After You

ii. caring is knowing when to zip your lips

Mrs. Crow’s third-grade classroom was a colorful array of student drawings, laminated multiplication tables and spelling guides, and printed photos of various student events. Posters marked with cartoon apples and worms encouraged good behavior from all four walls. Student names were squeaked across giant dry-erase boards, and some were followed by check marks for bad behavior. Three check marks, and it was all over. Consider your recess forfeited.

Clarke glanced to the white board. Her name had two check marks beside it, one for throwing a marker at Jasper Jordan’s head after he stole her strawberry-scented eraser and one for talking while the teacher was talking. Clarke couldn’t help herself on the latter mark. She was too curious, too eager, and when something popped into her head, it just as quickly popped out of her mouth.

The fear of a third check mark was alive and well, bubbling just under the surface. Clarke felt queasy with the feeling, the way she always did after she chugged her dad’s Pepsi while her parents weren’t watching. She was unable to sit still, her legs kicking back and forth under her chair so that her shoes made a quiet brushing sound against the carpet. She knew a third check mark would ruin everything.

It wasn’t so much the prospect of losing recess that worried her. It was what came after. Clarke had never gotten three check marks that hadn’t then been followed by a fourth, and a fourth was definitely worse. She always ended up coming in from recess with her mood in the toilet and an attitude hot on her tongue, having spent the entire time at the wall as her punishment (completely missing out on swings and hopscotch). The combination was prime fourth-check-mark material, and a fourth check mark?

A fourth check mark meant a letter to her parents, folded up inside of a big white envelope and safety-pinned to Clarke’s shirt like a giant sign flashing ‘I’m a troublemaker’ to the world. A fourth check mark meant not only trouble at school but trouble at home, and trouble at home was the last thing Clarke wanted.

The last time she went home with a fourth-check-mark envelope pinned to her shirt, she was stripped of her Nintendo and dessert privileges for two days and got a full thirty-minute lecture on why ‘we don’t put worms on the teacher’s desk’. Her explanation that Jasper and Monty had actually dug up the worms and Clarke had only been showing them to the teacher ‘for science’ did little to save her.

She hadn’t felt so thoroughly scolded since the time she stole fishing line from her father’s tackle box, tied one end to the bathroom doorknob and the other to her loose tooth. When the door slammed shut and jerked her tooth out of her mouth, Clarke had let out a wild howl. Her mother found her on the bathroom floor, and despite Clarke’s triumphant holey grin, she hadn’t been impressed. It was the strangest thing to be scolded and hugged at the same time, but somehow, it made the scolding seem all the more serious to Clarke. Well, that and all the blood that had been staining her chin and t-shirt.

She was determined to hold steady at two check marks. Her dad was making peach cobbler for dessert, Clarke’s favorite, and she wasn’t about to miss out on that. She would be on her very best behavior no matter what happened, no matter w—

A quick, sharp knock on the door pulled everyone’s attention to the right just as the principal, Ms. Peters, poked her head in. “Sorry to interrupt,” she said, “but we’ve got a new student to introduce!”

Ms. Peters then pushed the door fully open and ushered in someone Clarke couldn’t quite see from her desk. When they moved to the center of the room, though, Clarke’s entire body went rigid. Her swooshing feet stilled, her throat closed up to the point that it hurt to swallow, and her heart dropped down into her stomach so hard and so fast that she thought she might throw up.

“Everyone,” Ms. Peters said, wearing her signature toothy grin and blue cardigan, “this is Lexa Woods. She just moved back into town and will be joining your class. Can you all say ‘hello’?”

The kids around Clarke all chimed off their hellos, some shouted and some mumbled, but Clarke couldn’t speak at all. Her tongue suddenly felt too big for her mouth, and she couldn’t do anything but stare at the big bushy curls and seafoam eyes that had been seared into her memory years earlier.

Lexa looked different, different but somehow still the same. She had the same features, though no visible bruises or markings, and her face was a little more filled out than it had been when they were younger. She was taller, more legs than torso now, but still more hair than body. She was scrawny and beautiful, and Clarke felt like she couldn’t breathe while looking at her.

When the principal left the room, Mrs. Crow stood next to Lexa and placed a hand on her shoulder. Clarke wanted to scream when she saw Lexa wince at the sudden touch.

It was too familiar, too personal, too much. Clarke felt dizzy with all the things that rushed to the surface at the sight of her. She could still remember the exact way it felt to wait and wait and wait, the exact way it felt to stop.

“Lexa, why don’t you tell the class a few things about yourself,” Mrs. Crow encouraged. “Ms. Peters said you just moved back. So, you lived here before?”

Clarke found herself nodding at the same time as Lexa, who hadn’t seemed to notice her yet. She was seated near the back in the third row, not the easiest to see from the front of the room. Part of her wanted Lexa to see her but another part of her wanted to sink down into her chair and disappear.

“And how old are you?”

Lexa stood stiff as a board beside the teacher, sucking on her bottom lip and staring blankly ahead. “Ten.”

“Ten years old,” Mrs. Crow said with a smile and a pat to Lexa’s shoulder. She then looked to the class. “We have some double-digit birthdays coming up in here too, don’t we?”

Several kids nodded, a few mumbled, and Clarke just continued to stare. Half-tucked under her desk and half-straining to see and to be seen. She felt at once flushed with excitement and overwhelmed with the urge to cry, and her heart felt like it was beating too fast in her chest. She had been truly convinced that she would never see Lexa Woods again. She had grieved over her and for her, and now here she was. Lexa. Her Lexa.

It was toomuch.

“All right, Lexa,” Mrs. Crow said. “How about you tell us your favorite color and then we’ll get you set up with a desk and a cubby.”

Fingers playing with the bottom of her yellow t-shirt, Lexa glanced up at the teacher and then back toward the class. For a moment she looked as if she wasn’t going to answer, but then she released her bottom lip with a smacking pop and said, “Gween.”

Her speech impediment wasn’t as pronounced as it once had been but it was still clearly audible. The familiarity of it and of Lexa’s lullaby voice tugged Clarke’s lips up with the beginnings of a smile. It fell quickly, though, when a loud laugh rang out from Clarke’s left. She suddenly found her courage again when Jasper pointed to the front of the room and said, “She talks funny!”

Clarke was on her feet before she could stop herself. “No she doesn’t,” she snapped, anger flashing through her chest, and without thinking, she pushed Jasper right out of his seat and onto the carpeted floor.

Heat rushed to Clarke’s cheeks as she balled her hands into fists at her sides and glared down at Jasper.

“Clarke!”

Whirling around, Clarke only briefly registered Mrs. Crow’s hands, propped on her hips, and the stern expression on her somewhat wrinkled face. Her gaze dropped too quickly to the girl standing beside her, to Lexa’s wide eyes and slightly gaping mouth. Her heart jumped into her throat and stuck there painfully the second time her name was uttered.

“Clawke.”

She nodded, pressing her hands over her rolling stomach, and let her feet carry her a few steps forward without thought. She stopped before she could get too close to Lexa, stopped and rocked on her heels. “Hi,” she muttered, and the word barely crossed her lips, barely survived past the stuttered breath it slipped free on. It had hardly any voice at all.

Taking a deep breath, Clarke started to say more. She started to tell Lexa that she had waited for her, waited so long that she sometimes felt older than she was. It didn’t make sense to most people, Clarke knew, but it made perfect sense to her. She felt like she had a lot more than nine years in her heart, though she could never find the right words to explain the feeling. Some part of her just knew, though, that Lexa would understand.

She started to say that waiting wasn’t even the worst part, that it was the wondering that had made Clarke feel pulled and picked apart inside. Wondering where Lexa was, if she was okay, if she was safe, if she had a stuffed animal to sleep with, if she was happy … if she was covered in marks like the ones Clarke still sometimes saw when she closed her eyes. Wondering if she would ever see Lexa again.

But as soon as she opened her mouth, the wind was knocked clean out of her.

Her vision was obscured by a mess of curls as Lexa barreled into her, pulling her close and squeezing Clarke like maybe she had waited too. Like maybe she had grieved. Maybe she had wondered.

Clarke gasped and giggled and wrapped her arms as tightly around Lexa as she could, and in that one embrace, she felt some piece inside herself, something that had broken off, gone missing, fall back into place.

And not even the third check mark squeaked onto the board beside her name could take that away from her.

The scratchy surface of the brick rubbed against Clarke’s forehead as she stood against the wall and did her best to get a look around the playground without getting herself into more trouble. Jasper stood a few feet to her right, whispering jokes and a half-hearted apology (in the form of a whiney ‘come ooon, Clarke’) at her from his place on the wall, but Clarke tuned him out. He was always getting himself and everyone else into trouble, and Clarke was still mad at him for making fun of Lexa. So, as far as she was concerned, he wasn’t there at all.

If she turned a bit, just enough that her right temple was pressed to the wall instead of her forehead, Clarke could see Lexa.

She wasn’t with anyone, wasn’t swinging or playing basketball or making friends with the other kids. Instead, she sat by herself on the sidewalk bordering the playground with her elbows on her knees and her chin propped up in her hands. Just watching everyone.

She shouldn’t be alone, Clarke thought. Not now. She just got back, and everything and everyone had to feel at least a little strange, a little uncomfortable. Clarke didn’t want her to be alone.

“How come you know that girl?” Jasper asked, his heavy whisper buzzing at Clarke’s ear like an insect that she wanted to squash against the wall.

He didn’t remember Lexa from her brief time with their class. He didn’t remember her, and from what Clarke could tell, hardly any of the other kids remembered her either.

But Clarke did.

The short time she had had with Lexa had left a lasting impression, and for a long time after, Lexa was the only thing she thought about.

There was so much she wanted to ask her, so much she wanted to tell her about all the things Lexa had missed in Clarke’s life. There was so much Clarke needed to know and needed to share. She was so full with it all that she could burst, and she didn’t want to wait. She was done waiting.

“She’s my best friend,” Clarke said, more to herself than to Jasper, and rather than stick around to hear any kind of response, Clarke did something reckless.

She left the wall.

Mrs. Johnson, one of the second-grade teachers who was on recess duty that day, blew a whistle and called her name, but Clarke just kept walking. She walked until she had crossed the entire playground and plopped down next to Lexa on the sidewalk.

“Clawke.” Lexa looked over at her, eyes wide, and Clarke somehow felt both sad and happy at the same time. “You can’t leave the wall.”

Cupping her hands over her knees, Clarke scooted a bit closer and said, “Where’d you go?”

Lexa didn’t say anything, and her gaze dropped from Clarke’s face to the ground. She shrugged a shoulder, and Clarke resisted the urge to wrap an arm around her. Reaching down, Lexa drew a circle in the dirt between her feet, and then finally answered. “My uncle’s house.”

“You’ve got an uncle?”

Lexa nodded. “I didn't meet him until I moved in with him. He lives in a big city.”

Slowly, Clarke scooted closer. Their shoulders rubbed together, and Clarke whispered, “I missed you.”

“Clarke!”

Groaning, Clarke pushed onto her feet and trudged toward Mrs. Johnson, who had finally made her way over. She had one hand propped on her hip and the other was waving Clarke toward her. When Clarke glanced over her shoulder, she gave Lexa a sheepish smile and tried to ignore the wiggling weight of worry sloshing heavily around in her stomach.

It was going to be a long day.

The large white envelope pinned to Clarke’s shirt crinkled a bit as she climbed into the backseat of her father’s car and huffed out a heavy breath.

“I can explain,” she said before the door was even fully closed.

Jake attempted to look stern for a moment only before he let out a soft laugh. “I don’t think ‘for science’ is going to work any better this time than it did last time, kiddo.”

Crossing her arms over her chest, Clarke crinkled the envelope further, and Jake shook his head.

“Bending the letter out of shape won’t work either.” He reached back and patted Clarke’s knee. “Your mom will still be able to read it.”

“I know,” Clarke grumbled, but she kept her arms in place all the way home.

When Abby got home from work, Clarke was seated at the kitchen island, quietly doing her homework, while Jake cooked dinner. The envelope was still pinned to her chest, much to Clarke’s annoyance, and Abby took one look at it and the smile she had come in with quickly faded.

“Another one, Clarke?” She set her bag down by the door and made her way over.

“She can explain,” Jake said, repeating Clarke’s earlier words, and Abby rolled her eyes as she reached to unpin the envelope from Clarke’s shirt.

When she cracked open the seal and began reading the letter, Clarke held her breath. She didn’t have to wait long, though, before—

“You pushed a boy to the ground!”

“I can explain!”

“Don’t even try to tell me it was ‘for science’, Clarke Griffin,” Abby warned. “I won’t have it.”

“She could have been testing gravity,” Jake tried, and Abby shot him a glare.

“No!” Clarke put her pencil down and pressed her face into her hands. “For Lexa.”

The words were muffled against her palms, distorted and unrecognizable, but Clarke’s heart beat faster all the same.

“Speak up and clearly, please.”

Groaning, Clarke put her hands down, looked up at her mother, and said, “It was for Lexa.”

“Lexa?” Abby’s brow furrowed for a moment but then recognition quickly worked its way across her features, and she deflated. Her expression crumpled and she let out a sad sort of sigh, every ounce of frustration gone from her voice. “Lexa Woods.”

Clarke nodded, and Abby pulled out a stool to sit next to her.

“Lexa’s back?” she asked, rubbing a hand over Clarke’s hair.

Clarke nodded again. “She’s ten now.”

With a small smile, Abby said, “I’m sure she is, just like you are nine now.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you want to tell me how Lexa being back led to you pushing a boy out of his seat?”

Huffing, Clarke shook her head. “No.”

“Too bad.” Abby playfully poked her side. “You’re going to have to tell me anyway.”

“Fine.” Another exaggerated groan punctuated the word. “It was Jasper.”

“Jasper Jordan?” Jake’s lip curled. “That kid is a troublemaker.”

“Jake.”

A small smile pulled at Clarke’s lips when her father ducked his head and laughed.

“He made fun of the way Lexa talks.”

Abby ran her hand over Clarke’s hair again. “So that’s why you pushed him out of his chair?”

Nodding, Clarke turned her attention to her homework papers. She played with the corner of one paper and kicked her legs where they dangled off her chair. “There’s nothing wrong with the way she talks.”

“I know that.” Abby squeezed Clarke’s shoulder. “And I’m very proud of you for defending someone who was being teased, but Clarke, you know violence is not the right way to do that.”

Laying her head down on the island, Clarke let out a heavy breath. “I know.” She turned toward her mother, pressing her cheek against the cool surface. “I just got so mad.”

“We’ve talked about how you can work through your anger without using your fists, honey.”

“I know.”

“So, what are you going to do tomorrow then?”

Clarke rolled her eyes and huffed but still mumbled, “Apologize.”

“That’s right.”

“No one’s gonna make Jasper apologize to Lexa.”

“Well, all you can do is be the best version of you, Clarke, and be a good friend to Lexa so she knows she has someone in her corner.” Abby leaned down and pressed a kiss to Clarke’s temple. “Okay?”

“Okay.” After a moment, Clarke lifted her head up again. She played with her pencil while Abby told Jake about her day. She was only able to listen for a moment before the thought swirling around in her head jumped through her lips. “You told me Lexa had to go to a fosters house.”

“A foster family,” Abby said, turning back toward her. “That’s right.”

“But Lexa said she went to her uncle’s house,” Clarke told her, confused. “She said he lives in a big city.”

“Oh, well, that happens sometimes too, honey.” Abby took a plate of rolls Jake held out to her and crossed to set it on the dining table, talking to Clarke all the while. “When kids need to be removed from an unhealthy home, they are sometimes sent to stay with relatives.”

“Then why’s she back here?”

“Her parents are probably getting another shot at raising her,” Jake said, throwing a dish towel over his shoulder and walking over to lean against the island.

Clarke frowned. “But you said her dad was a bad guy.”

“Parents get second chances too, kiddo.”

“Even bad ones?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Abby said as she grabbed a few sets of silverware from the drawer by the stove. “That is sometimes the case.”

“What if they hurt her again?”

Making her way back around the island, Abby wrapped her arms around Clarke from behind and pressed another kiss into her hair. She released a gentle sigh when Clarke leaned back into her and breathed her in.

She smelled the same as always—like doctor’s office and fancy perfume and mom. It was the easiest way to describe it, Clarke thought, and those three things always came to mind.

“Well, let’s hope that doesn’t happen,” Abby said, “but if it does, there’s a possibility that Lexa might have to leave again.”

Clarke felt her heart tug hard in her chest. Pressing her hand over the space above it, she shook her head. Her hair rubbed against her mother’s shirt, making a few strands stick up with static. “I don’t want her to leave.”

“I know, Clarke.” Abby kissed the top of her head. “But you don’t want her to get hurt again either, do you?”

The thought alone made Clarke’s throat feel tight. Her eyes watered. “No.”

She pulled her mother’s arms a little more tightly around herself as Abby said, “Sometimes, what’s best for someone can be hard, but it’s important that Lexa gets the support and love she needs, right? If she can’t get that from her parents, then she needs to be with people who can provide that for her.”

“I can support and love her,” Clarke said, so soft and quiet that the words came out as nothing more than a whisper.

That didn’t stop them from echoing.

When Lexa didn’t show up for class the next morning, Clarke had a full-blown internal panic. She stared at Lexa’s empty desk two rows over, and her heart beat so hard and so fast that it physically hurt. Doing her best to take deep breaths, she forced her eyes back on her morning math worksheet and fought to hold back tears and feelings that seemed to claw their way up from three years ago.

She held it in, every bit of it. Held it in and down and showed nothing of it but the slight tremble in her hand as she wrote, the way her throat moved around steady thick swallows. Clarke kept her head down to hide the tears building in her eyes. They were heavy and hot, hard to hold back, but Clarke did her best, because she didn’t know what else to do.

The shock of Lexa walking through the door mid-morning, though, pulled them free and falling.

Clarke wiped at her freshly wet cheeks almost angrily and blinked away the blur just to make sure she wasn’t seeing things. It was a struggle but she managed to wait another fifteen minutes for the lunch bell to ring before pushing quickly through the crowd of students making their way to the door. Her heart was still hammering in her chest when she reached Lexa, and without thought, Clarke grabbed Lexa’s arm.

The hard flinch, the way Lexa jerked and gasped at the sudden touch, made Clarke’s insides squirm. She immediately yanked her hand back and said, “Sorry. I—I’m sorry, Lexa.” She felt awful. “I just wanted to ask where you were.”

Some of the tension in Lexa’s body leaked slowly away as she seemed to take Clarke in but she still kept a bit of a distance between them. Her eyes tracked over Clarke’s face once before turning back toward the messy line of students filing out of the classroom. “I had to go to speech.”

“Speech class?”

“‘Cause of the way I talk,” Lexa said, and Clarke frowned.

“I like the way you talk.”

She also liked the way Lexa’s lips turned up at those words, just the slightest bit. Her heart calmed, its wild beat slowing and becoming more steady, and she stepped a little closer. Not close enough to be touching Lexa but close enough to be able to smell her hair when Lexa flicked it over her shoulder. It smelled like some kind of fruit. Clarke couldn’t put her finger on which one, but it reminded her of the gummies her mom always bought for after-school snacks.

Clarke blew cold air up toward her cheeks, still flushed from crying. “I was scared,” she said before glancing quickly around. She ducked her head and lowered her voice to a whisper then. “I thought you got sent away again.”

It was Lexa who closed the gap between them, stepping just close enough that their arms rubbed together. She didn’t say anything, and she didn’t have to. The heat of her arm pressed against Clarke’s was all Clarke needed.

Lexa never answered when Clarke asked her about her parents, except to tell her that she didn’t have a mom. She gave nothing more, no explanation, no anything, and Clarke got the impression that she wasn’t supposed to ask so she didn’t. She poked about other things, though—if Lexa was okay, if she was safe, if she was happy. She poked about Lexa’s uncle and learned next to nothing. Only that his name was Gustus and he had a really big beard.

When it came to how much Lexa spoke, little had changed in three years. She was still quiet, still preferred to answer Clarke in five words or less. One if she could get away with it. Though Clarke desperately wanted to know why, she never asked. She assumed the speaking thing had something to do with Lexa’s speech impediment. Maybe she was embarrassed by it, so she talked less, or maybe she just didn’t like to talk at all. Clarke figured that was probably a thing for some people even if it definitely wasn’t a thing for her.

She held onto every bit of what she managed to pull from Lexa’s lips. She committed every word to memory, cherished every little sound that slipped between Lexa’s teeth. Two words in particular, though, always managed to make Clarke feel like she was floating.

“Okay, Clawke.”

Lexa said the words often, always accompanied by the tiny half-smile Clarke had come to think of as hers, something Lexa saved only for Clarke. She would listen to Clarke talk about anything, about everything, and every so often, her mouth would tilt up on one end and she would say it.

“Okay, Clawke.”

Like she trusted every word. Like she never doubted anything Clarke told her. Like as much as Clarke enjoyed talking to Lexa, Lexa enjoyed listening to Clarke. Like Clarke could say anything, from “Let’s play on the swings” to “Let’s run away together” and Lexa’s answer would always be the same.

“Okay, Clawke.”

It was the same smile and the same two words Clarke received when she jogged to catch up with Lexa on the way out of the school building at the end of the day.

“I wanted to walk with you to the bus,” she said as she caught up to Lexa, and Lexa’s lips quirked up at one end.

She pushed her bushy hair over her shoulder and said, “Okay, Clawke,” and Clarke grinned so wide that she felt a strain in her cheeks.

It had been two months since Lexa’s return, and Clarke had spent every possible minute she could with the girl. Those minutes were limited, though, because Lexa always seemed to have some excuse as to why she couldn’t go to Clarke’s house or have a sleepover or see Clarke outside of school. Clarke never pushed, though. She would ask but if Lexa turned her down, then that was the end of it. She had learned that, sometimes, caring for Lexa meant knowing when to zip her lips. Still, Clarke ached to know why.

She got her answer soon enough.

They were nearing the line for the number-seven bus Lexa always took when a shout rang out from their right.

“Lexa!”

Clarke turned to see a very tall, familiar man standing near an old white car. It was parked off the side of the building, a little farther from the rest of the parents there for pick-ups and from where Clarke knew her own father would be parked. Lexa’s dad was waving one of his long arms at them, and Clarke’s stomach lurched and then dropped entirely when she felt Lexa suddenly stiffen beside her.

“I gotta go,” Lexa murmured, and then she darted off without another word.

Shooting after her, Clarke caught up and said, “I’ll walk with you.”

Lexa shook her head but couldn’t seem to get any words out. Her lips were parted around shallow breaths and she walked so fast that Clarke practically had to skip to keep up. The closer they got to Lexa’s dad, the more Clarke’s insides squirmed.

He watched them every step of the way, eyes narrowed as if he was squinting to make out who Clarke was. By the time they got to him, though, Clarke could see the recognition in his eyes.

His arm shot out, hand clamping down onto one of Lexa’s shoulders the minute she was within reach. “What did I tell you about that girl?”

His low, throaty tone was in stark contrast to the one Clarke had heard three years earlier, so much so that Clarke felt chills ripple down her back. The way Titus Woods was able to keep a strangely pleasant sort of smile on his face while speaking through gritted teeth, the way he was able to grip Lexa with so much force without it actually looking like he was using force at all … it made Clarke feel sick to her stomach, and she was scared. She was scared, and she didn’t know what to do.

“Get in the car,” Mr. Woods said, jerking Lexa’s backpack out of her hands and pushing her between her shoulder blades toward the car. It didn’t look like much more than a nudge, something playful even from a distance, but Clarke heard Lexa whimper and she snapped.

“Hey!” It came out higher than expected, more squeaked than shouted, but it was all it took for a car door to open and slam shut, for Jake Griffin to make his way over. He must have been watching.

“Clarke,” he called, and Clarke felt her eyes pool with tears. When her father’s arm slipped around her shoulders, she leaned back into him and took a deep breath. Her eyes never once left Lexa, though, who was now huddled in the front seat of the old white car.

“Mr. Woods,” Jake greeted firmly, squeezing Clarke’s shoulder in an effort to comfort her. “Is there a problem here?”

Clarke watched as Lexa wiped at her cheeks in the car, watched as Lexa pressed her face into her hands and disappeared down against the seat. She then watched as Lexa’s father sneered at her own.

He kept his voice low, quiet so that only they would hear, when he said, “You keep your brat away from Lexa.”

“Listen—” Jake started, but Mr. Woods didn’t stick around to do so.

He moved to the driver’s side of the car and jerked open the door. “You and your wife do us a favor and stay the hell out of our business. You’ve done enough damage,” he said before slipping into the car and starting up the engine.

When he drove off with nothing of Lexa visible in the front seat but bits of her wild hair, Clarke felt like all the air had been sucked from her lungs and she would never breathe again.