October 12: Audrey

Audrey

“You look terrible,” Dakota says and hands me a coffee. “Long night?”
“Stayed up practicing,” I tell him and sip slowly from the hot paper cup. “Got up early this morning to practice too.”
“You’ve been ready for that recital for weeks now,” he assures me. “You should’ve gotten your sleep last night.”
“I know.” I sigh. “You’re still coming right?”
“Where else would I be? The football game?” He nudges me and laughs. “I’ll be there, up front and center, whether your parents like it or not.”
When the bell rings, we walk to our homerooms and I sit through Ruby’s Friday announcements. She reminds us about the football game tonight, and I remember how upset Mr. McGinnis was when I told him I couldn’t help out because of my recital.
“We need you Audrey,” he had said in the firmest tone he could muster. “School spirit is extremely important, especially for my leadership.”
“I know,” I told him with my head down. “It’s just this one time. It won’t happen again. I really want to be there,” I lied. I hate football games and I lost my school spirit when I was forced under a cold shower -fully clothed- by the varsity volleyball team freshmen year.

When the announcements are over, I head to first period alone. People bump into me from all sides, towering over me like giants with big feet that could squash me like a ladybug. I hurry through the halls and push past them, trying my hardest not to make eye contact with any of them.
I can barely keep my eyes open while Kate reviews the significance of mole in AP Chemistry. I lost four hours of sleep to practice and now I am suffering the consequences. Kate passes out a sheet with several chemical reactions on them and I force myself to focus.
“You alright?” She runs her hand over my back. “You don’t seem like yourself today.”
“I’m fine,” I assure her. “Just a little tired, that’s all.”
“Alright.”
I sit through AP calculus and AP European history, running notes from my sonata piece through my head. Before lunch, I hurry to my locker to drop off my books.
“Audrey,” A voice behind me calls from the swirls of conversations around me. I turn around and see Riley Sutton standing there in faded jeans and his leather jacket.
“Hey,” I mumble.
“What’s up?” He stuffs his hand in his pocket and ignores the people trying to walk around him.
I shrug. I still haven’t gotten used to the whole talking-to-hot-boys thing.
“Are we still on for tomorrow? We’ve got a birdhouse to make.”
“Sure thing,” I nod. “Two o’ clock, right?”
“You got it.” He half-smiles and his eyes twinkle. The fiery flutter of my heart is stopped cold when Evelyn steps up next to him and coils her arm around his like a snake.
“I’m ready,” she hisses and stares at me with black eyes. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Whatever,” Riley pulls his arm away and looks at me. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Audrey.” He says it coolly, and I can tell he is trying to make Evelyn jealous. It works, and she storms off in six-inch heels.
“Do me a favor,” he sighs. “Don’t ever become a bitch. Stay sweet, okay?”
I’m not sure if he is complimenting me or not, but his eyes definitely look like expensive, complimentary chocolate hotel mints so I nod and say, “I will, thanks.”
“Good.” He brushes my arm and turns down the hallway to chase after Evelyn. When he is out of sight I let out a long breath. Definitely not used to this. I hurry to the cafeteria with my lunch, feeling like a fourth grader.

“Eat this,” Dakota says and hands me a banana. “It’ll give you energy and potassium helps with nerves.”
“Thanks.” I peel the banana and take a bite. “I’ve got to hurry up and get to the gym so I can help set up for the pep rally.”
“And leave me with those buffoons?” Dakota points towards the school. “Just sit with me. Please sit with me.”
“I can’t. Mr. McGinnis already hates me because I’m missing the game.” I stand up and pat his leg. “You’ll be fine.”
“Whatever, I might just skip it.” He pours a handful of granola in his mouth and chews it loudly. “They won’t notice if I’m gone.”
I leave him outside and hurry into the gym, where Mr. McGinnis is ordering people around and decorating the gym.
“There you are,” he says once I walk in. “I need you to start putting streamers above the bleachers. Make some sort of pattern with the red and white ones.”
“Yes sir,” I say and take the streamers from him. I go to the top of the bleachers and attempt to tape the streamers to one end, but I’m too short to really reach high enough.
Several minutes later, a few girls from student council come to help me. We hang up the streamers and they don’t talk to me. When we are finished, I sit at the bottom of the bleachers and read War and Peace until the bell rings and kids start flooding the gym.
“Leadership,” Mr. McGinnis calls to us. “You guys need to double check and make sure we have everything we need for the shootout.”
I take off my cardigan and pull my red student council shirt over my undershirt. The rest of the leadership laughs and talks with each other, but I sit at the end of the bleachers and try to blend in, not saying a word.
“What’s up, Audrey?” Someone finally speaks. I turn around and see Jesse, the secretary, looking at me.
“Hey,” I mumble.
He doesn’t say anything else and I wonder why he even bothered talking to me in the first place. I sit quietly through the pep rally, refusing to participate in the games and barely clapping the when the football team comes out.
They cheer and holler and the crowd goes crazy. While Anderson gives his speech, I remember that he has a history paper due next week. I make a mental note to work on that after my recital. When everything is over and all the confetti thrown, I follow the masses to the parking lot.

When I get to Dakota’s car, I have barely caught my breath back before he gives me the look. The look that says something is wrong.
“What is it?” I ask.
He sighs and slams his cell phone down on the roof of the car. “My parents are assholes; that’s what it is.”
“What happened?” I put my bag in the passenger seat and walk around to his side of the car.
“I forgot to empty the dishwasher this morning.” He rolls his eyes. “Dad says I’m grounded for the weekend. I have to go straight home after school and I can’t go anywhere else.”
“Even my recital?” I mumble.
“Even your recital.”
I can’t stop the long sigh that escapes from my body. Dakota, the one person I actually want at my recital, can’t be there because his parents are Christian-Nazi-Prison Wardens with too much time on their hands.
“I’m sorry, Audrey. You know I wanted to be there more than anything.”
“I know,” I assure him. “It’s okay, it’s not your fault.”
“I’ll make it up to you. We’ll go out next week and celebrate, alright?”
“Alright.”
On the ride home, we don’t talk much. He blasts the Prince Caspian soundtrack and I pick at my nails. I am nervous for my recital, even more so now that Dakota won’t be there. When we stop in front of my house, he leans over and squeezes my shoulders.
“I’m sorry I can’t be there, Boo Face.” He kisses me lightly on my cheek and I squeeze him back.
“Me too. I’ll play well for you.”
“You better,” he insists.
I leave the cool fall air and step inside my suffocating house. The heat is on too high and Zulma’s whistling is too loud. I go into the kitchen where she is ironing my recital dress.
“Hi Miss Audrey.” She stops whistling and looks up from her ironing.
“Hey Zulma.” I set my bag down at the breakfast nook. “It smells delicious in here.”
“Lasagna,” she says and continues running the iron over the already perfect dress. “Cheesecake for dessert.”
I hurry over to the stove and pull a plate out of the cabinet. My mom always tells me not to eat too much before a recital, but I am starving. Music is never as satisfying on an empty stomach. I pile my plate with lasagna and garlic bread and hurry to the table.
“Are you coming to my recital?” I ask Zulma between bites.
She flips my dress over and shakes her head. “I can’t. I have doctor’s appointment at five.” She looks at the clock, which reads a little after four.
“Are you alright?” Paranoia immediately rushes over me.
“Estoy bien,” she insists. “Just tired, and there is some pain here.” She presses against the top of her stomach and winces.
“Okay,” I say and take another bite of food. “Let me know what the doctor says.”
“Okay.” She unplugs the iron. “Here is your dress.” She holds it up and smiles. “You will look beautiful. Can I do anything else for you?”
I shake my head. “No, I’m fine. Thank you for dinner and for everything.”
“Your mother should be here soon. Mister Kyle said he will try to be back from Washington in time.” She speaks in broken English and puts the ironing board away.
She comes back to the table to hug me. “Tocarás musica bonita,” she whispers in my ear. She has been saying that since I was little.
“I will,” I promise her and she squeezes my hand. “Good luck at the doctor.”
“Gracias, mija dulce.”Her sweet girl. She kisses my forehead and leaves.
I finish my food before my mom gets home and decide to save Zulma’s homemade cheesecake for a reward if I have a good recital. I am in my room changing when my mom gets home.
“Audrey,” she calls from downstairs. I am fresh out of the shower and in my underwear, but she comes upstairs and waltzes into my room.
“Mom,” I say and pull my robe over my shoulders.
“Sorry,” she stutters and looks away. “I just wanted to make sure you had everything ready for tonight.”
“Yeah,” I assure her. “I was just about to put my dress on. My cello and music are downstairs.”
“Do really need the music?” She puts her hands on her hips. “I’m sure you have it memorized by now, right?”
“Well yeah,” I mutter. “It’s just a security thing.”
“The only thing you can be secure in is yourself.” She straightens her ugly beige skirt over her hips and sighs. “You are more than prepared for this recital, and you need to be secure in yourself.”
I nod slowly. “Alright. Can I get dressed now?”
“Certainly.” She checks her watch. “And do so quickly, we are on a timed schedule. Your father won’t be able to make it,” she says as she opens the door. “He says he’s sorry and sends his love and best wishes.”
“I’m sure he does.”
“Watch your tone.” She cuts her eyes at me and purses her lips. “Your father works hard for you. Most would be grateful to be in your shoes.”
“Yes ma’am,” I mumble and turn back to the mirror.
She closes the door softly and once I hear her heels clicking on the hardwood floor downstairs, I throw my shiny new black flats against the door. If someone would be grateful to be in my shoes, they can have them. I don’t want them anymore.
I ignore the heat that flushes my cheeks and slip my dress on. The rough black fabric hangs just above my knobby knees. Shallow pockets hide on each side, not really big enough to carry anything. It is sleeveless and ruffles around my chest, creating an illusion of breasts that don’t actually exist. I poke and prod at my hips and thighs, searching for one soft spot. Women are supposed to be curvy and soft. But all I can find are bones that jut out in the wrong places, skin that stretches snugly over those bones and a thick, invisible layer of doubt.
You need to be secure in yourself, my mom’s voice echoes in my head. I turn away from the mirror and sigh.
There is no pocket for my insecurities.


I twisted my hair back into a bun at the back of my neck because my mom hates when my hair falls in my face while I play. I put on my grandmother’s pearls too, hoping they would bring me good luck and steady fingers. We drive to the recital hall in silence.
The recital is for all of the senior musicians. This is my last one before graduation and anticipation tickles my spine. I hurry backstage while my mom goes in through the front. Several students go before me, a few of them solo and others in small ensembles. I am last on the program and I see my mom getting antsy in the audience.
My teacher, Mrs. Bradford walks out onto the stage to introduce me. “Finally, we have one of our best students who has been with us since she was just six years old. She is one of the sweetest girls I know, and an outstanding musician. It has been an honor working with her and I know she will do great things in her future. Please join me in welcoming our final performer, Audrey Oliver.”
The crowd claps and I suck in a breath and carry my cello out onto the stage. I stand next to the chair in the middle of the stage and take a bow as the audience continues to applaud.
I really wish Dakota was here, I think as I sit down and begin the first piece. As I play through each song, taking my time and stretching out the notes and this moment for as long as I can, I float up onto my cloud and pretend there is nothing in the world for me to worry about. When I’m finished, the last chords ring out into the crowded recital hall and a collective sigh is released from me and the audience.
I stand up and they clap. A standing ovation follows a few seconds later as all of the students come out onto the stage and we bow together. I breathe easy as the stress of the recital is lifted away. But the air constricts and twists in my chest when I see my mom hurrying out of the recital hall on her phone. She smoothes her hands over her skirt as she walks down the aisle.

Business, as usual.

She is waiting for me in the lobby once I have packed my cello up and said goodbye to all of my teachers and peers.
“That was wonderful,” she unlaces her fingers and puts her arm around my shoulders.
“Thanks,” I mutter. “Who was that on the phone?”
“There was a fire over at the Blue Dolphin. They were just calling to let me know.”
“Is everyone alright?”
“A few of the rooms had some mild damage, but no one was hurt. I’m going to drop you off and then run over there to get everything taken care of.”
“Alright.”
“I’m sorry Audrey,” she says quickly. “I know you don’t like being home alone all of the time. I’m sure you’ve got some homework to do, right?”
“Yeah,” I assure her. “It’s okay, Mom. Go take care of the hotel stuff. Don’t worry about-”
I’m interrupted by the ring of her cell phone. She answers it and talks fast into the phone. She gets three more phone calls before we get home. I get out of the car and she speeds off down the street to take care of business.
Inside, I slip out of my dress and into one my dad’s old university t-shirts. I gather all of my books and lay them out on kitchen table. I look in my notebook at the list of assignments that I have to do for other people. A biology lab, two history papers, and a book review. I decide to do Anderson’s US history paper after I finish my own chemistry and calculus homework.
I go to the fridge and pull out the cheesecake Zulma made. It is topped with fresh strawberries and has a homemade crust. I cut a thick slice and sit down to do my homework. When I’m finished, I cut another slice and start on Anderson’s paper. My mom still isn’t home, so I drink a glass of chocolate milk too.
I check my email and have one from Whitley, my partner in European History class. In it, she tells me that she is going to an Equestrian competition and that she won’t be able to do her part of our project that is due Monday. She tells (not asks) me that I will have to do it for the sake of our grade.
At the bottom of the email she says, thanks Audrey. You are the sweetest.
I slam my laptop closed. Without caring what my mom is going to say when she opens the refrigerator and half of the cheesecake is missing, I cut another piece and force it down. I decide that if I get enough calories in me, eventually I will get a soft spot. Eventually the curves will come and then maybe when I get soft on the outside, I will stop being so soft on the inside.


I vow to myself that they will never call me sweet again.

October 12: Alexander

Alexander

“Hurry up, Evelyn!” I stand in the hallway squeezing my legs together as tight as I can. She takes her time and comes busting out of the bathroom in a huff.
“Shut up, Frosh.” She pushes past me. “I’m leaving in fifteen minutes. Don’t think I won’t leave you.”
“Whatever,” I mumble and slam the door in her face. After my dad found out Evelyn was making me take the bus, he talked to Jules and she made Evelyn promise that she would take me to school. Evelyn argued with her for an hour, but when Jules threatened to take her keys, Evelyn obliged and thanked me for ruining her life.
Ditto.
I brush my teeth and wash my face quickly and groan when I drop toothpaste on my shirt and have to change. I do so quickly and barely have time to eat two cherry poptarts before Evelyn is grabbing her keys and pushing me out the door.
We don’t talk on the ride to school. She still hates me and I still hate her, and despite our parents’ wishes, we don’t try to change that. I stare out the window, trying not to breathe in her strong perfume. When we get to school, I slam my door and don’t wait for her.
“You’re welcome,” she sneers as if today is different than any other day and I am going to thank her.
By this point, people have started weaseling their way into some cliques. The preps have picked out a few athletes and potential snobs that will replace last year’s graduates and make for future Five Point royalty. The blacks and Hispanics of course hang out with their gangs, hard and cold as any snake or pit bull. The nerds have found their way to the library and the fall play hopefuls have made their way to the thespian stairs. I still have no one, minus a few guys from gym that I sit with at lunch.
I run into Crash on the way to my spot. He reminds me about support group and I tell him I'm just busy. I head to my corner, a spot I found during the first week of school. It is devoid of any bullies or assholes, so I nestle myself in the corner and lean against the wall for a few extra minutes of sleep before the bell rings.
I get through homeroom, Spanish and geometry easily, but after physical science my teacher asks to see me after class.
“I’m a little bit concerned about your first couple of homework and lab grades.” Mrs. Locker looks at me through thick glasses. “Have you considered getting a tutor? Audrey Oliver is a science whiz, and she does tutoring after school if you-”
“I know.” I stop her. “I’ve already talked to her. She’s going to start helping me out. I’ll get my grade up.”
“Great,” she smiles. “I like students who take initiative. Let me know how it goes and we’ll see how your grades improve.”
“Alright,” I say and head out of the classroom. I already know I suck at science; I don’t need her reminding me.
In the cafeteria, I sit at the freshman tables with Dane and Miles. They are already eating by the time I get through the line with my lasagna and baked potato.
“Sorry bro, we were hungry.” Dane wipes his face and looks at me.
“No biggie,” I assure him. “Had to talk to my science teacher. She wants me to get tutoring.”
“That sucks.” Dane shakes his head.
“Hey, the science tutor is pretty hot.” Miles laughs. “She tutors my brother in chemistry and I have to wait around for him to drive me home. Her name’s Audrey and she’s kind of cute.”
“Yeah, that’s who I have.” I take a bite of lasagna and shrug. “We’ll see how it goes. You guys coming to the game tonight?”
“If I can find a ride,” Miles says. “I can’t miss the first game of the year. I hear everyone’s gonna be there.”
“Well you know I will be there,” I tell them.
Dane laughs. “That’s right, water boy. Are you going to get any playing time tonight?” Miles joins him in laughing.
“Shut up,” I say and curse myself for blushing.
I’m still pissed that I didn’t make the team. I worked my butt off at tryouts, but apparently Anderson Stone was right. Freshmen don’t make the varsity team. So Coach Barnes told me that since I had such a good work ethic, he could use me on the support team. Basically I wash the towels and jerseys, keep the water bottles full, and get a t-shirt that says Boomer Football. Not exactly a skyrocket into the popular crowd. But at least I have somewhere to be on a Friday night.
My conversations with Miles and Dane don’t ever get very far. They are pretty dry, a lot different from my friends back home. But they are all I’ve got, so I keep talking.
“I’ve got to get going.” I look at the clock. Lunch is almost over. “We’ve got to get ready for the pep rally.”
“Oh yeah.” Miles nods. “That school spirit shit is getting us out of running sprints today in gym.”
“Yeah,” I mumble and throw my trash away. “Maybe I’ll see you guys tonight after the game.”
“Definitely, dude.”
When I get to the gym, I head into the locker room where the team is supposed to be meeting. A few of the players are already in the back and I walk past them towards the closet to make sure everything is ready for tonight.
“What are you doing in here, Frosh?” James asks.
“Getting the towels for tonight,” I mumble and avoid eye contact. I open the closet door and go into the back of the locker room to grab a stack of clean towels. I bring them back out and Anderson snatches one before I stuff them in the closet.
“Give me that,” I say impatiently.
“Who are you talking to like that?” Anderson raises his eyebrows.
I sigh. “Can you just give me the towel please?” I have no patience for their bully bullshit today. “Seriously, how old are you?”
“I told you to watch the way you talk to me, freshman.” Anderson unfolds the towel and twirls it. “Now you’re going to have to pay the consequences.”
“Whip him,” Ethan encourages him and the other guys laugh.
Anderson snaps the towel quickly and the tip of it slaps against my leg, stinging and leaving a big red welt. It hurts like hell, but I don’t wince or move.
“Do it again!” James claps his hands. “I don’t think he’s learned yet.”
Anderson recoils the towel and slaps at me again, this time in the arm. “You’re pathetic,” I manage.
“Ohhh,” the other guys moan and Anderson turns red. I know he’s pissed now and he lunges towards me.
“What the hell is going on?” A female voice disrupts the thick testosterone atmosphere.
We all turn around and see Samantha, standing there with her hands on her hips in her red and white cheerleading uniform. Her long blonde hair hangs down her back and she looks fresh out of the tanning bed. She’s hot as hell.
“Baby, what are you doing in here?” Anderson asks her.
She ignores the question.“Leave him alone.” She steps towards Anderson. “You guys need to leave that poor freshman alone.”
“Don’t be such a girl,” James teases her. “We’re just initiating him, making him part of the team.”
“Did you get your ass whipped with a towel when you were a freshman, James, or did they skip that part? Maybe you need a spanking too.” She clucks her tongue and eyes him.
“You can spank me any day, sweetheart.” James laughs and the other guys join in.
Samantha doesn’t let it faze her. “I expected more from the captain, Anderson.”
“It’s just the way it is,” Anderson says and shrugs. “It’s my job as captain to put these freshmen in their place.”
“Alright, well maybe I didn’t expect more from the captain. I expected more from my boyfriend.” She taps her foot and looks at me. For the first time since the bullying started, I am embarrassed. A girl, a skinny blonde girl, is standing up to these big-headed jocks more than I can.
It’s easier for her because she is one of them.
“If you want a place in my life,” Samantha says, “then you’ll put that towel down right now. My boyfriend is not a bully.”
The guys all look at Anderson and Samantha waits patiently for him to make a decision. After several seconds, he clenches his jaw and throws the towel down.
“Whatever,” he mumbles and walks out of the locker room. Samantha smiles at me before following him out.
I can barely breathe a sigh of relief before James is up and in my face. “You better get out while you still can, freshman. Not all of us have a girlfriend that can boss us around like that.”
“I’m leaving,” I say quickly and hurry past him. I go out into the gym and sit down on one of the bottom bleachers next to Ruby St. Clair. She’s looking at a piece of paper.
“Hey,” I mumble.
She looks up from reading and smiles. “Hey.” I guess she notices that I’m pissed off, because she asks, “You okay?”
I sigh. “Just the team. They’re all assholes to me for no reason. I guess their reason is I’m just the water boy. I don’t really matter.”
“Of course you do.” She shakes her head. “Without you they would all pass out and die of dehydration. Hey, maybe you should do us all a favor and quit.”
She laughs and I can’t help but smile. “Maybe. I’ll get them one day, though. Their time is coming,” I assure her and my face gets hard.
One day, Anderson Stone will pay.
Before we can talk about it further, her friends come up and she starts talking about pep rally logistics. When the bell rings, I will myself to go back into the locker room. Luckily, Coach Barnes is in there talking to a few of the players so I don’t have to worry about anything.
“Alright, you guys go ahead over to the east entrance and I will be over there in a few minutes.”
“Okay Coach,” Tommie says and eyes me as I pass him.
“Reid,” Coach Barnes smiles at me. “Is everything ready for the big game tonight?”
“Yes sir,” I assure him. “I just have to put the jerseys in each locker and get the coolers from the cafeteria after school.”
“Excellent.” He claps his hands. “Alright, I guess you can go ahead to the gym and sit with the freshman class.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well we don’t really have any use for you right now, so you can go out and sit with the freshmen and just enjoy the pep rally.”
“Don’t I get to go out with the team?” My face gets hot.
He sighs and looks at the ground uncomfortably.
“You said I’m a part of this team, Coach. An important part of this team.”
“You are,” he assures me. “It’s just… It’s complicated, Reid. It’s complicated.”
“Yeah,” I mumble and grab my book bag. “I get it. I’m just the water boy.”
He doesn’t stop me from walking out and I don’t look back. I go into the gym and try to find Dane and Miles in the sea of freshmen. Finally I give up and sit next to a weird-looking girl with stringy brown hair and orange fingernails.
I sit silently through the entire pep rally. I don’t cheer during the games and I don’t clap for the band. I almost clap for the cheerleading squad, but most of them look like sluts. I’ll congratulate Samantha some other time. I definitely do not clap when Ruby introduces the football team and they come charging into the gym howling like wolves and dancing like drunken idiots.
Anderson’s speech is a bunch of bullshit and it takes everything in me not to run out onto the floor, snatch the microphone from him, and call him out on being the world’s best bullshit-er.
Once it’s finally over, I follow the masses out of the gym and head to the bus parking lot. Riding the bus home is better than waiting for Evelyn to make out with Riley for thirty minutes, and she usually doesn’t go straight home anyway. I agree to keep her after-school sexcapades a secret as long as she gives me money to buy the gummy worms I sneak into my room and hide under my pillow. The only good thing that has come out of my step-sister thus far.
I usually sit with Crash on the bus, and he reminds me about the support group.
“It’s a great way to meet people,” he assures me.
“Maybe.” I shrug. “I’ve got to start going to tutoring, so I may not be able to go.”
“Alright,” he says and doesn’t push the issue any further.
“You going to the football game?” I change the subject.
“Maybe,” he says. “I might take my little brother. He likes football and he loves marching bands for some reason. So maybe we’ll stay through halftime if I’m up for it. I don’t really like to give my money to support those idiots.”
“Yeah.” I nod. “Well I’ll be there tossing water to those idiots. Maybe I’ll see you there.”
“Yeah, maybe.” He gets up at his stop and we say our goodbyes.
When I get home, Dad has ordered pizza and is reading a fishing magazine in the living room.
“Hey Dad,” I say hurriedly. “Smells great in here.”
“I bought a couple pizzas,” he says. “Don’t get used to it, but I thought it would be something quick that you can eat before the game.”
“Are you coming?”
“I might,” he says. And I know that means he won’t. “Depends on what your mother wants to do.”
I can’t believe he just said that. Your mother. Insinuating that Julisa, his girlfriend, is my mother. I can’t even speak so I shove a piece of pizza in my mouth and force myself to bite my tongue.
“I mean Julisa,” he says quickly. “Sorry.”
“Yeah,” I mumble with a mouthful of pizza. “Well can you at least drop me off at school in an hour or so?” I remember that I forgot to get the water coolers and cuss under my breath.
“Of course. Get whatever you need for the game now and you’ll probably have time to get in a quick workout before we leave. You can use the treadmill if you like.”
“Great,” I groan and choke down another piece of pizza before going into the back room and running on the treadmill. He checks on me periodically to make sure I’m still running. I flip him off every time he leaves the room.
When he drops me off at school, I don’t bother asking again if he’s going to come. I hurry to the cafeteria and get the water coolers and drag them down to the field house. I fill them up with ice and water and load them on the trailer and drive them around to the front of the field, where the team has started warming up for their last-minute practice.
Pretty soon, the rival team pulls up in their ugly white buses. Several minutes later, they come out onto the field in their practice gear and Coach Barnes calls our team off of it.
I hand several of them bottles of water as Coach goes over a few details. I follow the team up to the locker room and while they change, I wait outside. I avoid Anderson at all costs and take my time refilling the coolers.
“Alright, Reid.” Coach pats me on the shoulder. “Forget what happened earlier. You know I need you out there. Put those coolers in my truck and we’ll drive them down.”
“Yes sir,” I say and follow him out to his truck with the coolers. We ride down to the field and I set everything up on the sidelines; coolers, first aid kits, head sets, everything Coach or the team could possibly need. The team trails out onto the field and both teams take to their final warm ups in the in zones.
After the band plays the Star Spangled Banner, the team rushes out onto the field, ripping through the big painted banner. The crowd goes crazy and I clap too. Now is my time to be enthusiastic and spirited. I run around for the majority of the game, giving out water and helping Coach Barnes and the rest of his staff keep everything together.
Anderson and the rest of the team play a great game, and as much as I would have liked for him to fall and break both of his femurs, he doesn’t. He rushes off the field and towards the stands once it’s over and we’ve won. The band plays our Alma mater and Coach Barnes pats me on my back.
“Great work tonight, son.”
“Thanks,” I mumble and start to clean up, ignoring the thundering applause and cheers.
Once we are back in the locker room, Coach tells the team that they played great. He says he is proud of them, and he wants them to get better every game. He tosses Anderson the game ball and they all cheer for him.
“Here’s to a great season, boys. I can’t wait.” Coach holds a fist up and the players do the same. “Get some rest this weekend. I’ll see you boys on Monday.”
The guys cheer and immediately rip off their uniforms, throwing the jerseys on the floor and running to try to be the first in the showers. I wait patiently in the corner as they take their time changing. They are on such a high that they barely notice I’m even in the room.
“Let’s go out and celebrate fellas.” James pulls a tight Hollister shirt over his head and runs his fingers over his wet hair.
“I bet there are some pretty ladies out there waiting for me,” Ethan slams his locker and laughs. “Let’s go get ‘em. Shots on me, alright?”
The guys all cheer and whistle. They leave the locker room a sweaty, dirty mess with a floor covered in red and white jerseys and dirty socks. Once they clear out, I take my time picking up all of the dirty clothes and put them in the big cloth bin by the door.
I wheel the cart into the laundry room and stuff the jerseys into an over-sized washing machine. The cycle is forty-five minutes, and I’ve got to stick around to put them in the dry. Otherwise they will grow mildew, Coach says.
I sit against the washer and find pleasure in the way my head rattles during the spin cycle. While everyone else is out celebrating the great game, I sit alone in the hot laundry room, wishing I was a part of what they were celebrating. But I’m just the water boy. I don’t matter, and they make sure to remind me of that fact on a daily basis. I decide to make a change, whatever it takes.
I vow to make them remember who I am.

October 12: Ruby

Ruby



“In five, four, three, two…” Mrs. Mashburn signals me to go and I put on my President’s smile.
“Good morning, Boomers. Ruby St. Clair here with a few morning announcements.” I tug on my shirt and wish I wasn’t in front of the camera today. Today is not a pretty day. But it is a Friday, which means video announcements and homeroom.
“If you have any candy you would like to donate to the Boo Bash for Halloween, please give that to your homeroom teachers within the next couple of Fridays. Remember that the homeroom with the most candy from each grade level will receive free Papa John’s pizza. Auditions for the fall play will be held today after school. If you are interested in being on the main stage or behind the scenes, please talk to Misses Mashburn about signing up. Today we will have our first pep rally during fourth period. This will get us ready for our first home football game against Woodcrest tonight. Everyone be sure to come out tonight dressed in school colors and plenty of spirit. All football players and cheerleaders should report to the gym when the fourth period bell rings. Student council members be there as early as you can. Everyone else report to your fourth period classrooms. Thank you, Boomers and have a great, spirited Friday!”
“And cut.” Gabe turns off the camera and I let out a long sigh. “Great job, Miss Fabulous.” He claps his hands and smiles.
“Thanks.” I shake my head and jump off of the stool. “I’m still not used to that stuff. I don’t see how you do it.”
“I live for the stage.” Gabe hands me my book bag and we head out of the studio. “Some people are just born that way.”
“Not me.” I shake my head. “Are you going to the football game tonight?”
“I have to.” Gabe rolls his eyes. “The whole twin brother, wide receiver, parents are forcing me thing.”
“Ah.” I smile. “Well you can always come and sit with the band.” I pat his arm as we walk into the main building.
“What, and ruin my reputation?” He smiles sarcastically. “I will be sure and cheer for you guys.”
“Thanks. You might be the only one.” I sigh. People don’t care much about the marching band here. “But I am really excited. Our show is coming along nicely. That field is my stage.”
“And I support all of the arts, even the dorky ones.” He puts his arm around me and squeezes me before heading towards his theater friends. “I’ll see you around, Ruby.”
“Bye Gabe.” I wave and hurry past the theater kids and the mob of preps guarding their lobby.
Samantha and Anderson wave at me and I wave back but don’t stop to talk. I hurry to calculus and get out my homework. I spent three hours on it last night; I better get an A. Mr. Baker grades our homework while we do practice problems in groups. He passes it back at the end of class.
One hundred, with a smiley face. I stuff the paper into my binder with satisfaction, ignoring the dirty looks from the people in my group.

After botching a speaking quiz in Spanish class and learning how to dissect a pig fetus in AP Biology, I hurry to the cafeteria and sit down with my equally stressed friends.
“Thank God I’m getting out of AP Chemistry for a pep rally.” Jake takes a long swig of chocolate milk.
“Pep rallies are the biggest waste of time,” Jessie retorts.
“Mister East hates them.” I open a blueberry muffin and eat it quickly. “It takes away from practice time, which we need in order to be ready for the game.”
“Yeah,” Ariana says. “And you can’t even sit with us because you’ve got to do the announcing.”
“You guys won’t be doing much sitting,” I assure her. “I’m going to need your help with all of those stupid games.” I check the time on my phone. “We actually need to head over to the gym so we can finish setting up.”
“Screw this.” Elle gets up and throws away her trash. “Are they going to have a pep rally for us when we go to our first Mathletes competition? Jocks, I swear they rule this place.”
“It’s our job.” I put my arm around her and we all head to the gym for last minute pep rally preparations.
When we get there, some of the cheerleaders are standing around stretching in their tiny red and white uniforms. I have to drag Skylar and Jake away while they stare.
“Thank goodness you’re here,” says Mr. McGinnis, the teacher in charge of student council and the leadership team. “We need a few people to help Audrey finish putting up streamers.” He points to a set of bleachers, where Audrey Oliver is hanging up red and white streamers. “And we also need to check the sound. Skylar, can you handle that?”
“I’m on it.” Skylar puts his book bag down and heads up the stairs to the second level of the gym.
“We’ll get the streamers,” Ariana volunteers herself and Elle.
“Alright.” Mr. McGinnis nods. “Ruby, I wanted to go over the itinerary with you so that we have a nice flow of things.”
“Sure.”
“Okay, we will start with the introduction. It’s your job to get the crowd pumped and excited about the game.”
I think to myself that it will be hard to get people excited for something I’m not even excited about. I nod and he continues.
“Then we will have a few games that the leadership team and some selected students will participate in. Shoot out games and things like that.” He points to the schedule. “Then we will have the band play a few of their stand tunes. I guess you will conduct those.”
“Of course.” I nod.
“Good. And then the cheerleaders will do their dance routine and we will bring in the football team. Anderson Stone will do some speaking, along with some of the coaches. And then we will have the band play a couple more songs.”
“Sounds great,” I tell him. “I think I can handle that.”
“You think?” He raises his eyebrows.
“I can handle it.”
“Alright. I’m going to go up and tell Skylar everything he needs to know about the sound stuff. You go over this and start practicing what you are going to say.”
He hands me the paper and runs off. I look over the schedule and try to think about how I am going to get the school excited. It shouldn’t be too hard; football is huge around here. Everyone has been waiting for this day since last November when the season ended. I sit down on one of the bottom bleachers and go over my speech.
“Hey,” a voice says beside me. I look up and see Alex, the freshman.
“Hey,” I say. His face is red and he looks upset. “You okay?”
He shrugs. “Just the team. They’re all assholes to me for no reason. I guess their reason is I’m just the water boy. I don’t really matter.”
“Of course you do,” I assure him. “Without you, they’d all pass out and die of dehydration. Hey, maybe you should just do us all a favor and quit.”
He smiles and slumps back against the bleachers. “Maybe. I’ll get them one day, though. Their time is coming.” He stares off distantly and nods slowly.
“Yeah,” I mumble.
“We got all of the streamers up.” Elle and Ariana sit down beside me. Audrey stands in front of us awkwardly before sitting down too.
“Sweet.” I hand Ariana the itinerary. “This is the schedule for the awesome pep rally.”
She looks it over and laughs. “Still just as lame as always.”
The bell rings a few minutes later and I get up. “I’m going to run to the band room to make sure everything is ready. I’ll be back in a few minutes,” I tell them.
I hurry to the band room, where the members are running around pulling out instruments and music. Mister East stands in the front of the room at the podium.
“Ruby, can you get them situated please?”
“Sure.” I sigh and he steps off of the podium. “Guys, everybody get in your seats.” They sit in two rows, woodwinds on the front row and brass in the back. Jeoff straps on his snare drum and stands behind them.
“Alright, the pieces you will need for the pep rally are Malagueña, Smoke on the Water, Go Big Red, and the fight song.”
“What about the alma mater?” Drew asks.
“We aren’t playing the alma mater until you can get that trumpet descant,” I tell him. “Which had better be by tonight.”
He sighs and stuffs the music back into his folder. They shuffle for their music and put their instruments together quickly.
“Alright, let’s warm up and then we are going to head on into the gym.” I hold my arms out and wait for them to put their instruments to their mouths. We play through a few scales and run some sections in the music until I am satisfied.
“Okay get your music and let’s go. Just because this is a pep rally doesn’t mean we don’t play with a good, strong sound. Does everyone understand?”
“Yeah,” they all mumble. I know they hate pep rallies just as much as I do.
They follow me to the gym and fill in the bleachers blocked off for them.
“Get up Go Big Red,” I tell them. “We are going to play that once people start coming in.”
They fumble with their flip folders and once people start flooding the gym, I get up on the wooden box Mr. East set up for me and start conducting. Although the band is small, they produce a good sound and the notes ring throughout the gym. The bleachers are divided for each grade level and the freshmen in the bottom section start to dance. Once the gym is filled up, I stop the band and head to the center of the basketball court where Mr. McGinnis is waiting.
“Show time.” He pats me on the back. “They’re all yours.”
I tap on the microphone he hands me and take a deep breath. “Alright everyone!” The gym slowly gets quiet. “Are you all ready to stomp the Cavs tonight?”
The students surrounding me erupt in cheer. The cheerleaders shake their pompoms and yell. I have to admit that the school spirit and the nauseating amount of red and white is a little exhilarating.
“Alright, for those freshmen who haven’t figured it out yet, we are all about school spirit and having a good time supporting our teams. So I need my leadership team and a few student volunteers. We are gonna have our own little football-throwing tournament right now. Who wants to play?”
Everyone yells, begging the student council members that are running up and down the bleachers to pick them. Once several students are picked, they set up the tournament and I watch as they toss footballs back and forth. Once that is over, I step back into the center of the gym floor.
“Alright, now I want you all to give it up for our band. They are going to showcase a few of the songs they will be playing tonight as we cheer on our team!”
I turn the microphone off and ignore the lousy claps while I hurry over to the band section. I count them off and we play through two of our stand tunes. The crowd cheers relatively loud and I hurry back to the center of the gym.
“Thanks you guys. Now I want you to give it up for our cheerleaders. They have put together a great routine to get you guys pumped for the game. I will hand the microphone over to the captain, Miss Samantha West.”
Sam takes the microphone from me and smiles. “Thanks girl.” She waves to the gym full of people and laughs. “Hey everybody! I’m Samantha and I’m the captain of the cheerleading squad.” She allows a few seconds for everyone to cheer. I clap softly behind her. “I want you to put your hands together for me and my girls and let’s show our team just how pumped we are for them!”
The crowd goes crazy as she hands me the microphone and the rest of the cheerleaders take their places. I give Skylar the cue and he starts the music. The cheerleaders dance and do stunts while the crowd goes crazy. I stand back and watch them turn flips and finish the routine with several high pitched, unoriginal cheers.
When they are finished, I conduct another song for the band and am exhausted when it is finally time to introduce the football team.
“Alright, now we are finally here. The moment you guys have been waiting for. Put your hands together for Coach Allen Barnes, and the Five Point Boomers varsity football team!”
The crowd erupts into applause and yelling. The football team comes stampeding through the corner of the gym like a pack of hungry wildebeests. I step out of the way as they jump up and down, fist bumping each other and encouraging the crowd to be louder.
Coach Barnes takes the microphone from me and finally gets the students to get quiet after several seconds of cheering. He gives a long, excited speech before handing the microphone over to Anderson.
“Thanks, Coach.” Anderson pats Coach Barnes on the back. “We want to thank everyone for the support. I love seeing all of the red and white out there and I hope to see more of it tonight. Go crazy. I want to see body paint, pompoms, all of it.”
Everyone laughs and cheers until Anderson holds his hand up to calm them back down. “This is my last first game here at Five Points. I’ve thrown a lot of footballs. I can promise you that this is the best team of the best guys I have ever played with. We are going all the way this year. Everyone come out tonight and support us. We love you guys. Go Boomers!”
He hands me the microphone and I cue Skylar, who plays another song. The team gets in close together and starts cheering in low voices. They get louder and louder, igniting the crowd and getting everyone excited. The cheerleaders throw confetti all around the gym as whistles and cheers echo throughout the big room. I look around at all of my fellow students, cheering and yelling. Everything stops for a second and I take it all in, my last first pep rally. I try to get excited, but my cheers and yells are empty. Something is missing.
I have lost my spirit.
*********
Once school is out, I stop by the band room to make sure everything is ready for tonight. I have just a couple of hours before I have to be back at school and warming the band up. My friends are waiting for me at my car.
“Sonic?” Skylar asks.
“Sure,” I shrug. “I just have to be back by five.
“Yeah, we are working the concessions tonight.” Elle says. “So we have to be here at five-thirty.”
“Alright. See you guys at Sonic.”
They head across the parking lot to their cars and I throw all of my books in the backseat of mine.
“Hey Ruby.”
I look up and see Anderson standing at his truck.
“Oh, hey Anderson.” I open the driver’s door and throw my keys in the seat. “Are you ready for tonight?”
He shrugs. “I guess. You know how it is.”
I knew it. The speech he just gave in the gym was all fake. He doesn’t care about this game, and I may be the only person who knows that.
“Yeah, I got you. Well I’m sure you guys are going to be great,” I assure him.
“You guys too. I wish I could see the halftime show, but you know how that goes.”
“Yeah, I know.” I nod. “Well, I’m going to eat. I will see you at the game. Good luck tonight.”
“Thanks, Ruby.”
I get into my car and drive the few miles to Sonic. While I’m driving I think about Anderson, a pretender like me. He does a very good job of it, like me. Before I get out of the car at the fast food restaurant, I take an energy supplement and swallow it dry. It’s supposed to keep me going for five hours. We will see.
I join my friends at one of the menus in the pavilion. I order mozzarella sticks and a cherry limeade. I can’t eat too much before a game. The rest of them choke down foot long hotdogs and chili cheese fries. Once we are finished eating, we head back to school.
“I’ll see you guys after the game.” I get my band stuff out of the trunk of my car and turn to them. “Have fun selling root beer and barbeque to angry fans.”
“Don’t remind me.” Ariana hugs me. “You guys better do well tonight. We’ll be watching.”
“Yeah, good luck.” Jessie pats me on the back. “You guys will be great.”
“Thanks.” I hug them all and head to the band room. All of the band kids are sitting around the musty room eating fast food and laughing.
“Hey Ruby,” Sasha says to me. She is already in her sparkly red and yellow color guard uniform.
“Hey.” I ignore the loads of makeup and glitter she is smearing on her face and go into the changing rooms to get my own uniform ready.
I have to wear a crazy uniform this year to go along with our circus-themed show. With red leggings and a dress that is several different colors, I definitely look like a clown. I tease my hair so that the black curls stick out all around my head. I put a little bit of makeup on and rub silver glitter onto my eyelids.
When I get back to the band room, the members are already in uniform. They look sharp in their starched white pants, stiff red jackets, and spotless white marching shoes. I am so proud to call them my band. Mr. East is talking to them, getting them ready for the game and our first performance of the season.
“You guys are going to be great. You are ready for this, I can assure you.” He stuffs his hands in his pockets. “Go out there and have a good time and show the crowd the work you have been doing. It’s the first game; you know the stands are going to be full.” He turns to me and smiles. “They’re all yours, drum major.”
I put my white gloves on and step up onto the podium. “B flat scale, half notes,” I instruct them. They flip their horns up to their mouths and play in the strong, passionate tone that I love so much.

An hour later, we march down to the stadium. The sun is setting behind the school, providing a soft gold shimmer over the field.
“And now, please join me in welcoming the Five Point High School Marching Boomers as they lead us through the pregame festivities.”
The stands are packed in the big stadium. There is not an empty seat in the stadium, and it’s only pregame. They cheer loudly and I look into the audience and spot my mom sitting with my brother and sister. She looks bored already, but they seem excited. I want to wave to them, but I call the band to attention.
We play through the Star Spangled Banner, the reverend of the local Baptist church says a quick prayer, and the football team rushes onto the field as we play our school’s fight song.
The crowd is a sea of red and white t-shirts, pompoms, and painted bodies. Several people have signs that they hold up as the football team charges through the long banner that the cheerleaders hold up at the end of the field.
We climb into the stands and immediately start playing pep tunes as the first quarter starts. Our team gets off to a good start and by the end of the first half, we are winning by twenty-one. The two teams trail off of the field for halftime, preparing themselves for little water and a lot of cuss words from their coaches.
Most of the people leave the stands for halftime. They run to get hamburgers and refills and cotton candy. I curse my friends working at the concession stands for stealing my audience with their tempting smells of grease and sugar. Those people should be watching me, watching my band.
We march onto the field and I give my salute. The crowd that has stayed cheers for us rather loudly. As I stand on the podium in front of my band, conducting in perfect time and staying in sync with Jeoff, I can’t help but feel so powerful. The stadium lights shine in my face, the smell of the freshly cut field fills my nose and the sounds of trumpets and flutes echo in my ears and tickle my brain.
No matter who is watching, I conduct with everything in me. When we are finished, I turn to the audience, smile and salute. Jeoff taps us off and we march off the field, sweating and smiling. We had a great run.

As the air gets cool and the crowd gets louder, the seconds on the clock tick down slowly. We finish strong, winning fifty-two to thirty-nine. The football team crowds around the front of the stands as we play the alma mater, Drew sailing perfectly on the trumpet descant. The crowd screams and I know there will be a big celebration somewhere tonight.
I deny the invites to the big party so that I can continue the Friday night tradition with my band mates.
“Denny’s?” I ask Drew and Kyra as they pack up their trumpets.
“For sure,” Drew says. “I’m starving.”
It is a tradition that after every home football game, we all go to Denny’s restaurant for eggs, pancakes, and ice cream sundaes.
Jeoff passes me with his drum and I grab his arm. “What about you, Jeoff? You want to go to Denny’s?”
“Nah, I can’t.” Jeoff shakes his head. “I’ve got to get home.”
“Okay.” I nod. “Maybe next time.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
He never goes, but I still ask him anyway. I guess he’s got to get home to deal with his gang stuff. I shake my head and start to scrub my makeup off while the others take off their uniforms.
“Let’s go!” Seth puts his trombone case on the shelf and hurries towards the door. “I’m starving.”
I drive Sasha and Michelle, who talk about freshman drama in the back seat. Corey rides shotgun, but he doesn’t talk much. When we get to the restaurant, we sit at the same table that they reserve for us every Friday night. We cram into the big, semi-circular booth in the back corner.
Rachel, our waitress, brings us our usual drinks. I sip on a cherry Coke and look over the menu, trying to decide if I want breakfast or a hamburger and fries.
“That was a great run, man.” Seth slurps on a strawberry smoothie. “Drew, your descant was amazing.”
“Thanks, dude.” Drew says without looking up from his menu.
We all order big meals and eat everything, picking from each others’ plates and talking about the game. In this instant, I forget about everything. I forget the mountains of homework waiting for me at home, the college applications that still need to be filled out, the student council and yearbook meetings that I’ve got to plan, I forget it all.
For a moment, the headache that has been around for as long as I can remember subsides and I don’t think about anything. I just laugh and embrace the people around me. I wish this moment would never end. But an hour later, I drive home and walk through the dark house to my room.
I lay awake for the entire night. And vow to find my spirit again.

September 25: Janey

Janey

I sit on the bed. The ticking clock echoes in my brain, counting down the seconds until I’m forced to leave and go back to Hell. I run my hands over my skinny black jeans until they are red and raw. I pinch the skin on the underside of my wrist and wince just a little at the perfect pain that shoots up my arm. Deep, easy sighs, I remind myself and breathe out slowly.

A soft knock on the door pulls me from my trance and I open my eyes. “Janey," I hear my dad's voice from the other side of the old oak door. “It’s time.”  He doesn’t wait for me to respond, and I hear the steps of his shoes pad down the hallway.

I stand reluctantly and stare at myself in the full-length mirror on the back of the door. My favorite jeans are ripped at the knees and squeeze my sides a  little. I’ve lost almost all of the weight I gained last year, thanks to a special diet that my therapist thought would help. My new striped, long-sleeved shirt doesn’t fit as nicely as I would like for it to, but I cover it up with a puffy black vest. A pair of old checkered green vans fit comfortably on my feet. I like comfortable, familiar.

I hate different, new, change. Except for when it comes to my hair. It’s just been cut; my bangs- red this month- hang low in my face and cover my right eye. The rest of my hair, cut choppy and hanging at my shoulders, is chestnut brown and streaked with black and a few strands of blonde.

As much as I hate different, I am different.

I look over my body, analyzing every inch. My cheeks are too fat, my freckles are too dark, my skin is too pale, my hips are too wide, my chest is too flat, my stomach is too not. My eyes are a weird blue, like old China. Traced around them are thick layers of mascara and eyeliner. I chew on my fingernails, painted black (typical, I know).

I pinch my arm again, then slide a few bangles on each wrist to cover the red marks and the scars. I managed to fight the urges this morning. I look at myself once more and sigh. This will just have to do for the first day. Who cares, it’s not like anybody will be looking at me anyways. They haven’t noticed me for months.

Not since everything changed.

I grab my old book bag, the same one I’ve had since the beginning of last year. It is tie-dye (too bright for me) and has the letters JRB stitched on the front. My dad thought it would be nice to get my initials on it for me. It was nice then, I guess.

He sits at the table drinking a cup of hot coffee and reading a John Grisham novel.  My bowl of granola and fruit is sitting at the seat next to him, along with a glass of water and a cup of yogurt.

“Thanks Dad,” I mumble and sit down beside of him.

He looks up from his novel and nods. “Are you ready for your first day,  Kiddo?”

I nod and take a long swig of the cold water. The breakfast is okay, a little too much pineapple today. But I eat it in slow bites and wrack my brain for something to say to my dad. I can tell that he is doing the same while reading the words in his war novel. We haven’t had much to talk about for a while.

 It’s just him and me, has been that way since my brother died and my mother left. Cody was only four when he died, and I was nine. I was supposed to be watching him while we were playing outside by the pool. I ran inside to fix us some drinks, and when I got back, Cody was at the bottom of the deep end. His foot had gotten twisted in the hose and he’d fallen in. I hadn’t even heard the splash.

Everything changed after that. Dad worked longer shifts and Mom could barely look at me. She left a few years later. We don’t know where she went, but Dad says it was probably for the best.

“Are you babysitting the Law boy tonight?” Dad looks up from his book.

“Yeah,” I mumble.

“Don’t forget to pick up the truck when you get done.” He takes a sip of his coffee. “I hate that you have to ride the bus on your first day.”  

“It’s alright.” I just got my license a couple of weeks ago on my sixteenth birthday. I’m old for a sophomore, but my dad gave me his old truck. He’s been delaying the repairs for years now, and finally took it to the shop a few days ago. So I am forced to ride the bus on the first day of school.

“I better get out there.” I stand up from the table once I am done with my breakfast.

He marks his page and stands up too. “Me too. I’ve got to get to the station. You know everything is crazy with elections coming up.”

He walks around the kitchen in his starched gray uniform and adjusts his badge. He’s been a cop for twenty-something years. I worry about him when he is out, especially around these streets. He kisses me firmly on the forehead before putting on his hat and grabbing his keys.

“Have a good day at school.”

That won’t happen, I am almost sure of it. But I don’t say that aloud, just hoist my book bag onto my shoulders and follow him outside. He pulls out a few seconds later in his deputy car, leaving me at the end of the driveway outside of our small house.

Once he is gone, I pull a pack of cigarettes out of my book bag and light one. I don’t smoke them too often, just when I need to calm my nerves. Like now. I puff slowly from the cigarette and finish it just before the bus comes. I am one of the first people to get on and I sit near the front.

The bus fills up quickly with each stop and close to the end of the route, we stop at West Division Street, where twenty or so blacks and Puerto Ricans get on. They are gang members, terrifying and loud. I avert my eyes to my lap when I notice one of the black guys.

His name is Jeoff, and we’ve only spoken one time. It was last summer when I was at the  health clinic. My heart was racing and my palms were sweating and all I could think about was how bad I wanted a straight razor and a cigarette. I sat there,  anxious to erase the result of the biggest mistake of my life, and thinking of an excuse for where all of my babysitting money had gone. I knew my dad would ask. And there was no way I could have told him the truth.

Abortion is not something that would sit well with my father. Especially after I’d already killed his son. No, this secret will go with me, alone, to my grave. So when Jeoff had asked if I wanted him to go with me into the room, I quietly declined although a large part of me wanted to accept. I could feel his eyes burning into my back as I stalked down the hallway after the nurse. He was judging me. She was judging me. If there is a God, he was judging me. I was judging me.

When I slipped under and into a world of red rivers and black clouds, I remember wondering what it would feel like, the erasing. When I woke up, I knew. Blank, with ripped pink remnants, scratched and scarred. I couldn’t fight the urges that day.

The bus pulls into school and the dread that had been flirting with my head pulls tight against my chest and chokes me. I follow the rest of the dread-filled kids into the school, ignoring the obnoxious yells of the gangsters behind me. I pass the mob of terrified freshmen and can’t believe that I was one of them just a year ago. They are like a different species.

Everyone scurries to their cliques: the blacks, the preps, the nerds, the stoners. They have all perfected their fake smiles, carefully and painfully painted on. They walk around in new clothes to fit whatever clique they represent, desperate to stay a part of it, to avoid exile. They greet each other with tight hugs and forced laughs, pretending they missed each other, this place. They act like they are happy to be back here, and maybe they are. They think to themselves: this year will be different.  But they are wrong, all of them. Because nothing ever changes in this place.

I push past the fakes and go outside to the back of the school. My friends are waiting there,  with the same clothes as last year and headphones around their necks. Cordelia, Jacey, and Layne are sitting against the brick wall laughing about something. The boys, Ross and Mogley, are standing up, smoking cigarettes in jeans that are as tight as mine.

“Hey guys,” I say and sit down next to Cordelia.

“Hey girl,” Jacey and Layne say.

“New Cannibal Corpse,” Cordelia says and hands me her headphones. I stick one in my ear and listen to the heavy metal song playing. She is a music addict.

“Janey will agree with me.” Mogley looks at me through his shaggy black hair. “The Shining or Pet Cemetery?”

“Easy,” I say quickly. “The Shining.”

“Told you.” Ross smiles.

“What?” Mogley shakes his head. “You guys are crazy.”

They argue for a few minutes over Stephen King novels and I listen to the rest of Cordelia’s song.

“Nice bangs,” Layne says excitedly. Her own bangs are cut perfectly straight above her eyes and pitch black. She was blonde the last time I saw her.

“Thanks.” I run my hands over my hair. “I like the black.”

These are my friends. Layne is wearing a long white skirt with lace trimming and a tight blue tank top that is the same blue as her big eyes. Her newly dyed hair is pencil straight but curls just under her chin. She is the bubbly one. Jacey is the quiet one. She sits there with her headphones in and writes in her leather-bound journal. She is a poet with choppy brown hair, milky white skin, and dark eyes. She is really skinny, and wears tight dark blue jeans and a brown men’s sweater that hangs off of her shoulder. Cordelia has long, dark brown hair that curls at the bottom and around her face. Her skin is tan and she wears gold and green makeup. She is curvy and beautiful. She, unlike me, doesn’t hide her scars. She wears her thin red lines with pride on her wrists, like pearl bracelets.

Mogley is half Chinese and half Dominican. His real name is Makasi, but he looks like Mogley from The Jungle Book, so we gave him the nickname. He wears tight black jeans, a studded belt, and a tight green v-neck. His bangs are cut like mine, angled across his face. He has perfect white teeth, and a big smile with a deep dimple at each end. Ross has blonde hair that is cut short. He wears tight jeans too, despite what people say.

This is us: the outcasts, the punks. Shunned from our previous groups, we have banded together to form one dysfunctional group of exiled bleeders, who stopped being fake and dared to be different. I have been friends with them for less than a year, but they accepted me when the cruel high school world turned its back. They are older than me, but they are the few that I trust. Although some would argue that we are just conforming to each other, we are all different. Like pieces of a puzzle, we fit together to make one solid image. Something abstract, of course.

The fakes at Five Points have labeled us the ‘Emos.’  I hate that word: emo. Isn’t it just short for emotional? Aren’t all humans emotional? Don’t they all have emotions? Except for the robots here who train themselves not to feel. They walk around here pretending, insisting that they are fine, that everything is okay.

Nothing is ever okay when you are in high school.

“I would rather die than sit through eight hours in this torture chamber.” Cordelia throws her head back and sighs.

“Suicide pact?” Layne suggests, and I give her a mean look. I hate when they talk about suicide, death. Although I’ve considered it more than once, I don’t like to talk about it.

“Not funny.” I pinch my arm a couple of times.

“What’s wrong with you?” Jacey finally closes her journal and looks at me.

“Nothing, I’m just bitter.” I bite my lip and look up at the gray sky.

“Aren’t we all?” Ross puts out his cigarette. “I can’t wait to count the number of times I hear ‘faggot’ today.” He points to his jeans.

“Screw ‘em.” Cordelia rolls her eyes. “I’m already up for ditching if anyone is interested.”

“Depends on my schedule,” I tell her.

When the bell rings, I walk with Jacey to our homeroom. We walk slowly, discussing her newest poem and biding as much time as possible.  When we walk into the classroom, the stares are expected. I am used to them by now, but I feel my face flush as insecurities bounce through my head. We sit in the back, ignoring the snickers of a few people in the front row. Assholes.

Mrs. Crane passes out our schedules and I immediately compare mine with Jacey’s. No classes together. Of course God wouldn’t be so kind as to ease the pain of this place by giving me at least one class with her. I hope for better luck with the others.

“Alright folks,” Mrs. Crane says loudly. “Listen to the announcements.”

Ruby St. Clair, our president, appears on the television. Her smile is so wide, her voice so smooth, that I can almost taste the fear in her. She is the biggest fake of them all, and my peer counselor from last year.  Mrs. Richards had forced me to get one after my teachers sent her concerns about the cuts on my arm. Twice a week I was in her office and meeting with Ruby “just to talk.” She pretended to care, but I know my problems were just adding to the long list of extracurriculars that she gets to put on her college applications.   

People like Ruby, the ones who strive for perfection and are desperate to appear perfect, are the ones with the most problems. People think I’m messed up because I cut myself when I’m sad. Someone like Ruby, who pretends that sadness doesn’t exist, is dying on the inside. And her blood is toxic. Of course I will never tell her that. She has to figure it out on her own.

I ignore her announcements and listen to my iPod. My schedule sucks, with Civics and Economics, Geometry, Communications, and Physical Science.  Once the announcements are over, the bell rings and I follow Jacey out of our class and back outside. Our friends are waiting with their schedule cards out.

“Tell me you’ve got Precal third period,” Cordelia says to Jacey.

“I’ve got Precal third period,” Jacey says with a straight face while Cordelia jumps up and down.

The downside to having older friends is that they have all taken the classes I’m in. I’m stuck with four shitty classes and no friends in any of them. But we do all have lunch together, and for that, I can be thankful.   

I get to Civics and Economics a minute before the bell rings. I barely have time to pull out my notebook before my teacher starts ranting about what is wrong with the government today. I blank out, listening to my iPod and writing down bits of the notes on the slides he puts on the screen.

During break, I sneak a few puffs from Cordelia’s cigarette and listen to Mogley complain about his English teacher. The routine has started, right where we left it in June. New year, same old shit.

I’m left alone in geometry, while my friends go off to their junior and senior math classes. Mr. Reeves is ancient and lecturing before the second bell even rings. My head gets fuzzy as he begins to review from Algebra One, even though it has nothing to do with circles and squares. He squiggles a problem on the board and turns to the class.

“Does anyone know the answer?”Silence. “Anyone?”

I continue to draw the rainbow I’ve been working for the entire period in the corner of my notebook. If you avoid eye contact, they usually don’t call on you.

Except he does call on me.

“Miss Boyd. Janey.” I tense up and start to chew on my nails. I don’t even know why I wasted the time painting them this morning.

I stare at the piece of paper in front of me, which doesn’t have a single bit of notes on it. I look up at the board, but the problems and formulas look like Chinese to me. I chew on my thumbnail until it bleeds.

“Janey?” He stares at me. The class turns to stare at me.

I don’t know the answer; don’t know how to even begin to find the answer. I sit there, unable to speak. My face gets hot and I bite harder into my nail. The blood tastes like pennies, but I swallow it and silently beg them all to stop staring at me.

“Janey?”

“Thirteen,” someone finally says. Everyone turns quickly to see who answered. It is some kid a few seats down from him. I don’t recognize him, decide that maybe he is a freshman.

“Well, Mister…”

“Reid,” the guy mutters. “Alex Reid.”

“Thank you, Alex Reid.” Mr. Reeves smiles and turns back to the board. I take notes for the rest of the class, ignoring the blood spots that seep into my notebook and mix with the lead from my pencil. In my head, I thank Alex Reid. He might be an angel.

My third period is communications, and for the first half, my teacher talks about how important communication is in our lives. As if we don’t already know this. She then tells us to get into groups with the people around us and talk.

“That’s all you have to do. Don’t take notes; don’t try to memorize everything you hear. Just talk. And make sure everyone is doing an equal amount of talking and listening.”

The assignment seems easy, unless of course you hate to talk, like me. I especially hate talking to strangers, and I hate talking about myself. I am not a communicator.

The people around me are a guy with thick glasses and pants that are too short (classic geek), a girl with blonde hair and tight clothes that show too much (typical prep), and a black guy with baggy clothes and hard eyes (total gangster).

We all reluctantly push our desks together and I stare at the clock, willing the seconds to tick by faster. The blonde, who introduces herself as Lacey, goes first. She rambles on and on about her rich parents and all of her horses. I love horses, but I’m sure that I would hate hers. Finally, the black guy interrupts her and tells us to call him ‘G.’

“I like cars, girls, and making money.” He slouches low at his desk and looks at us with a serious face. “And I hate school.”

“What kind of car do you drive?” The geek, who later tells us his name is Nathaniel, asks. He pushes his thick glasses up the bridge of his nose.

G doesn’t respond; I’m assuming that means he doesn’t have a car. Nathaniel smiles awkwardly and rubs his sweaty palms together.

“Well, I am Nathaniel. I am in Science Olympiad as well as the Chess Club.” So typical. “I like cars too.” He smiles at G, who doesn’t smile back. “Anything to do with engineering, really. I would like to be an engineer for NASA one day.”

“That is so cool,” Lacey says with a little too much excitement. “What about you?” She turns to me.

“I’m Janey,” I mumble. “I like horses, too. Sometimes I volunteer at these stables about an hour away.” I wrack my brain for something else to say. “My dad is a cop. I like music and writing. And I love cameras; photography, old recording devices, stuff like that.”

They all stare at me and I stare at the desk.

“Alright, let’s get the room back in order.” Miss Gribbs stands at the front of the class. “Looks like we have got very interesting and diverse group this year. I heard a lot of different interests and personalities as I was walking around and listening to you. That’s going to make this a very fun class.”

When the bell rings I rush out of the classroom, my face still flushed. I hurry to the cafeteria, trying to beat the crowds. But C lunch is always the most crowded. Everyone scurries to their designated spots and I walk towards the soda machines.

I pass the preps, a group of athletes and self-proclaimed super stars. My kind-of-cousin, Anderson Stone is the leader of the pack. His step mom is my Aunt, and a bitch from hell. She and my mother never spoke to each other when we were still a family. I see Anderson once a year at family reunions, but besides that, he ignores me. Especially at school. The head jock talking to a chubby emo girl is enough to knock even him Anderson off of his high horse.

He notices me, but doesn’t say anything. And I definitely do not wave. I’m not paying attention when someone bumps into me and I almost fall backwards.

“Sorry!” Ruby St. Clair looks up at me from her phone. “Oh hey, Janey. How are you?”

I run my fingers through my bangs and nod. “I’m good, thanks.”

“That’s good.” She smiles her expensive, forced smile.  “Well, are you going to need a peer counselor again this year? I’m still free the same time as last year.”

I cringe and disregard her friend looking me up and down. “It’s cool, I’m doing okay now.” I can’t help but start to bite my nails.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” I insist. “I’ve got to go. I’ll see you around.”

She sighs. “Okay, well my number is the same if you ever need anything.”

I don’t respond, just walk away and buy a soda. I know I need to eat something, but school food is so unhealthy. I decide on a bag lunch and hurry outside to where my friends sit. A couple of stoners whiz by me, and I wave at Brian Phillips, my dealer. He sells me weed once in a while when I really need it. He waves back and keeps on skating. His hair is getting long, and for some reason I think he is so hot. He wouldn’t give me the time of day though; not after his last girlfriend, who just so happens to be Ruby.

“Glad you could join us,” Mogley says from a Downward Dog position.

“Sorry, I needed caffeine.” I hold up my diet soda and take a long swig from it. “Did you guys eat already?”

“I’m not eating.” Jacey doesn’t look up from the notebook she is writing in. Big surprise.

“I’m not giving money to that poisonous food,” Ross sighs. He takes out a paper sack and unloads his lunch: dry tuna and some Ritz crackers.

“We were waiting for you.” Cordelia takes a bite of the hamburger on her tray and sticks her tongue out. She stuffs a few fries in her mouth and laughs. She will probably puke that up later, but I don’t say anything about it for now.

I take out the apple and pickle from my bag lunch and eat them slowly, telling myself that each bite is filling me up. Cordelia eats all of her hamburger and shares her fries with Layne, who also brought rice cakes and peanut butter. Mogley eats a piece of pizza and two blueberry muffins. He doesn’t have to worry about his figure.

“How are everyone’s classes?” Ross asks between bites.

“Suck,” Cordelia says with a full mouth.

“Fascinating,” Jacey says at the same time.

“My British Literature teacher is a babe,” Layne says in reference to Mr. Fossett.

I chuckle softly, admiring how different each of my friends are. I pull out my old camera and take a few snapshots of them before they notice me and shy away from it. We finish our lunches, talking about our classes and our newest projects. Every couple of minutes, I find myself staring across the way at my ex-best friends, Audrey and Dakota. I used to be one of them, although they are seniors. We spent all of our time together before last year, when I went away. They still don’t know what happened; I didn’t have the heart to tell them the truth.

I started cutting when I was in eighth grade. I was still depressed from my brother’s death and my mom’s absence. The first time I cut myself, it was an accident. I broke a lamp and was surprised when a piece of glass nicked my finger as I was cleaning it up. I was surprised because it felt good. After that, I did it more and more.

My dad found out when I was a freshman. He begged me to stop, and I told him I would. But I was addicted. I couldn’t stop and he sent me away. For two weeks, I lived in a hospital with other kids just like me. I realized then that I was different than Audrey and Dakota. I realized that I was angry and sad, and that it was okay.

When I got back to school, nothing was the same. People stared at me, and I barely talked to my friends. One day after school, Cordelia noticed the scars. Then she showed me hers and invited me to eat lunch with her group the next day. After that, I was different. I started dressing differently and finding my real self. Dad didn’t like the new me very much, but at least I had stopped cutting.

For a while.

 When we are finished eating, Cordelia brushes her hands off.

“Bathroom,” she demands.

Layne and Jacey get up and so do I. I know what this means, and the boys do too. Ross shakes his head and Mogley rolls his eyes. We go to the bathroom near the prep hallway, because it is usually empty during lunch. I follow the girls into the last stall in the gray and white bathroom.

“Give me your hair tie,” Cordelia says to Jacey, who slides the elastic band off of her wrist and hands it to her.

Cordelia ties her hair loosely behind her back and gets down on her knees. The three of us crowd around her and ignore the sounds of her retching into the toilet. I close my eyes so I don’t have to look at it. Layne laughs a little bit.

“Anyone else?” Cordelia stands up and takes a breath mint from Jacey’s open palm. None of us want to today, so Cordelia takes the hair tie out and shakes her curls over her shoulders.

She reaches into her purse and pulls out a small, tin case. In it are a straight razor, three rubber bands, and several pink band-aids.

“I have to,” she says, as if trying to reason with us.

“Me too.” Layne nods and lifts up her skirt, exposing the red cuts on her thighs.

“Not me.” I shake my head. I’m thirteen days clean, and I want to see how far I can go. Besides, I don’t really need it right now.

Cordelia shrugs and drags the razor across her wrist without any hesitation. She doesn’t even gasp anymore. She tears off some toilet paper from the dispenser and hands the razor to Layne. Layne makes three quick cuts on the outside of her right thigh. She exhales long and slowly as her body collapses and she is relieved. I know that relief.

She offers Jacey the razor and raises an eyebrow. “You want it?”

“Whatever.” Jacey shrugs and takes the bloody razor, as if she has no choice. She rests her foot on the toilet seat and digs the corner of the razor into the inside of her ankle.

I take one of the rubber bands and snap it hard against my wrist. Seeing the relief in their eyes, the blood on their flesh, makes me want to do it. I smack my wrist harder with the rubber band and tell myself I don’t need it.

This has been our ritual for a while. We eat, find an empty bathroom, Cordelia pukes (sometimes the rest of us do too), and then we cut. We’ve formed some sort of secret “club.” Cordelia, who was once a prep, presses the tissue on her arm and breathes slowly in and out. Jacey, former over-achieving nerd, lets the blood drip into her shoes. And Layne, who never fit in anywhere, wipes the blood slowly from her thigh before covering the fresh cuts with band-aids.

“Shut up.” Cordelia whispers all of a sudden. “Someone is coming.”

Sure enough, footsteps echo through the bathroom a few seconds later. A sink turns on and we all freeze. Cordelia quietly stuffs her kit back into her purse and I suck in my breath. A moment later, laughter echoes through the bathroom. The voice of a bitch rings in my ears.

“What are you doing in here, Brainiac?” Prep. Blonde, possibly brunette, approximately five-six, fake tan, could possibly be armed with one or more other blondes.

“I just needed to use the bathroom.” I recognize the second voice as Audrey’s. Instantly I want to run out of the stall and be next to her. But I know I can’t.

“This is our bathroom,” says the first voice.

For the next few minutes, the group of five or so blondes messes with Audrey. They call her Bloody Mary (a nickname I always despised), and poke fun at her body. Her voice is shaky and I can tell she is scared. Finally, another voice I recognize speaks up.

“You guys, the bell is about to ring and we still need to freshen up.” Samantha West, Queen of Blonde-dom. “Let’s let her slide this time.”

“Are you serious?” Bitch number one spits.

“We’ll get a freshman after school.” Samantha. “Come on.” She’s not the meanest person, although she doesn’t actually stop the meanness either. I take care of her horses at the stables where I volunteer. Every once in a while she remembers to say thank you when she is there.

I hear Audrey hurry out a few seconds later, after the first bitch threatens her. But the blondes don’t leave just yet.

“I can’t believe you let her go. You’re getting soft.”

“Not soft,” Samantha says. “Just sick of the same old shit all of the time. We are seniors this year. Let’s start acting like it.”

A few seconds later, the bitch sighs. “What the hell is her problem?”

“Who knows?” One of the other bitches says. Finally, they leave and my friends and I breathe.

“Shit.” Cordelia chuckles.

“Better her than us.” Layne shrugs and opens the stall door. We are the easiest targets for the preps, especially since Cordelia used to be one of them.

We leave the bathroom quickly and head back outside for the last few minutes of lunch.

“Finally,” Ross says “We thought we were going to have to come in there after you guys.”

“Don’t worry, we are fine.” Cordelia smiles. “Just a minor road block, that’s all.”

“Do you guys want to come over after school?” Mogley asks. “We can smoke and watch I Spit on your Grave.”

“Can’t,” I mumble. “I have to babysit.”

“Argh,” they all groan.

“You always have to babysit.” Cordelia sighs.

“If I don’t work, we don’t have weed to smoke,” I remind them.

“She has a point.” Layne puts her arm around me. “Have fun with the kids. I owe you.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

When the bell rings, I walk alone through the crowded school towards the math and science building. People bump into me from all sides. Clearly I am still invisible.

When I get to Physical Science, I sit at the lab table farthest away from the teacher standing at the front of the room.

After calling the roll, Mrs. Locker rambles on about science, the beauty of it, and how it applies to everyday life. I force myself to stay awake as she calls out our lab partners.

“Okay, for your lab partners we are just going to go down the attendance list. So Robert Absher, you will be working with Sarah Alton. Manuel Aviles…” She pauses and looks around the room.

Everyone turns and looks at the Hispanic kid sleeping a couple of seats away from me.

“Somebody wake him up,” Mrs. Locker says and continues down the roll. “His partner is Janey Boyd.”

Of course I get paired with Manny Aviles, the biggest gangster in school. Mrs. Locker continues down the roll and I let out a long sigh. Nobody wakes him up.

When the final bell rings, Manny gets up quickly, sending our lab assignment to the ground next to my shoe. I pick it up and tap his shoulder softly. I’ve got to talk to him sometime.

He doesn’t turn around, so I clear my throat. “Here you go.” He turns around quickly and I hand him the paper with shaky hands. “You dropped this.”

His eyes are cold, blank, distant. “What is it?”

“Tonight’s homework.”

He takes the paper and shoves it in his book. “Oh, thanks.” He starts to walk away.

“You’re my lab partner.”

He turns back around. “What?”

“Just so you know.” Insecurity bites at me. “I know you were sleeping most of the time. We’re lab partners.”

He chuckles and shakes his head. “Oh, sorry about that. I’ll try to stay awake tomorrow.”

“Yeah. Well I’ll see you.” I walk away before he can say anything else and wonder if he’ll even bother doing the assignment.

I don’t have time to stop and talk to my friends before I get on the bus, a different one from this morning. I turn my headphones up and ignore the screaming freshmen in the seats around me. I get off at the Blue Dolphin Motel, much to the bus driver’s discrepancy. That’s where Davie, the kid I’ve been babysitting for almost a year, lives. His mom said it was just temporary, but I don’t know how temporary and I don’t ask questions because she pays me fifty bucks a night, sixty for weekends.

I sit outside of their room in a plastic white chair and smoke half of a cigarette while I wait for Davie. Several minutes later, he hops off of the bus and charges across the parking lot with a wide, toothless grin on his face.

“Miss Janey! Miss Janey!” He squeals and claps. I put the cigarette out quickly and stuff it in my pocket.

“Hey Davie.” I muster up as much enthusiasm as possible and pat his back when he squeezes my leg. “Where is your key?”

He slides his Spiderman book bag off and takes the room key out of the front pocket. I unlock the door and before we are even in the room, he is dumping out his book bag to show me his projects from school.

“Look what I made!” He pulls out a piece of paper with a picture drawn at the top and a few sentences written in big, bulky letters at the bottom. “It says,” Davie bounces on top of the bed and points at each word, “’I love my brother and my mom. They make me food and play with me. I love third grade.’”

I chuckle at the randomness of his eight-year-old mind. He pulls a book out of his book bag and looks up at me.

“Can I read this to you?”

It’s a thin book about tractors, and I cannot deny his big pleading brown eyes so I nod and sit down next to him on the bed. He reads it slowly, like he’s tasting every word, registering the way it sounds, the way it feels when it rolls off of his tongue. When he is finished, I put my initials on his reading log and he stuffs everything back into his bag.

“Can we get ice cream?” He jumps up and down. “Please?”

I sigh and nod slowly. “Let me do some homework and then we will go.” I know that the ice cream shop down the street is always packed for the first couple of hours after school.

I sit at the small round table in the corner by the door and work on my science lab while Davie watches a rerun of Spongebob. When I decide that the lab is good enough, I stuff it into my notebook and stretch.

“Alright, Davie.” I grab his jacket and hold it up. “Let’s go get some ice cream.”

“Yay!” He hops up from the floor and grabs the coat. I have to wait five minutes for him to tie his shoes, but he insists that he doesn’t need help and finally gets it right on the seventh or eighth try.

Scoops is just a couple blocks away and we walk fast. When we get there, no one else is in the shop. I recognize Gabe De Carteret behind the counter. I know him from school; he’s kind of a weird guy. Weird but happy.

“Hey Janey,” he says.

“Hey.”

“Ice cream,” Davie squeals.

“Yes, Davie.” I roll my eyes. “We’re going to get some ice cream.”

“What can I get for you, buddy?” Gabe smiles at Davie.

“I want chocolate!”

Gabe scoops a lump of soft chocolate ice cream into a paper bowl. “Do you want anything on top of it? Gummy Bears? Nuts? Cherries?”

“Cherries!” Davie claps his hands.

Gabe hands him the bowl that is overflowing with red and brown syrup and looks at me. “Anything for you?”

“No thank you.” Ice cream is poison. I reach for my wallet. “How much is it?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Gabe smiles. “It’s on the house.”

“Thanks.”

I stuff my wallet in my back pocket and sit next to Davie at a table in the corner. He gets the ice cream all over his face and hands and I wait patiently for him to eat every bite of the sugary pacifier. He rambles about school and I try to listen, but for the most part I don’t.

When he’s finished, I wipe him down with wet napkins and take his hand so we can walk back to the motel. I fix him a bowl of canned pork and beans for dinner and he settles in front of the television. Crash gets there shortly afterwards while I am doing my geometry homework.

“Hey,” he says as he comes through the door.

“Crash!” Davie shoots up to hug him.

“What’s up, little man?” Crash squeezes him and I start putting my homework away. “Hey Janey.”

“Hey,” I mutter.

 “Thanks for watching him. My mom will pay you at the end of the week.”

I sling my backpack over my shoulder and shrug. “No problem.” I’ve got to get to the car garage before it closes.

“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow.” He opens the door for me.

“See ya.” I push past him and hurry across the parking lot. The air is cooler now, and I walk quickly for the several blocks to the garage.

Eddie’s Garage is a little run down, but I ignore that and the smell of car oil and walk into the front of the open shop.

“Can I help you?” I hear a voice, then stop.

Standing in front of me is Riley Sutton. He is taller than he was last year, and even more handsome (if that’s possible). He smells the same, like leather and sweat and poisonous temptation that no girl could possibly resist. He is beautiful. And I hate him.

He is the reason I started cutting again.

I bite the inside of my cheek so hard that it bleeds. “I just came to get my dad’s truck. He brought it by earlier.”I avoid his eyes and stare at the floor.

“Oh, the dodge.” He grabs a pair of keys and speaks to me as if I am just another customer. I guess that’s all that I am. “I fixed up your leaks and made a few tweaks on the engine. Everything should be as good as new.”

“Okay,” I manage. I get into the truck and start it up. It revs nicely and I start to pull slowly out of the garage.

“If you have any other problems, tell your dad not to hesitate to call us.”

I wish he would shut up, talking to me like he has never seen me before. I don’t say anything else, just pull out of the garage and out into the street as fast as I can. Tears start to pool at the bottoms of my eyes as I drive through traffic towards home. I curse Riley under my breath, stab him with an invisible knife in my head, then punch myself in the thigh for letting him make me cry again.

Riley Sutton was the first boy I kissed, the first boy I touched, the first boy I liked. Cordelia had introduced me to him. He was a bad boy, she had warned me. But she assured me that he would show me a good time. He took my virginity at the end of last year when he was too high to care and I was too high to stop him.

He didn’t talk to me much after that night, and two months later when I found out I was pregnant, he told me it couldn’t be his. He said it wasn’t possible, because we used a condom and he had ‘heard about me,’ insinuating that I was both dumb and a whore. That was my first and last time.

I never told him about the abortion. I guess he still assumes that I was just crazy, had read the test wrong. I sliced my arm so deep that night that I went dizzy in the bathroom.

Relapse is a bitch.

When I get home, my dad has a pot of chili on the stove and biscuits in the oven. The smell takes over and I drop off my stuff in my room so I can splash cold water on my face and wipe my makeup. Dripping mascara always gives away a good cry, even to oblivious dads.  

“How was school?” Dad asks me once I am in the kitchen.

“Good,” I mumble and sit down at the table. He sets a bowl full of chili and two biscuits down in front of me.

“I made your favorite.” He smiles and pats my shoulder. He tries hard sometimes, I know he does.

“Thanks, Dad.” I blow a spoonful of the chili and wait for it to cool off. “How was work?”

“Eventful.” He sighs. “Chased down a couple of kids today over on North Division. Someone robbed a minimart this afternoon, took some batteries or something. Anyway, the store clerk called us, but we apparently went after the wrong kids. So whoever it was got away with a pack of triple A’s. That’s about it.”

“Hm.” I take the bite of chili and instantly I feel better. Food does that to me.

“How does the truck run? Is it going to be okay for you?”

“Yeah, it runs fine.”

He sits down next to me and we eat, mostly in silence. He pops open a couple of RC Colas for us and I drink mine slowly. Later, we have vanilla ice cream, plain. I decide that plain vanilla ice cream doesn’t count as poison.

He goes into the den to read his novel and I go into my room. If I turn my music up too loud it gives him a headache, so I put headphones in and lay on my bed. He comes in around ten to tell me goodnight. His eyes are tired and his smile weak. He’s trying.

When I take a shower, I am careful while I shave. The tiniest nick could trigger me to keep going. I wrap myself up in my mom’s old robe and go out onto the back porch, which is screened in and has creaky floorboards.

I sit in an old wooden chair and stare outside at the dark world beyond the wire screen. I imagine myself running away, leaving and never coming back to Chicago or Five Points again. But running away would kill my dad. I’m all that he has, and I’m not much to have.

I think about life, the world, and how cruel it is. How people leave us, the people we love the most. When I think of life, only negative things come to mind: betrayal, heartache, pain, suffering, death. I look into the heavens and beg for some sort of answer. But the heavens don’t have time for a girl like me.

I fight the urge to cut myself, to let myself bleed just for proof that I am still alive. I haven’t felt alive in a long time. I try to fight the urge to cry, but big, wet tears still spill down my fat cheeks and soak the fluffy white fabric around my neck. The urges are too much. There is too much urge and not enough will to fight them.

The urge will never stop.

And I have lost all the fight in me.