Chapter 3
The rest of the day went by rather slowly. Clarke found herself hating almost every class she was in, more so the people she ended up being around. It was like everyone was wanting to try and be her friend but she wanted none of it. It was her seventh hour- her World Studies class to be exact- and she was sitting alone at a table in the back with her chair tilted back just enough so her back hit the wall. She could have done without the feeling of the bulletin board jabbing into her shoulder, but it was better than sitting at the front where her teacher could easily call on her.
It wasn’t that she wasn’t smart. No, Clarke was definitely smart. But all throughout high school her teachers always thought it would be a good idea to call on her when she didn’t want to be called on. It was really bad her freshman year, right before her father passed, but back then she didn’t mind it. She loved going home and telling her dad about what she had learned that day and what teacher she had befriended, but after he passed things started to go downhill in terms of participating during class discussion.
Her father was the one person that Clarke looked up to the most. She thought that he was brave, strong, and above all else a real charmer. He’s the person who bought Clarke her first art set- a top-notch kit with high-quality paint and brushes. And after months of sketching ideas and doing samples on canvas, he asked her to paint a mural for him in the office of his shop.
Jake Griffin was a friendly man, having owned the local car shop and was a well-respected man around the town. People knew him from the shop or from around the town, or even from Clarke’s school where he would volunteer from time to time as the little league coach. He was the father figure to Octavia and Bellamy before Marcus came into the picture, but even after her friends loved her father.
She remembered vividly when she got the call that her father had died. She was in class, chatting away with Octavia about a show they both had watched the night before when the teacher called on her.
“Clarke Griffin?”
Clarke, confused, gave Octavia a look that made her question why she was in trouble. If she was even in trouble. She made her way up to the front of the classroom, knowing for a fact that there were kids staring at her back, and stopped right in front of the teachers desk. She could feel the empathy coming off the teacher like a mist; it made her heart drop in her stomach.
“You need to head down to the guidance office, please.” The teacher stated, writing out a pass for her.
Taking the pass, Clarke had walked out of the classroom and down the hallway. Thoughts flew through her mind; scenarios as to why she would be called down to guidance. Maybe her classes got messed up- it was really early into the school year, after all-, maybe there was something going on with her parents and she wouldn’t be able to get picked up, maybe she had been picked for an art show, maybe-
Her thoughts stopped as she opened the door. She met the sorrowful eyes of the secretary and walked past her to her counselor, but as soon as she sat down she knew something was wrong. Her counselor had a look of grief on his face and his hands were folded on his desk, like he was waiting patiently to drop the bomb that would freeze Clarke’s insides like an eskimo without a parka.
When she was told that her father had died on the way to the hospital from a car falling on him and that she had the option of leaving school, she denied the option. She couldn’t go home, and be alone or be with Bellamy’s mom- she couldn’t. She wanted to stay there, with her friends, and distract herself in any way. So she went back to class, ignored Octavia’s question of what was wrong, and continued on the day to the best that she could until she found herself in the art room crying on Monty’s shoulder at lunch time. She never cried at school but when she finally broke down, Monty knew to get her someplace where she felt safe. And that was his mother’s art room.
Clarke was ripped from her thoughts when tears started to streak her cheeks from the memory. She felt the wetness in small trails and shook her head, wiping at them with her sleeves. She couldn’t cry. Not at school, not when it was so long ago. People would think she was weak and would belittle her.
That’s what led Clarke to sports. When her father died she took up something that could take up more time, something that could distract her more and that was sports. She would practice with Bellamy for basketball and lacrosse, and just for something to hold onto from her father, she picked up soccer. Some of her earliest memories of him was of the two of them running around her backyard, kicking an old soccer ball back and forth (or more so her kicking the ball and him chasing after her).
She had always wanted to do something to make her father proud of her. He always said that no matter what she did he would be proud, but that didn’t motivate her enough. She wanted to be the best she could be. Whether it was sports, or drawing, or something she didn’t even know she was talented at she wanted to make him proud from where he was up in the sky. She had told that to her mother one day, and she actually made Abby cry by doing so. Abby was always proud of Clarke and told her, but it wasn’t Abby’s acceptance that she really wanted. It was from the man who wasn’t there anymore.
When her tears had dried she took a deep breath, cringing at the warm air that entered her lungs. Her teacher always enjoyed to have the heat on, no matter the temperature outside and it got so stuffy in the room that she always felt like dying. She grabbed her bag and stood up, walking up to the teacher and asking for the bathroom pass, mumbling something about it being that time of the month and needing her bag to go with her. Her teacher seemed to not care and wrote the pass, and Clarke was quite grateful that she didn’t need to further explain. She took the pass in one hand and left the classroom, not planning on coming back. School was almost over anyways.
Once in the cooling contrast of the hallway she leaned against the lockers, letting her eyes close for a moment. This wasn’t how today was supposed to go. It was her first day back, as a senior that is, and here she was, crying over something that happened her freshman year. It didn’t make sense. Usually her memories didn’t make her feel like this. Once she regained control over her emotions she straightened her posture and started the walk outside, planning on waiting by Bellamy’s truck for Octavia and Raven. She couldn’t go back inside that school. Not right now, anyways.
As she exited the school and felt the hard pavement beneath her feet she realized just how far Bellamy’s truck was from the school and internally cursed her friend. Usually she didn’t mind, but right now she just wanted to get in the front seat and breathe in the scent of his cologne and the worn-down leather. It was something that calmed her, and she never understood why. Maybe it was because he was like family. She could never put her finger on it.
She walked the ten minute walk from the doors to the truck, which was parked by the opening to the football field. She had thrown her bag into the backseat and was about to climb into the passenger when she heard someone talking, and in a panic of being caught she whipped her head around, but didn’t see anyone. She moved around to the other side of the truck, but the voice seemed to be coming from inside the football field. It wasn’t one of the teachers- she would've recognized it, so with little hesitation she made her way into the stadium, towards where the voice was.
It was being carried through the entrance from the bleachers and Clarke could only assume that it was coming from underneath it. She moved closer and the voice got louder- it was scruffy and low, that of a young man attempting to be quiet. The only thing she could smell aside from the general scent of falling leaves and colder air was a cigarette- whoever this was, was smoking under the bleachers.
“Okay- I’ll get her home right after. I gotta go.”
She heard the sound of the phone being shoved into a pocket and the clear exhale of someone sighing, and that was when she made herself known. She stepped around the bleachers slowly, walking towards the person. It was the guy that was standing at Lexa’s locker earlier that day. He had a blank expression on his face that didn’t falter when he brought the- what seemed to be- freshly lit cigarette to his lips and if Clarke wasn’t slightly afraid for being caught eavesdropping she would have questioned it.
“Stressful first day?”
She didn’t get any response from the man other than a nod and another inhale and exhale of smoke. Being the daughter of one of the best nurses in the town, Clarke was ready to give the man a lecture on smoking and how it did damage to their lungs but she chose against it. Now would not be the best time.
They stood there, feet apart from each other but seeming to be ignoring each other. It was a first for Clarke, but she didn’t mind it all that much. It was nice, being in someone’s company without them expecting anything from you. It seemed like they were standing there for hours.
“You’ve been crying.” The man stated out of the blue, ashing out his cigarette on the cement beneath them. He didn’t seem worried about being caught- the wind would carry the smoke and ashes away without a trace.
Clarke looked up at him, almost in fear. Was it really that noticeable?
“Yes.”
She furrowed her brow. “I said that out loud, didn’t I?”
She received another nod. Sighing, she crossed her arms and looked down at her feet. She probably looked ridiculous with tear-stained cheeks and red, puffy eyes and just thinking about how she looked was making her feelings come back again. She bit her lip hard to fight back any tears that were willing to fall again at the thought of her father- only to fail when she looked at the concerned eyes that the man was holding.
“I’m sorry- I’m usually not this emotional-” She cut herself off when her breathing started to quicken.
This time, she didn’t receive a head gesture from the man, but instead he offered out his cigarette for her to take.
“-I don’t smoke-”
He insisted, and with a small grunt she took it from him and attempted to take a long inhale. It helped, somehow, feeling the smoke infiltrate her lungs and stop her from concentrating on breathing for just a moment. It helped her get her breathing back under control. She tried to take another inhale but ended up coughing this one out, but at least her breathing was calmer now.
“Better?”
Clarke was the one to nod now. “Thank you.”
“I’m Lincoln.”
She furrowed her brow and looked up at him, noticing that he was being serious. “Are you Lexa’s boyfriend?”
Lincoln smiled. “Lexa doesn’t need a boyfriend. I’m her brother.”
“But-”
“Foster brother. She didn’t tell you?”
“We’re not exactly the best of friends.”
Lincoln looked like he was about to make a comment, but Clarke’s phone ringing cut him off. He motioned for Clarke to take one more inhale which she did as she picked up the phone, then handed the cigarette back to Lincoln for him to finish it. It was strange, sharing something usually so foreign to her with someone she didn’t know at all, but it was calming to her.
“Hello?”
“Clarke? Where are you? School got out ten minutes ago.” Raven’s voice rang out over the speaker. Clarke pinched the bridge of her nose.
“I’ll be there soon- got a little caught up at the stadium.”
“The stadium? Clarke what’re you doing there?”
“Thinking. I’ll explain later. Be at the truck in a second.” She stated before hanging up her phone. She looked over at Lincoln one last time and gave him a soft smile. “Don’t mention this little thing, please? I don’t want my friends to know that I was smoking.”
“And you think I want Lexa to know I was smoking on school grounds?” He asked, a teasing grin on his face. “I’ll see you around, Clarke.”
Clarke’s smile grew and she nodded, turning her back on the young man. Maybe she had just found a friend in Lexa’s brother, and maybe, just maybe, that could help her get closer to Lexa.