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the whole song on Youtube.”
    I shook my head. “No can do on that one. I’m not allowed to get on the computer except to type papers.” I fidgeted with the zipper on my bag.
    “Oh.”
    “I’m not allowed to do much of anything,” I admitted. Cadence, do not dump on this poor guy. He may have yelled at you this morning, but that doesn’t mean he has to hear about your problems as punishment.
    “I see,” Mr. Connelly said. He didn’t press me. I’m glad because I would have been too tempted to tell him everything. Why I thought he would care, I didn’t know.
    “It’s just temporary,” I said, but I wasn’t convinced. In fact, I knew my dad planned to keep me off the Internet for the rest of my life. And never give me back driving privileges. And never allow me to date. And never let me do anything.
    Mr. Connelly furrowed his brows. “Cadence, I’m sorry for yelling at you this morning.”
    I was shocked and didn’t know what to say. I’d never had a teacher apologize to me before. I didn’t think they were allowed to.
    “It’s okay,” I mumbled.
    “Actually, no, it’s not,” Mr. Connelly replied. “It was wrong. And I understood why you wore that jumpsuit. Another reason I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”
    I thought for a moment. “I shouldn’t have argued. I should have done what you asked.”
    Mr. Connelly shrugged.
    “They wanted me to run to the bathroom and cry,” I said softly. “And I didn’t want to give them what they wanted. That’s why I wore it.”
    “I know.”
    I turned my face away. I thought about my parents who were so angry with me, had not forgiven me for my “big mistake.” That’s what they called it: the “big mistake.” I couldn’t draw sympathy from anyone for my pain and loneliness. It was pain for losing my best friend, losing the trust of my parents, losing my “good girl” standing at school. I didn’t realize how much I missed it—that I preferred to be regarded as a naïve virgin than what everyone was calling me now: a whore. I needed someone to feel sorry for me, and I knew Mr. Connelly did. I was greedy for sympathy and decided to make him feel guilty.
    “You did.”
    “I’m sorry?” Mr. Connelly asked.
    “You made me run to the bathroom and cry,” I said, hiding my face. And then I jumped up from the bench and started walking.
    I was embarrassed. Maybe that was a bad idea. It seemed far better in my head—saying those words out loud—but the reality was something entirely different.
    “Cadence,” I heard from behind. I cringed and picked up my pace. “Cadence, wait!”
    I kept walking as fast as I could, chin tucked protectively, eyes glued to the ground. I wouldn’t go back to school tomorrow. I could never return and face another day of bullying. I could never face him . I would run away. I’d pack a bag tonight, tear the house apart until I found the car keys Dad hid, and leave town. Just drive. Drive until I hit the ocean. Then drive the car into the ocean.
    “I’m sorry I made you cry!” Mr. Connelly said, jumping in front of me and forcing me to a halt.
    I looked up at him, eyes swimming with angry tears.
    “I feel terrible for it,” he said gently.
    “I’m not like one of those girls!” I cried, feeling the first tear sneak from the corner of my eye and slide down my cheek to betray my next statement. “I’m not, like, emotional all the time!”
    Mr. Connelly nodded.
    “I’m just having a bad thirteen months!” I sobbed. The tears were leaking now, and I blotted them with the backs of my hands. “And you didn’t help! You could have been nicer, you know? You could have just let me be! What they did was cruel, and I was just trying to make the best of it!”
    I watched as Mr. Connelly struggled with what to say and do. He almost looked like he wanted to reach out and hug me then remembered he was a male teacher and I was a teenage, female student. He opened his mouth then closed it. It was awkward watching him