Send

by Patty Blount

  I knew without looking that the blond was gone. I didn’t smell the beach anymore, and I felt cold.

  “Have a seat, Mr. Ellison.” Mrs. Rawlins indicated a row of chairs by her desk. “Let’s call your mom and have her pick you up.”

  Oh, not a chance. I moved to a chair, taking my sweet time, and planned my next lie.

  Sure. Fine. Whatever.

  “Well, Mr. Ellison, you’ve had a hell of a first day so far, haven’t you?”

  I resisted the great urge to roll my eyes. Mr. Morris was the king of understatement.

  “What did Mrs. Rawlins say?”

  “That I’m fine.” That was only partially a lie. Mrs. Rawlins’s exact words were “As long as it doesn’t get infected and you don’t have a concussion, you should be fine.” Whatever. She’d sent me on my way with homework and an ice pack.

  He picked up the phone, raising thick caterpillar eyebrows. “Really? When I call to confirm that, she’s going to say fine?”

  Busted.

  Oh, good. Kenny was back to normal. “Okay, okay. She thinks my face needs a few stitches, but I told her Steri-Strips were fine. Then she insisted I call my mother.”

  “Did you?”

  I nodded. “Yeah. This,” I said with a wave of my hand under my chin, “is nothing compared—” Abruptly, I shut up. I didn’t want to discuss my whole juvenile detention record.

  The principal’s hand came up at that, and his eyes drilled through me. “Mr. Ellison, I know all about your history.” He tapped the file folder open before him, and I squirmed. Was this guy a mind reader or something?

  Doubt that. Kenny’s tone dripped with scorn.

  “And I appreciate how Mrs. Rawlins must have embarrassed you, but we are required to notify your parents in a situation like this.”

  I sighed. “Yes, sir.”

  He regarded me over the thick folder spread on a cluttered desk. It reminded me of something my grandfather always says about cluttered desks being a sign of genius, and I choked on a laugh. The crumbs from a bagel or muffin sprinkled over memos marked with the school district’s logo told me what he’d done first that morning. A pile of bright blue wristbands tumbled out of a torn plastic bag on the corner. I wondered what cause blue represented lately. Steam curled from the Styrofoam coffee cup beside his phone, and a homemade pencil holder was close to bursting with the array of writing implements jammed inside it. Beside it, a Slinky toy sat abandoned and bored.

  Mr. Morris was a hands-on principal. This would not be a good thing for me, and I let the dread spread.

  He smiled, tight-lipped. “Your…ah…crime is a matter of public record, and you’re listed under both of your names.”

  True.

  “I can’t lie if I’m asked about your, ah, record. Which means I can’t guarantee your secret can be kept.”

  Also true.

  “I advise you to not call attention to yourself. The less conspicuous you are, the less likely your secret will be discovered.”

  I glared at him. “Mr. Morris, was I supposed to let that kid get beat up?”

  Mr. Morris held up both hands. “Mr. Ellison, you’re not in any trouble. Julie Murphy and Brandon Dellerman told me what happened. How you stopped the fight. You did the right thing. I’ve given Jeffrey Dean in-school suspension for picking the fight.”

  Julie. Her name was Julie. Pretty name. I still hated her. I frowned and blurted, “It wouldn’t have been a fight, sir. It would have been a bloodbath.” I’d seen hatred in Jeff’s eyes.

  He held up a hand. “Agreed. I’m glad you were there this morning. Brandon would have been seriously injured had you not been there to look out for him. But I’m worried about you.”

  My eyebrows shot into my hairline.

  “You’ll need to look out for yourself. I can’t be everywhere, and you’ve made an enemy before classes even began.”

  I nodded with a sigh. I suppose if the risk grew too dangerous, my family could always flee. Again.

  “Okay, some other items.” He reached for a blue bracelet, tossed it to me. “I want you to wear this.”

  I glanced at the slogan. Stand Up to Bullying. I grimaced, my jaw throbbing as I slipped the wristband over my hand.

  “We’ve got a whole series of events planned to prevent school violence. I expect not only your cooperation but your enthusiastic support of these programs, seeing as you’re reformed now.”

  Bro, I’m gonna kick his ass.

  With a hand slapped to his shoulder, I kept Kenny pinned down. It’s the first test, Kenny. Do not make me fail it.

  “Is that all, sir?”

  “Almost. Mr. Walsh, our gym teacher, is anxious to meet you. He, ah, knows the truth. I thought it was prudent to keep him informed if you’re going to change in the locker room and shower and such.”

  The shame burned too bright, and I couldn’t sit there for one more minute, listening to this bull. “I’m not a pervert, Mr. Morris.”

  Dick, Kenny muttered. So much for carefully reviewing our case.

  For once, Kenny and I agreed on something. At least Mr. Morris had the grace to blush.

  “No, no, I understand that, but you know how it is. The board, the PTA, a lot of people are concerned that I’m letting a, ah, juvenile delinquent…into their school.”

  I gripped the armrest of my chair and stared at my feet while Kenny raged inside me. I knew damn well Mr. Morris was going to say something else. I also knew he had no choice but to let me in. You can’t break the law and not learn a little something about it in the process. I was thirteen when I broke the law and had to endure a New Jersey court adjudication of delinquency—a legal term for saying I was found guilty. Even though I was a minor, my record is considered protected, not sealed, which is why my parents suggested changing our names. My parents also insisted I talk to the principal myself. I wasn’t sure if that was because the whole story had made the news or because Liam’s family kept threatening me. I agreed. Really, what choice did I have? I was willing to wear the blue bracelet for a chance to finish school, but come on! Locker room supervision?

  Please.

  After I counted to ten—twice—I looked up. “Mr. Morris, can I say something?” At his nod, I continued, “I was thirteen years old when I did what I did. But I didn’t rape anybody. I didn’t peer up girls’ skirts. I didn’t sell pictures to pedophiles, and I sure as hell didn’t want anybody to die.”

  Dude. Kenny let out a low whistle. You tell him.

  “Life has been hell for my whole family, and changing my name seems to be helping. I promise you I’m not about to screw that up.”

  Mr. Morris’s eyes darted around his desk. “Yes. Well. Good. That’s, uh, good. See that you keep that promise, Mr. Ellison. You’d better get moving. The bell’s about to ring.”

  I pressed the ice pack Mrs. Rawlins gave me to my jaw and fled, the principal’s words replaying in my head: “You’ve made an enemy.”

  True. But Brandon Dellerman was the first friend I’d made since my release from juvie.

  I might like it here.

  Yeah. Me too.

  My eyes snapped to Kenny’s, but he’d retreated deep into the corner of my mind, where he’d set up his own room. I heard him flip on his stereo and mashed my teeth together.

  He knows how much I hate rap.

  ————

  I strode through the corridors, shoes squeaking on the fresh wax coating over the linoleum. The school was packed with hundreds of kids who avoided me like I was infected with something contagious. This was a good thing.

  Kenny’s fury did an effective job of masking the pain on my chin. I found my locker, dumped my bag inside, and kept only a three-subject notebook. According to my schedule, my first class wasn’t homeroom but public speaking, an elective I had for
only the first half of the school year.

  I found the classroom, skidded to a stop when I saw Jeff Dean sitting in the first seat near the window.

  Oh my God, seriously? You really are cursed.

  Curious looks bounced from him to me and then stayed glued on me when I folded myself into an available seat at the back of the room just as the second bell rang. Great. Word had already gotten around. I didn’t make eye contact with anybody. Kenny moaned in my mind, and I flinched.

  Come on, man, public speaking? What were you thinking?

  It sounded fun at the time. But now the thought of standing up and speaking in front of all these strangers had me sweating.

  Someone could recognize us. New York is next door to New Jersey, you know.

  Kenny had a point. It had been five years, but news of my detention in New Jersey could certainly have reached eastern Long Island, which was another reason for the name change. My heart pounded, and I tried to control it with deep breathing when it hit me.

  Her scent.

  Julie Murphy smelled like some exotic tropical place—it was full out the most amazing thing I’ve ever smelled. I looked up, leaned in, and breathed deeply before I remembered I hated her.

  “Hey. Doesn’t look so bad.” She took the seat beside me, dropped an enormous purse to the floor, and jerked her chin at the ice pack I had pressed to my face. “Chin up.” She grinned at her own joke.

  There was a long pause while I stared, trying to make sense out of Julie Murphy’s Barbie Doll looks and steely heart. I expected a great smile. I found full lips pulled into a mocking grin instead. I expected clear blue eyes that twinkled. I found ice blue eyes staring back at me, hard, bored, and disinterested. There was a deep line between her eyebrows, and I wondered how many hours of frowning it had taken to carve that into someone so young.

  I managed to string together two words. “I’ll live.”

  Kenny chortled in my mind, and I wished I could kick him physically instead of just mentally. Yeah. Public speaking. Now I get it.

  Her shoulders lifted in a careless shrug. “Oh well. Maybe next time.”

  I shot her a dirty look. If that was supposed to be funny, I didn’t get the joke. Before I could press the issue, she’d turned her head away from me to greet some girls who’d sat in the next row.

  Dude, you pissed her off. Apologize.

  Hell no. She should apologize to me. You know what? Forget it and just go back to where you came from.

  I come from you.

  I gripped my head, wondering if Kenny would ooze out of my ears if I squeezed it hard enough. The teacher arrived and shut the door with a firm click.

  “Okay, settle down, people.”

  He had a big voice, deep and resonant—totally unexpected from the compact body that made him look younger than he was.

  “I’m Mr. Williams. This is my tenth year teaching this course, so you guys are an anniversary for me, I guess.” His grin was corny. I heard the girls sitting beside Julie Murphy snicker.

  “You know my name, but I don’t know any of yours, so let’s go around the room, shall we? Names and the reason why you decided to take my course. Let’s start…here.” He indicated the window side of the room, eliciting groans from the six students who occupied those desks. But a sharp knock on the door bought them a few more minutes. Mr. Williams opened the door, took a slip of paper from an aide, and shook his head with a frown. “Really, Mr. Dean? The term has hardly begun and yet you’re expected in the ISS classroom.”

  The class seemed to gasp in unison as Jeff collected his stuff, glaring at me on his way to the door. I sank lower in my seat when all eyes turned to me.

  “Okay, okay, show’s over. I believe this row was to go first.” The students in the row near the window moaned again.

  My poor heart pounded again. Everyone would remember me now that they’d seen Jeff’s glare of death aimed my way. What would I say? How much could I safely divulge? I rehearsed and revised and repeated and suddenly realized I’d missed the first ten students. Mr. Williams was up to the trio of girls beside Julie. The curly-haired brunette was Lisa, the girl with the ponytail behind her was Morgan, and the cheerleader-type behind her was Ashley.

  Finally, it was her turn.

  “I’m, uh, Julie Murphy, and I’m here because I want to be, like, a psychologist or, um, something like that.”

  Then it was my turn. “Um. Yeah.” What the hell’s my name today? Shit. “I’m, um, I’m Daniel Ellison. I’m taking this class because I want to be a lawyer.”

  My knees bounced under the desk. Two dozen pairs of eyes burned into me and panic choked me.

  “What happened to your face?” Mr. Williams asked.

  The morning’s events played back in my mind, and my temper surged.

  “That asshole took a cheap shot.” I jerked my thumb toward the door.

  The class let out a collective oh. Mr. Williams shook his head. “There are plenty of alternatives to the word asshole, Mr. Ellison. Should I make you write them all down?”

  Kenny doubled over, giggling.

  “No, sir. Sorry,” I mumbled.

  And then he looked to the guy sitting behind me.

  “Paul Oliva. No freakin’ idea.”

  The class erupted, and I was forgotten…by everyone except Julie Murphy, judging by the way she kept looking at me.

  I liked Mr. Williams, liked the class even though I was terrified of speaking in public, and liked Lisa and Paul. Morgan and Ashley, on the other hand, were nothing but airheads, an observation I shared with Paul twenty minutes after our speech class ended when we met in the locker room to change for gym. He let out a loud laugh at that.

  “Hey, all we have to do is look at them. I can handle that much.” Paul whipped his shirt over his head, stuffed it in his locker. “Can you imagine how their speech project is gonna go? It won’t matter what topic they pick. Every speech they make will sound like it aired on the CW.” He let his wrists dangle, fluttered his eyelids, and spoke with a falsetto. “Health care is, like, really important and stuff? So, we all have to, like, you know, really pull together and just, like, do it, for real, you know?” When he pretended to toss imaginary long hair over his shoulder, I clutched my sides, laughing so hard it hurt.

  The bell rang.

  “Shit. We’re gonna be late.”

  When Paul looked pointedly at the shirt I was still wearing, I paled. I wasn’t taking off my shirt in front of anybody. “Meet you up there.” I angled my body into my locker, dropped my pants.

  “Okay.”

  Thank God. I watched him head down the row of lockers and turn the corner.

  Dude, you know you can’t get away with this for long, right?

  Yes, Kenny, I’m aware. I let my head fall against a locker with a sigh. I tugged on my shorts, stuffed my jeans into the locker, finally pulled my shirt over my head, and heard a loud gasp.

  I spun, smacking an elbow against my locker door, found Paul back in the main aisle, his face frozen in shock, blue eyes bulging.

  “What the fu—”

  “Forget it,” I warned, tugging my gym shirt over my head to hide the scars that crossed my torso like a relief map.

  “What happened to you?”

  “I said forget it.” I slammed my locker and left him there, mouth still gaping.

  ————

  The day ended. Finally. Fortunately, it appeared I had no more classes with the temper-challenged Jeff Dean. I did, however, have two periods in common with Julie Murphy. Speech class and lunch. I even had one class with Brandon—calculus. I was pretty good at math, but Brandon ran circles around me. Math was my final period, so I reminded Brandon again I’d be happy to drive him home.

  “Nice.” His face lit up when he saw my car, and I beamed.


  “Yeah, thanks. It’s new.” My parents surprised me with the blue Ford Edge on my eighteenth birthday in April. I was a year older than my classmates—yet another secret I was trying to keep hidden. I put the car in gear, headed west out of the parking lot.

  He lifted a shoulder, huffed out half a laugh. “My mom said I could drive her minivan to school once a week. Stay on sixteen until you hit Blue Point Road, then turn left. My dad’s got the cool car. Mustang.”

  My eyebrows lifted as I stopped for a light. “Sweet. Does he let you drive it?”

  “Only with him in it, so taking it to school is probably not gonna happen.”

  I laughed. “Yeah, probably not.” I saw Blue Point Road and got into the left turn lane. “This it?”

  “Yeah. Go right on Circle Court. My house is that beige one with the red shutters.”

  I pulled to the curb, hit the button to unlock the doors, and waited while he collected his books.

  “So, um, thanks for, you know, everything.”

  “Yeah, no problem. See you tomorrow.”

  I waited for Brandon to unlock his front door before I pulled a three-point turn. I had to wait for the school bus belching to a stop midway down the street. A glimpse of blond hair had my stomach flipping. Julie Murphy, hauling the biggest purse I’d ever seen over one shoulder, left the bus and headed up the walk of the house next to Brandon’s, a mirror replica in gray. My nose twitched. I remembered how good she smelled. I tracked every motion, every toss of her hair, every move of those long legs. She must have felt my eyes on her because she suddenly turned and glared right at me before she disappeared inside.

  Weird.

  Probably nothing, I assured Kenny, wishing I believed it.

  ————

  “There. How’s that?”

  “Um. Pretty good actually. It doesn’t hurt as much anymore.”

  And it didn’t. When you’re wounded, a mother’s touch held magic. Before my sentence, I hated when my mother kissed me good night. Bandaged my knees. Ruffled my hair. I thought I was way too old, too cool. When I was in juvie, I missed all that mushy mom stuff, so now I allowed myself a moment to sink into it. I gingerly touched her handiwork—the fresh bandage over the swelling in my jaw.