by Tiffany King
My stomach dropped to the floor, and all I could do was sit there like a deer in headlights, leaning back in my seat as he slowly turned around as if I had called his name.
Ours eyes locked in a momentary trance before he finally broke the connection by shifting back around in his seat.
What was that? I thought as adrenaline began to bring my blood to a boil. He’s going to dismiss me like I had bothered him or something? It was he and his father who had sent my family on this runaway train of destruction.
I spent the last half hour of detention fighting the urge to say something, or throw something at him, or hit him upside the head with my book bag, or even cut the thick hair on his head that I had admired earlier before realizing it was him. I didn’t know what deranged act I wanted to do, I just wanted to make him understand how much I hated him.
Five minutes before detention was due to end, he stood up and gave me a sweeping glance that made me wonder if he already knew how much I loathed him. I turned my eyes away before I did something rash like claw his eyes out.
He turned his back on me and walked away when the teacher’s aide announced we were free to go. My rage that had been stewing for the last hour turned quickly to nausea like I had just come off a roller coaster. I dropped my head to my knees hoping some of the lightheadedness would clear.
“You okay, dear?” the aide asked, standing at the end of the row where I sat.
“Yeah, sorry, I just felt a little sick there,” I apologized when I saw she was waiting on me to leave.
“That’s fine,” she said as I grabbed my school bag and followed her out of the building.
By the time I reached the student parking lot, most of the nausea had passed, but I felt weak from the anger that had consumed me so intensely. I sat in my car with my eyes closed, hoping the cold air conditioning would help when I heard the crowd of football players and cheerleaders mingling into the parking lot after practice. Now that the season was over, they were much more laid back as everyone was laughing and joking around. Lacey was of course flirting with Brad, the captain of the football team, as they headed toward his Jeep Wrangler that resembled something you would find in a monster truck rally. He helped her climb in by sliding his hands under her cheerleading skirt to cup her butt. Her high-pitched giggle sounded so phony, knowing her as well as I did. Not that Brad minded, considering the way he ran his hand up the inside of her thigh before he closed her door and loped around the front of the Jeep to the driver’s side.
Brad sped by my vehicle as he tore out of the parking lot. Lacey, recognizing my vehicle shot me the bird as they squealed by. I guess that put an exclamation point on where our friendship was at now.
What a colossally bad idea it was to crash Kassandra’s detention. Of course, knowing something and actually doing it are two separate issues. At first, she didn’t even notice I was there while she messed around with her phone. I knew the instant she became aware that someone was sitting in front of her when I heard her shift forward in her seat. I could feel her eyes studying me, making my pulse race as I fought the urge to turn around. It was obvious the instant she realized it was me.
Everything after that felt like an out-of-body experience. I swear when I turned around to look at her, it was as if I had no control of my body, it just happened. And I just sat there like a total freak, saying nothing. She looked so pissed, if looks could kill, I would have dropped dead right there on the spot. I didn’t know what to do so I just froze, putting on my trademark, I-don’t-give-a-shit look on my face before turning back around.
I could feel her laser beam eyes burning a hole through the back of my head. For a moment, I even considered taking the chicken’s way out by bolting from the room. Instead, I slouched down, wishing the seat would swallow me whole.
With five minutes left, I couldn’t take it anymore. I stood up, shooting her one last look before heading down my row. My gut shrank to the size of a walnut when I saw the gambit of emotions spread across her delicate face. My presence was causing her pain she didn’t deserve. Quickening my pace, I headed up the aisle, throwing some excuse to the teacher about needing to use the bathroom.
I didn’t stop until I was around the corner, completely out of site. Standing with my back against the wall, I welcomed the sting of the rough brick on the side of my hands as I pounded my fists. Damn my dad for making this mess, and damn me for taking the chicken-shit way out that day. If only I would have taken the bus or bummed a ride from Drake, none of this would have happened. The old man would have slept off his drunken haze while I was at school. Sure, I probably would have received a smack or two, but the tradeoff in the whole spectrum of things would have been worth it.
I could hear the door of the auditorium opening as the remaining "delinquents" were released. I hung back, letting the long shadows of the afternoon obstruct me from view. Everyone but Kassandra had already come out which had me wondering if something was wrong. After what happened, I should have high-tailed it out of there, but I wanted to make sure she was okay. Finally, she appeared with the teacher following behind.
"I hope you feel better," the teacher said as she locked the door.
"Thanks."
She had her arms wrapped around her midsection like she had a stomach-ache or something. I would have gladly suffered through multiple poundings from my father to erase her pain. When she finally reached her car, she slumped in the driver’s seat, resting her head on the steering wheel. I felt like the biggest ass on the planet. That was it. From now on, I would stay out of her hair. I had done enough damage.
Megan watched me closely as I drove home after picking her up with a couple take-out bags on the seat next to me. “I’m fine, Peanut,” I said, looking at her in the rearview mirror. “I just have a stomach ache.” Megan was already overly observant, and since the accident, she had become extremely sensitive to when we were sick. Even without talking, I knew she was deathly afraid that something was going to happen to me or Mom. The smallest of sniffles had her on guard and watching us like a hawk.
She relaxed slightly back into her seat, but kept her eyes focused on my face in the rearview mirror.
Several minutes later, we piled out of the car juggling our dinner and book bags. Stepping into the entryway of the house, Megan and I were assaulted by aromas coming from the kitchen that we hadn’t smelled in months.
Someone was cooking dinner.
Megan shot me a startled look and I shrugged, equally puzzled. We set our bags down on the long wooden bench that ran along the wall under the staircase and headed toward the kitchen.
We both pushed open the swinging door together and sure enough, there was Mom over multiple pots on the stove. My mouth began to water and my stomach growled in anticipation, but it was the sight of my mom in front of the stove that evoked the biggest response out of me.
“Mom, you’re cooking?” I choked out through the lump in my throat.
“I figured it was time.”
“Really?” I asked incredulously. “You even when out to get the groceries?” I added, noting the empty Publix bags on the counter.
“Yes, really,” she said, sighing heavily as she sat on one of the high back bar stools at the island in the center of the kitchen. “Last night was a rude awakening for me. I realized after your teacher left just how selfish I've acted. I piled all the responsibility on you when you needed me the most,” she said wringing her hands.
“It’s okay, Mom, I understand. We all…”
“Thanks, honey," she interrupted. "But I know I’ve let you both down,” she said looking pointedly at Megan who was standing in the middle of the kitchen. “Your father would be disappointed in the way I’ve acted and I just hope you girls can forgive me,” she added, getting up and stooping down in front of Megan. “Okay, Peanut?” she asked.
Megan nodded her head slightly, but more pessimistically than I would have expected. It became clear at that moment that Mom shutting us out had affected Megan way more than I
had realized.
My mom must have realized it too by the look she shot my way. I shrugged my shoulders equally puzzled, but joined in on the group hug to offer Megan some affirmation.
“So, I'm really excited to see your new school, okay, Peanut?” she said, wiping her hands on her apron as she stood up. “And then after school, you and I are going to visit with a friend of mine,” she added, stirring the bubbling sauce on the stove.
“Really? Who?” I asked, dunking a piece of garlic bread into the sauce.
“My old college roommate, Brenda, she's a family psychologist with a practice in Altamonte. I was hoping you might come too, but I understand if you don't feel comfortable."
“I don't know. I already have to spill my guts to Mrs. Leighton a couple days a week,” I said, snatching up another piece of bread.
She smacked lightly at my hand. “Those are for dinner,” she said, dumping the boiling noodles into the colander in the sink.
It was such a relief having our mom back. I sat down on the barstool she had vacated and watched as she buzzed around the kitchen effortlessly. I had always admired her culinary skills since I was definitely no Iron Chef in the kitchen.
“So, how's detention?” she asked, raising her eyebrow at me like only she could.
“Awful,” I answered, without reiterating further.
“Why, did they do make you write ‘I must not cuss out my teachers' in blood or something?” she asked, making light of my tone.
“Funny,” I mumbled, leaping off the stool and heading for the swinging door.
“Wait, I was teasing. Why was it awful?” she asked, looking concerned.
“Don’t worry about it,” I said, pushing the door open.
“Kassandra, wait. I know I haven’t been there for you over the last few months, but I plan on changing that.”
“Don’t worry Mom, I got it,” I said, mad at myself for saying anything in the first place.
“I’m here for you Kassandra,” she said, grasping onto my hand. I just couldn’t tell if she was trying to convince me or herself.
“Okay,” I said, breaking away from her grasp before she pried anything more out of me. “Sheesh, I think I miss the zombie,” I muttered taking the stairs two at a time.
***
The music from my alarm clock blared much sooner than I expected. Endless tossing and turning, and worrying about facing him again not only made sleep impossible, but got me no closer to a solution. I threw on my favorite sweat pants and hoodie, slid into my flip-flops, scraped my hair back into a messy bun, and swiped a quick coat of lip gloss onto my lips before heading out of my room.
I opened Megan’s door to get her up, but was surprised to find her bedroom empty. I hurried downstairs to find her, sliding to a stop outside the kitchen door when I heard my mom chattering away. Pushing the door open, I found Megan sitting at the counter while Mom fluttered around the kitchen making a gourmet breakfast spread.
“What’s all this?” I asked, snatching a piece of bacon.
“Breakfast,” Mom answered, seeing my skepticism. “What?” she asked defensively.
“Nothing.” Maybe this was just another stage of her grief process.
“I’m fine,” she said as if she could read my mind. “I’m not being obsessive. I just did a lot of soul searching the other night and decided it was time to act like the adult. Besides, I missed all this,” she added, ruffling Megan’s hair as she grabbed the OJ out of the fridge.
“Should I pick up dinner tonight?” I asked as we all settled at the island to eat. We opted to eat in the kitchen since we weren’t quite ready to face the dining room which held so many memories. My dad had been all about family meals together. He had set the rule years ago that we could be as silent as we wanted during mealtime after we shared at least three things about our day. When I was little, I would exceed my three things tenfold, chattering away about mundane things like not getting the swing I wanted at recess or the fact that Luke had pulled my braid again during art class. As the years progressed, my chatter lessened until it became a burden to try to come up with three things I was willing to share with my family.
“No, we'll be back by then, and I plan on making a meatloaf tonight.”
“Sounds good,” I said, grabbing my book bag. “Ready, Peanut?” I asked.
“I’m going to take her today,” Mom said, smiling at Megan. “But, ummm—Kass, do you plan on wearing that to school?”
“Sure, it’s comfortable,” I said, looking down at my clothes.
“I’m sure it is, but do you think it’s appropriate for school?”
“It’s worked for me the last couple months,” I said defensively.
“I didn’t mean to put you on the defensive, honey. I was just wondering what your friends think of your new casual look.”
“I’m sure if they were still my friends they would hate it,” I said, pushing through the swinging kitchen door before she could say anything else. I felt my cheeks heat up as I threw my bag in the passenger seat and cranked the engine. It embarrassed me to admit I didn’t have any friends anymore, with the exception of Colton. Sometimes, I wished I could rewind time and retract the fateful text I had sent Lacey that night, even if she had shown her true colors afterward. Either way, the whole situation sucked.
Since I didn’t have the usual detour of taking Megan to school, I pulled into the student parking lot twenty minutes earlier than normal.
I scooted the driver’s seat all the way back so I could prop up my feet, deciding to check out Facebook for a few minutes. I scrolled through my messages and clicked on a few I had missed the previous day. Reading the comments made me feel less ostracized. Some of the responses to Lacey’s snarky posts even made me smile. Since we had never dropped each other as Facebook friends, her status updates still crossed my timeline. They were as superficial as usual, like when she complained about the rude clerk at Starbucks who had screwed up her iced caramel latte. I started to click out of the thread when a comment with an avatar of a smirking smiley face caught my eye.
Maybe she was just preoccupied looking at the stick that was up your ass, the unknown smiley face person had posted. The comment had opened a floodgate of replies from Lacey and her supporters, but I couldn’t help giggling as I reread the words. It's funny that she didn't even remove the comment, but you had to know Lacey personally to understand. I think it stroked her gigantic ego even more to see all the replies in her defense. Just like in seventh grade when she adopted a new strut because she thought it would draw attention to her ass.
Still smiling, I scrolled down to an older post where Lacey was trying to drum up likes for a fan page she had started. She offered a virtual kiss to anyone that liked her fan page. Once again, I couldn’t help laughing when I saw the smirking face had struck again.
Not sure where your lips have been, so I feel I should pass on ‘liking’ anything of yours. I was actually starting to like this mysterious person—the Lacey Corps, not so much, judging by the outpouring of support in her defense.
I made my way through several more posts, searching for my new hero and found several more snide remarks. I tried to click on his or her profile, but a message stating that the account was no longer active popped up. Puzzled, I wondered if it was possible he or she had hacked into Facebook.
Slamming car doors pulled me away from my Facebook stalking. I glanced up and was startled to find the student parking lot crowded with cars and students as they piled out of their cars heading for the building. Putting my iPhone in my bag, I opened the car door and followed the herd toward the next eight hours of torture, nine for me, since of course, I had detention.
The morning classes passed in their normal snail's pace as the teachers harped on the end of term finals coming the following week. I dreaded the exams, but the prospect of winter break made me wish they would hurry up and get here.
Instead of heading for my normal hideout in the school library for lunch, I headed to the administrati
on wing for my lunch/meeting with Mrs. Leighton.
“Hey,” a junior I had seen around said as I approached the raised receptionist counter.
“How's it going? I have a meeting with Mrs. Leighton,” I mumbled.
The girl shot me a sympathetic look. No one liked wasting their lunch break in a counselor’s office. She pressed the intercom button on her phone.
“Yes,” Mrs. Leighton’s sunny voice chirped over the line.
“Kassandra, is here to see you Mrs. M.”
It was no surprise that she knew my name. Even without the accident, my cheerleading and extracurricular activities had put me in the limelight for years. It was hard to believe there was a time that I had thrived on the attention and even felt I deserved it.
“Send her back.”
“Okie-dokie.
I shuffled down the brightly lit hallway, pausing outside her door to take a deep breath. Finally, after a moment, I knocked softly, hoping against hope she wouldn’t hear my knock.
“Come in, Kassandra,” she said brightly as I swung the door open.
I entered her bright office that was filled with knickknacks that suited her personality to perfection. There were framed quotes and funny acronyms scattered throughout the room.
“Kassandra, I’m so glad you came to see me today,” she proclaimed, like I had a choice in the matter.
I worked to control my unladylike snort at her comment. “Yeah, well, I really didn’t have much of a choice.”
“Well, you could have chosen to skip out on me,” she said, studying me intently like she was trying to peer into my soul.
“Yeah, I guess, but then I might’ve wound up in summer school and that would have sucked major as… err, butt,” I said, correcting my slip.
“So, Kassandra—this has been a tough year, huh?” she asked, relaxing back in her chair.
“You think?” I couldn’t help snipping at her.
“I pulled your transcripts. Your grades are excellent, which was a huge contributing factor Ms. Nelson took into consideration when she was deciding whether to suspend you. Can you tell me what brought on the change in your grades?”
