There’s a pause. “Don’t tell anybody else,” my mom says. “How will it look?”

I put a fist to my mouth. My mom covers up the phone with her hand. Her muffled voice asks into the phone, “How did it happen?”

“Is that Claire?” my dad asks in the background. I hear lowered voices—I assume my mom’s telling him what happened. My father picks up the phone.

“Claire, it’s me. Dad,” he says. My chin quivers and I try to stay strong. It’s the first time we’ve spoken verbally since the restaurant incident.

“Hi, Dad,” I say.

“Your mom’s just told me what happened,” my dad says.

“Don’t tell your grandmother,” my mom cuts in.

“Of course I’m not going to tell Nai Nai!” I say. I can’t believe they’re even thinking of my grandmother at a time like this.

“Listen to me,” my dad says.

I sit up in anticipation of sympathy and advice from my daddy to his only daughter. He’ll come through. I think back to when I first got home from Korea after my eyelid surgery and he sat with me, telling me how brave I was. He’ll know what to say in my time of need. I know he will. Instead, what I get is, “These things happen. We’re not mad at you.”

Not mad at me?

“Your mother and I will talk to Jay’s family. I’m sure we’ll sort it out,” he says. “The important thing is do not make a scene.”

“No, the important thing is you’re okay,” my mom corrects.

“I am not okay,” I yell.

I hang up on my parents and stand in the middle of my room shaking. I speed-dial Zach, then remember he’s in class. I still haven’t gone back to school, though I keep getting messages from the headmistress’s office asking where I am. Every time I think of going back to school, my stomach twists into a knot so tight, I have to crouch down. I pick up my phone and instead of emailing back the headmistress’s office, I email Ms. Jones, my English teacher.

Hi Ms. Jones,

Can we meet somewhere off campus to talk? I’m going through something and urgently need to talk to someone. Thanks.

Claire

Ms. Jones and I meet at Starbucks. I sit across from her, my hands around a steaming hot coffee mug. As I tell her what happened, I stare into the hot abyss of my coffee, wishing I could fall in. Ms. Jones reaches a hand out to me, gasping. When I get to the part where Jay pins me to the bed, tears drip into my latte. I told myself I wasn’t going to cry again, but my eyes are not capable of staying dry. I don’t know if they’ll ever be dry.