours. About boys. About girls. About new music she found. About art and museums and how much she hated Glassboro and her stomach cramps and just everything.

But now, hearing her voice come through the phone, I can't be sure. This can't be Angela. Can it?

I look at June, my mouth hanging open, my eyebrows pulled together so tightly I can feel the wrinkles forming.

"Hellooooo." Angela's voice comes through static. "Earth to Sawyer. Are you gonna say something or what?"

"Angela?" I repeat because it's all my mind can think right now.

She clicks her tongue. "Who else?"

"Where the hell are you?"

June follows me as I pace from the living room into the kitchen. I need to sit down. No, I need to move.

"Your mom's house," she deadpans. "She couldn't get enough—"

"Are you joking right now?" My words come out sharper than I intend. "Sheriff Gray told me you were missing. I came back to Glassboro. I've been—"

"You're in Glassboro?" Angela asks.

"Yes. Looking for you."

It goes quiet for so long I have to check to make sure I didn't lose connection. Something rattles faintly, filling the silence.