Finding Me

by Dawn Brazil

  I had begged Matt to drive me to school early today so I could avoid Zack. Matt, the ultimate slacker, charged me a US History paper for his time.

  When we arrived at school, all seemed normal. I rounded the junior corner to my locker but stopped short. Zack stood at his locker, right next to mine, clad in his football uniform. I’d forgotten about morning football practice.

  “Dang it,” I said. “There goes my day.”

  He leaned on his locker and talked to Casey, a mutual friend of ours. I whirled on my heels. I didn’t need my book for my first period class, I’d share with someone else and snag my second period book later.

  When I’d made the decision to forego the locker, I glanced behind me to ensure Zack and Casey hadn’t spotted me. To my surprise, they embraced – a sensual embrace. Zack ran his hands through Casey’s short, spiky blonde hair. Then they closed the gap between them and kissed.

  Baffled, I stopped and stood with my mouth agape and eyes transfixed. It took a moment for what they were doing to register. What does a girl do in a situation like this?

  I laughed. Hysterically. Our relationship had been anything but normal. My reaction was a side effect of it. To regain my composure, I escaped to the small space between the janitor’s closet and the water fountain nearest me. I leaned my head against the gray metal door and continued to giggle lightly.

  He could have told me. I would’ve been relieved. No more pretending.

  I bit my bottom lip to suppress the fit of giggles that still lingered. Then I circled back to see if they were still kissing. They weren’t. They stood directly in front of me. Due to my laughing fit, I hadn’t noticed the two of them walk up. They held hands. Wow, they turned into a couple fast. Startled, Zack dropped Casey’s hand. “Chloe,” he said. His mouth twisted and his uncommonly dark eyes pleaded.

  I wasn’t in the mood for a confrontation. I snapped to and spun around to leave. Zack grabbed my hand. He bulldozed me with his large muscular body and yanked me to him.

  “We need to talk. Now.” His voice was shrill and his hands were moist against mine. With one fluid motion, he released my hand and seized me by the waist.

  I tried to pry his hands away, but his grip was too tight. That was when I felt the zap and the nightmare really began.

  A chill ran through me as the image of his bloody body became clearer in my mind. As if I’d taken a photo of the scene and examined it again. Unable to relive another minute, I shut the memory down as a bloodcurdling scream nearly escaped my lips.

  I strained to suppress the memory that didn’t want to stay at bay and shook my head and threw my hands up to rub my forehead. Shamefully, I struck a new student being escorted by Dr. Michaels, the headmaster.

  He carried an armload of papers and books when we collided. It all scattered to the floor. Surprised and embarrassed, I bent to help him collect his things.

  Lost in thoughts of what had happened earlier, I hadn’t really noticed the new guy. I snuck a peek at him just as he lowered his head. Our eyes met. Locked. My breath caught. My heart split in two. He was beyond gorgeous. Pull yourself together, Carmichael.

  But it didn’t matter, he was probably like everyone else here. No one had their own mind, no one tried to be an individual…it was always “follow the status quo”. I knew. I was the biggest follower of them all.

  Sorry you got stuck here in high-class hell. This place will eat you alive.

  He glanced up with a dejected expression, his mouth drawn into a straight line, as if I’d said something. I turned my head to glance behind me, thinking his reaction was to something back there. But there was nothing odd, nothing out of place. I didn’t recognize him. Why would he look at me like that? Since I hadn’t uttered a single syllable, “bizarre” seemed the appropriate word. It couldn’t be because I bumped into him. Could it?

  I stole another glance at him while we picked up the remaining books and papers. He wore a black v-neck tee and Astor distressed jeans with black Converse. He was tall, at least 6 feet, with golden blond hair and a chiseled face I was certain should be on the cover of someone’s magazine. The word “hot” didn’t do him justice.

  I knew it was wrong to judge a book by its cover, but he was probably like everyone else. He’d fit in well. Spoiled. Rich. Eye candy. Breathtaking…eye candy.

  I reached over to pluck the remaining book from the floor and he reached for it as well. Our hands collided and an electric current passed through me. Butterflies swarmed my abdomen and a rush of thoughts attacked me. What does that zap mean? Does he have a girlfriend? Does he want one? How is my hair? What the hell’s wrong with me? I snatched my hand away. Shocked. Like when I was zapped and saw Zack dead on the football field. I am not going through that again.

  “Sorry,” I mumbled. And turned to take my place back in line.

  If nothing more, I was a coward to the highest degree.

  Chapter 4

  I made every attempt not to turn and leer at the “new guy” as he walked away. It was useless. Curiosity was too strong an impulse. I pivoted and pretended to watch something else as I spotted him behind me. However, when I turned, his intense gaze was fixed on me. He held that same curious expression. I couldn’t place it. As if he were pleading, without words, which wasn’t unusual. Didn’t people often beg with their eyes, without ever uttering a word?

  Except…his eyes were staggering. They held a message. Somehow, that frightened me. My mouth went dry at once and my stomach flipped. I didn’t want to know what that message was.

  I diverted my eyes, embarrassed about ogling, and spun to face the front of the line. Those eyes. His eyes. They sent a chill up my spine and my stomach fluttered. My heart quickened. What was wrong with me? Stop that! I ordered myself. Are you crazy, Carmichael? Crazy was possible. After all that had happened so far today, crazy was definitely possible.

  Trevor didn’t glance my way in line again with more complaints. I was thankful. I fiddled with the buttons on my Prada handbag while I waited. My mind cascaded from one random thought to another, trying hard to block what happened earlier and not talk to anyone else.

  Therefore, when my name was called, I didn’t say anything. I didn’t acknowledge in any way that someone had spoken to me.

  I blinked absently at the announcements posted on the bulletin board. Anything I could do to remain invisible and not have to talk with anyone.

  She, this unknown person, continued to call my name, however. Oh my God! Get a freakin’ clue. I’m ignoring you.

  I assumed once she got that I didn’t want to talk, she’d stop calling me. She didn’t. To make matters worse, at least four other people joined in on her annoying quest to get my attention. I made every effort to stand in line and pretend I didn’t hear them. But it was unbearable. Like getting nudged continually with a fireplace poker in the gut.

  Tiring of the noise and wondering why a facilitator hadn’t stopped them from making so much of it, I whirled around and yelled. “What do you want?” However, the large crowd I expected wasn’t present.

  Swallowing hard. I glared at the wide-eyed girl behind me. “Did you say something…call my name or something?” She cocked her head to the side and raised one eyebrow. But she didn’t say a word. If it had been her, at least four other people yelled also. I craned my neck past her into the brightly lit hall. No one visible in the hall. I took one more annoyed glance at the girl behind me, then faced forward.

  No sooner had I turned than it happened again. “Chloe,” she whispered once. This time, it was only the female voice.

  I spun and scowled at the young girl who couldn’t have been older than 14.

  “How do you know my name?” I shouted. My reasoning had gone faster than a pair of Louboutin sandals on sale at Saks.

  She raised her hands in defense. “Dude, everybody knows who you are. But I didn’t say anything to you. Um…nobody said anything, actually.” I knew she told the truth. The voice didn’t sound the same. The more I contemplated it, the
more I realized the voices hadn’t originated behind me at all.

  I turned in line, shamed, yet again. Trevor and Nosebleed Girl stared at me like I had a giant talking zit on my forehead. I put my head down and rubbed my throbbing temple. The direction of the voices disturbed me. What if the voices were in my head? Maybe I am crazy. Like my mother’s sister, Agnes. She was committed to an asylum up north. A confirmed schizophrenic. Maybe you’re crazy also, Carmichael, the voice in my head screeched. This time the voice didn’t scare me as much. I recognized it. It belonged to me.

  I tried to drown the voice with other thoughts. But it resurfaced. Overpowered me. Tiring, I closed my eyes and started building walls. Something I’d learned to do when I was a kid to block out unpleasant things. As a child, it had been my mother’s nagging voice or my classmates’ nonstop babble. Now on the cusp of adulthood, I’d forgotten this ability. I could make the world around me quiet – what I wanted – and exist in that reality. At least for a while.

  People assumed I lived this glamorous life. No one knew me…I barely knew myself. The real me lay hidden beneath carefully constructed lies. I had desires that would never be realized because of who I was. Chloe Carmichael. I hated her sometimes. She was weak. Pathetic. I’d always had this sort of out-of-body experience with life…like I was outside looking in. “Such a sad affair,” I’d say, “such a lost soul she is.” Only problem: eventually reality set in. I’m her. I couldn’t run from her. From me. The sad excuse for a girl hidden away within the socialite, the debutant, the BFF, the intellectual, and the daughter extraordinaire. After 16 years, the cancer had spread, and she – I – was debilitating.

  I opened my eyes and to my amazement, it worked – no more voices.

  Relief washed over me. At least something had gone right today. My turn approached in line. Mrs. Wright, the Attendance Coordinator, was a petite woman with a smile as big as New York itself. She listened as Trevor complained about the wait, then about the lack of chairs to sit in while he waited. On and on he ranted. Finally, Mrs. Wright smiled and handed him the yellow copy of his dismissal form.

  Mrs. Wright excused me promptly when my turn came. I strolled out of the office and into a barrage of questions. Three girls from my first period class stumbled over one another, spewing them at me. They must have witnessed my emotional meltdown. I assumed they needed direct information to relay back to everyone else. How absurd my classmates could be at times was unbelievable.

  I repeated nothing was wrong. Tiring of their banter, I pushed pass them, ignoring their grunts for information. I tripped over a student as I made my exit. He, for whatever reason, lay face down on the hall floor with his ear buds on.

  As I caught myself, I stumbled right into Zack. How did he get out of class? “Chloe. We really need to talk.” He ran his tongue across his lips and looked down the hall then back at me.

  “Zack. Please, I–”

  “I don’t want you to hate me. I just…” He sighed glancing down the hall again and not finishing his sentence.

  “Zack, I don’t hate you. I could never hate you. You’re one of my best friends. But–”

  “We should still talk about it. Can I come by tonight?” Absolutely not. Stand up for yourself, Carmichael.

  “Umm. Uh, not tonight. Just call me later. This really isn’t that big a deal. I won’t say anything if that’s what you’re worried about. To my mother, I mean.”

  He threw his head back and laughed. Then he reached down and grabbed my right hand – all traces of a smile gone. His hand was moist against mine. “You know you’re being very selfish. I’m trying to change things between us.” What the hell does that mean?

  He allowed his eyes to dart down the hall again. This time I turned to see what he was looking at. Just as I turned my head, Mrs. Graves bounded out of her office. Her eyes narrowed as she took in the two of us. I pulled my eyes from her and back to Zack. His eyes were still aggressively trained on her.

  I snatched my hand away. “Call me later,” I shouted, as I ran for the double doors. My legs couldn’t move fast enough.

  I ran to the end of the block before I dared a glance behind me. Breathless. My only concern: to ensure no one followed. I exhaled deeply when I saw I was alone.

  I leaned on the bronze light-post by Tiffany Harris’ house and dreaded going home. Mom and Dad would be there preparing for work. They would be full of why’s, why not’s, and how could I’s. If Ms. Graves hadn’t called to inform them yet that I’d left for the day, I might be able to evade them until they were gone.

  I needed to find a mental balance. Like tires on a sleek road, I had to get moving. It was impossible to avoid this confrontation. I took a deep breath to gather all the strength I could muster. Then I walked home. Stop being a coward and be brave for once in your miserable life, Carmichael.

  Our neighbor, Mr. Hatchet, had just stepped into his SUV as I passed. He rolled down the window of his black Navigator. Just what I needed today. Him!

  “Chloe, what are you doing walking home this time of day? Shouldn’t you be at school?”

  “I wasn’t feeling well, so I was excused home,” I answered. Mind your own business perv. I pulled my cardigan around me tighter as he moved his eyes from the top of my jet-black hair and rested them on my protruding chest. I sucked in a deep breath and rolled my right hand into a tight fist. If only I could use it to sock him in the eye.

  “You look okay to me. Truthfully, you look quite good.” He arched his overly hairy eyebrows. I suppressed my frown. But I clenched my other fist.

  I didn’t speak or dare move. I’d receive the lecture of a lifetime from Mother if I did. Mr. Hatchet had always been overly friendly with me and I never trusted him because of it. An inner alarm rang, Stranger Danger, every time I saw him.

  “Would you like me to walk with you the remaining houses – I don’t mind. You know, to ensure you get there safely?” He smiled. His pink too-thin lips disappeared. I pushed back the revulsion. You can do this, Carmichael. Just get past the car, then bolt.

  “No, thanks,” I said. Smile politely. “I can manage.” Get a life, you degenerate.

  “I’m sure you can.” He moistened his pencil-thin lips again and ran his freakishly large hand over his sweaty balding head.

  “Okay. Well, I’ll see you, Mr. Hatchet,” I said. Nervous, daggers of fear assaulted my abdomen. I knew his eyes were glued to me. I took a few steps past his truck. Please don’t say anything else. I considered breaking into a sprint to the house.

  “Can I take you up on that?” I glanced back. He arched his connect-a-brow at me again, as if the action made him appear attractive. It didn’t. In fact, it made him appear more menacing, but perhaps that was what he wanted.

  “Chloe,” he tried again, in a most disgusted fashion. I bit my lip to stifle the rude comment suspended on my tongue. I was past his truck and I pivoted back.

  “Oh…uh…I guess.” Mother would call me paranoid if I were rude to him. After all, he’s a powerful attorney. “It is always about the image you are displaying,” she’d say. What image did I display – come and get me?

  I scuttled off before he could get another word in. I had told her his prolonged staring and flirty mannerism with me was inappropriate. She explained that I was a beautiful young lady and all men – young and old – would take notice. I knew they would. Everyone seemed to notice. Mother said to laugh. Toss my long tresses over my shoulder, as if I heard those compliments all the time. Truthfully, I did. From boys my age it was normal, not middle-aged balding men. What was up with her?

  Statements like that forced me to realize how wholly different we were. Though I knew she was flawed, she was my mother and I wanted so desperately to please her. Wanting her to love me was one thing – emulating her was something else altogether. Who I wanted to be was questionable, though. Who I would never be was clear: I would never be Karen Carmichael – a slave to tradition and etiquette. Unfortunately, at the age of 16, I had minimal control over my li
fe. It belonged to her. I knew because she reminded me constantly. Between her and my current emotional state, who I would become appeared bleak.

  I could see our mammoth house, though I was four houses away. It loomed in the distance like a familiar friend waiting to hear how my day had gone and wanting to comfort and ease my fears. Though my mother had decorated it in her grandiose style, it remained my refuge – at least my bedroom was a haven. It was a four-story, dark brick, brownstone. A bronze wrought iron fence flanked the front and sides of the house. Ivy grew across the face of the building. Our gardener, Toney, had planter boxes on most of the windows. To soften the look. Trying to give the illusion of warmth and peace within. Inside our house, every room but my own was ice cold…a cold that touched your bones and sank to your soul.

  My parents had to be on their way out. I glanced at my diamond-encrusted Cartier watch. I really hope they’re gone.

  When I glanced up from my watch, my mother stood on the front steps of our house. Michael Kors pant suit in charcoal. Check. Tiffany earrings. Check. A storm brewing behind her stone-gray unflinching eyes. Check. And of course, she anticipated my arrival. I cringed at the lecture I’d receive. It wouldn’t be for leaving school early but for walking home alone.

  I stepped onto the porch with my teeth gritted. Ready for battle. “How do you feel?” she asked. Disapproval dripped from each syllable.

  “I actually feel better.” My voice raised an octave to sound cheerful. I took a deep breath and wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans. “I think the walk home helped. I –”

  “Chloe, you cannot walk down the street idly, as if you have not a care in the world.” And here we go. “What were you thinking?” I’m sure I wasn’t. “Were you even thinking at all?” And I was right. Or she was. “Do you know how dangerous that can be?” Walking home? “What will people think after seeing you walk home by yourself, and supposedly sick?” I’m sure she’ll tell me. “They will assume we do not care enough to come pick you up from school when you are ill. You must think of others and not just yourself.” I try to. I really do. I rolled my eyes – internally, of course.