Even though I realized she probably just wanted to go home and relax, I didn’t feel all that sympathetic. After all, she spent most of her day seated, answering phones or making copies. Boring work, yes, but compared to other jobs, I figured she’d probably had it pretty easy.
While I waited for the copies, I glanced down the hallway that led to the principal’s office. There was a small waiting area there that the resident troublemakers usually occupied. I found I wasn’t at all surprised—though I was a bit scared to spot him after school hours—when I recognized Mark Moses seated in the waiting area next to a man, who looked very much like him though the man was quite a bit older with graying hair and a full-blown beer belly. The skin that wasn’t hidden by clothing was covered in tattoos. I could only assume the aged doppelganger was Mark Moses’ dad.
I looked away quickly, hoping Mark Moses wouldn’t turn and look my way. I only had one more day to elude him before I was home free for a four-day weekend. The last thing I needed was another run-in with him. I just wanted the rest of the week to be peaceful, so I was thankful the principal, Mr. Mallory, chose that moment to open the door to his office and call them inside. Neither glanced in my direction as they stood and went inside the small office.
Just as the door closed, the secretary returned with the copies I’d asked for. I thanked her as I took them and hurried back to the computer lab.
Tegan came back to help me fold papers. Then we both helped Lance staple the papers after Annabelle and Eliza checked them. It took another half an hour to finish up, and then Mr. Hensley thanked us before he told us we could go.
On the way to our lockers, Tegan called her house. Trista said she’d send Travis to come and get us. Then Tegan and I agreed to meet by the exit before we went our different ways to collect our things from our lockers.
My footsteps echoed against the walls and floors as I passed each dark classroom along the hallway. When I reached my hall, I turned and started toward my locker, but I stopped short when I heard shouting coming from the other end. I couldn’t imagine what was going on, but curiosity got the better of me and I tiptoed down the hallway and peeked around the corner into the next corridor.
I immediately recognized Mark Moses and his dad. His dad was red in the face, and he was the one doing the shouting as he poked Mark in the middle of the chest and backed him up against the nearest wall. Before I hadn’t been able to decipher his words, but now that I was closer, his voice was clearer.
“I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do with you. You’re worthless,” he growled. “Can’t you keep your nose clean for a week? I don’t have time to come down here and look after you every time you decide to get your ass in trouble.”
I watched as Mark cowered, almost slumping down against the lockers behind him in an attempt to get away from his father. The usual look of malice upon Mark’s face was gone. The new look was one I could relate to: sheer terror. Mark appeared to be as afraid of his father as I was of Mark.
His dad stared at him hard, almost as if waiting for an answer to an unasked question. I saw Mark’s mouth move, but no words came out at first. Then finally the utterance of “I’m sorry, sir” reached both Mr. Moses’ ears and mine. It sounded weak and feeble, much like Mark looked.
Mr. Moses seemed unaffected by his son’s fear and sneered and mocked him. “I’m sorry, sir,” he hissed. “If you were so damn sorry, you’d stop getting in trouble, you piece of trash,” he growled before he gave Mark a rough shove, which caused him to bang his head against the locker behind him and utter a low “ow” as his dad said, “Find your own way home.”
Both Mark and I watched as he stormed off. I was too shocked, trying to register what I’d just witnessed, to even move. Apparently, Mark recovered before I did because his head snapped in my direction and his dark eyes fell on me. He stood up, no longer scared and shameful as he marched over to me. I made to move backward, but he was upon me before I really had a chance to get away. He pushed me back against the locker and hunched over until his eyes met mine.
“Bet you thought that was funny, didn’t you, you little snoop?” he demanded.
“No,” I said, shaking my head. I knew I probably looked and sounded just as weak as Mark had. “Not at all.”
“Yeah, right,” he glared.
“No, I mean it,” I said, adamantly. It seemed as if my most important goal in that moment was to convince Mark that I didn’t find what I’d just witnessed funny in the least. “Things like that aren’t funny. Watching someone be hurt or talked down to by someone—especially an adult—is terrible. Being scared of someone is the worst feeling.”
Mark stared down at me before he rolled his eyes. “You just make sure you don’t tell anyone about this.”
“I won’t,” I said. “I swear. I won’t tell anyone.”
“Good,” he said, nodding curtly as he backed away and gave me a little room to breathe. I didn’t dare move from my spot in front of the locker, though.
Mark didn’t move either. I didn’t know what it meant, and it made me nervous. When I was nervous, I did one of two things; either I’d clam up and go mute or I’d start rambling. For whatever reason, I chose to ramble.
“I’m not used to yelling,” I began. “My parents don’t yell very much. They get mad, but they usually just ground us—I mean, my brother, sister and me—when we get in trouble. I don’t think I’d know what to do if they were like your . . . I mean, like that,” I said, stumbling to find the right words as I stared at the floor, not daring to meet Mark’s eyes.
“One time my dad shoved my brother against the wall and yelled at him,” I babbled, “and that was because he called my sister a slut. Then one time when Luke came home drunk, my dad slammed his hand down on the table while he was yelling at him. I thought he was going to break it or something. It was scary because I’d never seen him so mad, but I don’t think he’d ever hit us.”
When I finally looked up, Mark was staring at me with a look I could only decipher as puzzlement upon his face. I could just imagine what he was thinking. It was probably something along the lines of “Why is she still talking?”
Everyone seemed to get that look when I started rambling. Well, everyone besides Tegan. Actually, come to think of it, Jackson hadn’t looked at me that way either. He seemed more amused than annoyed, but I was learning things weren’t always what they seemed. Jackson probably thought I was just as weird as everyone else did.
“Guess you just got lucky, didn’t you?” Mark finally said, breaking the uncomfortable silence.
“Yeah, I guess I did,” I nodded. Then as an afterthought, I added, “But parents can be not so great without ever laying a hand on you too.”
Mark didn’t look convinced. “Oh, yeah? How’s that?”
“They can ignore you and treat you like your thoughts and opinions aren’t worth listening to let alone thinking about,” I stated. “They can compare you to your siblings and make you feel like you’re not good enough because you aren’t pretty or popular or good at sports. They can pretend like they hear you, but they don’t know anything about you . . .” By the time I finished speaking, I was staring at my feet.
It wasn’t until I actually said the words out loud that I realized that these were feelings I often felt. I usually tried not to acknowledge them and pretend as if it didn’t bother me. Now that I’d actually voiced them it was as if those feelings finally became real instead of just a fleeting thought.
Part of me hated myself for thinking that way because, as much as they might have ignored me or lacked interest in my life, I knew my parents would never hurt me or say terrible things like Mark’s dad had.
I had no reason to throw myself a pity party and expected Mark to put me in my place for even making any sort of comparison between our situations with our parents, but there was a long pause. Finally, I looked up, expecting Mark to be glaring at me, but there was no glare. The look that was there, though, was unreadable; almost as if somethin
g in his mind had gone blank and wiped all expression from his face.
Finally he said, “I guess we can’t have it all, can we?” He didn’t wait for me to answer. Instead, he shrugged. “Just remember, this conversation? It never happened.”
Then he turned and stalked off, leaving me rooted in place; staring after him, I couldn’t help but ask myself, “What the heck just happened here?”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Spending Thanksgiving with Mom’s loud and cheerful family seemed to be just the thing I needed after the long week I’d had. The Sawyers were a large bunch. Mom was the middle of five children with two brothers and two sisters, one of each on either side of her in age. They were all married—some more times than others—with kids, making it a full house with plenty of people to hang out with throughout the day.
Whenever we celebrated Thanksgiving with Mom’s side of the family, I always considered it comparable to Christmas without the presents. The food was always amazing—though it could have only tasted that way after eating Mom’s cooking—and everyone was friendly and joked around, having a good time. Usually, we’d break out the board games or, in more recent years, the gaming consoles for hours of friendly competition.
My aunts, uncles and cousins liked to dance around the house, singing along with the music my grandparents always played. It was mostly oldies songs, but I knew every word. It was like an unspoken requirement, and once someone started singing, it was hard not to join in.
While I loved Dad’s side of the family, they were often less carefree, lacking in any prominent sense of humor or creativity. I often wondered how two people, like Mom and Dad, who came from such diverse families could end up married. Sometimes I thought perhaps Mom’s personality had faded over the years since she’d been with Dad. While the rest of Mom’s family was loud and talkative, she was often quiet and reserved.
There was a lot of catching up to be done. I kept getting the requisite line, “I can’t get over how much you’ve grown up, Cecilia.”
I’d heard it often enough in the past, but for once it really felt sincere. It was a nice feeling knowing they’d taken note of the differences in my appearance. Of course, it was probably easier for them to see the changes because we didn’t see each other everyday.
Of course, Grandma and Grandpa Sawyer kept hugging me, like they did with all of my cousins, every time we crossed paths. I thought my grandparents were easily the cutest old couple ever. They usually sat beside each other, holding hands and whispering things in each other’s ear. Even in their older years, it was obvious they were still very much in love. They showed more affection for each other in the few hours I saw them during holidays than I’d witnessed between my parents my entire life.
It made me feel sad for Mom and Dad because sometimes I couldn’t help but wonder if they still loved each other like they used to, or if they had ever been in as much love as my grandparents. Lately, it seemed like they were merely tolerating each other.
Along with catching up on the latest goings on, much of the conversation revolved around Mom’s new job. Grandma Sawyer had retired from teaching over a decade ago, but Aunt Minya—Mom’s older sister—was also a teacher. Minya and Grandma were both loud and outspoken. I could picture them as teachers, spending time with their students and having a lot of fun doing it. It made me wonder what Mom was like in a classroom setting because I couldn’t imagine my mostly meek mother as a teacher.
Dad usually gravitated more toward conversation with Uncle Kingston. He was Mom’s older brother and the oldest of all the kids. He was an accountant, and while I didn’t necessarily consider him stuffy, he was definitely more reserved, probably the sibling most like Mom, so I could see why Dad would like him best.
Uncle Hagen was Mom’s younger brother and had six kids from three marriages. For whatever reason, his marital issues and pack of kids, combined with his past drinking problems, made him Dad’s least favorite of Mom’s siblings. I thought he was a funny guy, though, but I always felt tense and ready for a fight to break out when he and Dad were in the same room.
I always suspected Dad would rather be at home, reading the newspaper away from all of the “unnecessary noise” that came along with a visit with Mom’s family.
Aside from Grandma and Grandpa Sawyer, Aunt Bryley, Mom’s youngest and newly pregnant sister, was my favorite family member. She and her husband, Shane, were barely older than my oldest cousin, and they were tons of fun to be around. Their son, Macon, was my youngest cousin at two. He was absolutely adorable, and I had a blast playing with him throughout the afternoon. The new baby was supposed to be a girl, and I couldn’t wait to meet her.
Back when Bryley and Shane were just dating in college, she’d let me stay with her for a few weeks during the summer. We spent afternoons at the park, having picnics or swimming at the water park. Shane even took me fishing and taught me how to bait my line. I even managed to impress him by not freaking out when I had to touch the worms. Every time I saw them, they told me I should come back and stay with them again. I really wanted to, but it just never seemed to happen.
When it started to get dark outside, everyone started to disband. I always hated saying goodbye to my family because I didn’t see them nearly as much as I’d have liked, but after tons and tons of turkey and other delicious food, I was ready to go home and go to bed.
Even Skylar quit striving to turn into Skeletor and stuffed herself silly. I thought, among everyone, Luke ate the most food, but our cousin Evan might have given him a run for his money. Of course, Grandma armed everyone with leftovers before she and Grandpa smothered everyone with hugs and sent us on our way.
The rest of my holiday weekend was pretty boring. The day after Thanksgiving was Luke’s seventeenth birthday. Considering the huge shopping rush because of all of the big sales, my parents chose to simply order Chinese and stay in to celebrate his birthday. Luke didn’t seem to mind as long as he got to eat something Mom didn’t cook, and I didn’t mind too much either. I didn’t feel like doing much of anything anyway, and we had a nice spread of food delivered.
Tegan and her family were visiting her grandparents out of state and wouldn’t be back until Sunday. She called once on Saturday just to talk for a little bit, which brightened my day a little because I missed talking to her.
I finally had to change my settings on AIM so that it wouldn’t automatically sign me in after the computer booted up because I couldn’t stand the fear that Jackson might send me an instant message before I had a chance to sign out.
When Tegan heard this, she said, “Seriously, Silly? This is just getting ridiculous. You need to buck up and face him already.”
That was much easier said than done. The entire situation had me feeling like a complete idiot, but I was so embarrassed that I couldn’t seem to bring myself to apologize for my behavior.
However, events took a new turn when Sunday rolled around. I was lazing around on the couch reading one of Skylar’s old magazines and watching one of my favorite movies of all times, The Goonies. It was one of those movies I could watch a million times without ever getting sick of it. Lucky for me, ABC Family was playing it all weekend, and Sunday marked the third day of my viewing pleasure.
Even Mom took notice. Every time she walked through the living room during her quest to clean the house while she had some time off, she said, “I can’t believe you’re watching this again.”
By the third time she made that comment, my answer went from, “It’s one of my favorites,” to an amusedly exasperated, “I still love it!”
I didn’t know why she was so surprised. I used to do the same thing every time we got a new movie when I was little. I’d usually watch whatever it was until I found something else or one of my parents demanded I stop.
Just as I finished reading the magazine and was considering the new makeup tips I’d read about, the doorbell rang.
Mom yelled from the laundry room. “Sil, get the door!”
I would have
done so without her instruction since Dad was upstairs in his and Mom’s room working on the computer. Luke was at work, and I’d yet to see Skylar. Since her car was still in the driveway, I suspected she was probably still upstairs fast asleep.
I had to heave myself off of the couch because I’d been lying there for so long. I stretched as I threw the magazine down on the coffee table and walked stiffly toward the front door. I stifled a yawn and, although I knew the chances were pretty slim, half hoped it was Tegan coming to surprise me and tell me her family arrived home early.
I opened the heavy door and felt a cold breeze make its way into the house and shivered and chided myself for not wearing something warmer than my thin cotton scooped necked tee.
The first thing I noticed, after the cold hit me, was a grass green t-shirt with a clipart picture of a lawnmower with the words “Push It. Push It Real Good.” underneath.
I felt a lump in my throat instantly and wanted to slam the door shut and run away, but, instead, I looked up to confirm my assumptions and met Jackson’s multicolored eyes. Today, they looked greener with a hint of gold around the edge.
He smiled as he greeted me. “Hey stranger.” Then he mused, “That rhymes with Granger.”
Despite my uneasiness, the sight of his grin still left me feeling a little winded. “Hi,” I said, quietly.
“Can I come in?” he asked, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “It’s kind of cold out here.”
“Oh! Yeah!” I instantly felt stupid as I stepped back, opening the door wider so he could step inside. I felt my face grow warm as I closed the door. “Sorry,” I muttered. His unexpected presence left me feeling caught off guard and at a loss for words. I leaned against the door as I turned to Jackson. “So,” I began uncertainly. “What brings you by?”
“I actually came by to make sure you hadn’t fallen off the face of the earth.” He grinned to show he was teasing, but my heart stuttered.
Infinite (Strange and Beautiful, Book 1) Page 24
