Broken Wings

by V. C. Andrews

  “I’m not.”

  She laughed.

  “Okay, we’ll meet for lunch. Are they going to let you out on the weekend?” she asked.

  “No, but that hasn’t stopped me before,” I said dryly.

  She laughed again.

  “I miss you,” she squealed. “Everybody’s so… everybody,” she said. It brought a smile to my face.

  “See you soon,” I said, and hung up.

  I walked some more, thinking mostly about Del Grant now. I suppose what I liked about him the most was that he was a loner. Probably because of his home situation, he avoided making friends with many people. He never had time to be in an extracurricular activity at school, and was absent so often, he barely got by. He kept to himself and wasn’t very talkative in school, and whenever I saw him anywhere in the city, he smiled or nodded, but always looked like he was afraid to do much more.

  Yet I never thought of him as shy. To me he looked like he knew more and was older than the other boys his age. I had the feeling he thought that the things that were important to them were childish or meaningless. He was clean and neat even though he was poor and didn’t have much of a wardrobe, sometimes wearing the same thing for days. But he looked like he took care of what he had. Neal Sertner told me Del’s mother cut his hair, when she wasn’t drugged out on something or other. When he had it cut, he looked stylish. His mother worked on and off in a beauty parlor, but she had gone through so many, been fired from so many jobs, that people said she didn’t only burn her bridges, she burned the roads to the bridges.

  I liked Del’s dark eyes, the way he tilted his head just slightly when he looked at someone, especially when he looked at me. I saw a strength in him I admired. He wasn’t big by any means. He was just about five feet ten and about normal weight for his age. He didn’t have big muscles or shoulders, but he looked tight, firm, hardened not by exercise but by life itself, and for me that added a note of maturity I respected.

  His nose was perfect, and his lips weren’t too thick or too thin. His jaw line was a bit sharp, perhaps, but he had a male model’s cheekbones. He walked through the school not so much with confidence as with indifference. His eyes were always fixed straight ahead, and when he sat in the cafeteria or when I saw him sitting in a classroom, he stared down and looked up only when he had to, but he never appeared to be afraid of anything.

  The other boys in the school simply kept clear of him. When he walked through a crowd, it was like Moses parting the sea. The other students would step back. They looked like they were afraid of touching him. They glanced at him and then quickly returned to their own conversations as if he wasn’t really there. I loved the fact that Del didn’t seem to care at all. Their indifference reinforced his.

  We’re alike, I thought. Someday he’ll see that; he’ll look at me a little longer, let me talk to him a little more, and he’ll understand and he’ll smile and he’ll want to know me. That was my schoolgirl fantasy before I was abruptly ripped out of public school and sent to Snob Birdland. My biggest fear was that he would think I wanted to be there; he would think I was just some conceited little rich girl.

  “Teal!” I heard Mother scream. “What are you doing outside? Didn’t I tell you to stay in your room? Your father is on the way home from work. Get yourself in that house and up those stairs,” she ordered.

  She had just pulled up in her Mercedes, stepped out, and saw me sauntering along the edge of our gardens. I saw she had a bag with the name of one of her favorite boutiques printed on the outside.

  “I needed some air,” I said.

  “You’re going to need more than some air,” she fired back. “Get in that house.”

  I did what she said and went up to my room, where I flopped on my bed and, with my earphones still on, folded my arms and pouted, staring at the door. Soon my father would be opening it, and I had to prepare myself for that scene.

  Daddy could be the most dramatic man. I think it came from his business negotiations. He was good at posturing, and no one I knew could fix his eyes on you and burn a hole through you as well as my father. It was probably that and his quick mind that had made him so successful in the business world. Carson had inherited his math abilities. It was like I was completely passed over when it came time to distributing his genetics, as far as mental capacity went. Maybe that was why he and I never got along. If I didn’t resemble him in other ways, I would bet he would have accused my mother of infidelity. Even now he often had a look on his face that suggested he thought I was created with a mixture of sperm, his and some lover’s my mother must have taken. What else could explain me?

  The door opened slowly, and he was standing there staring in at me.

  My father never hit me, never so much as raised his hand. I know there are many people who would say I am the way I am because of that. Ironically, Carson says he did spank him and once slapped him so hard, he made his head spin.

  I didn’t take off the earphones for a long moment. I knew that was only adding fuel to the fire, but I was trying to postpone the inevitable. Finally, I did.

  “Drunk? At school?”

  I didn’t answer.

  “I don’t even want to hear an excuse. You’re so clever with your excuses, Teal. You really should think seriously of becoming a defense attorney. But that would mean taking school seriously and trying to become something, do something with your life other than ruin and destroy and bring static and havoc into everyone else’s life.

  “I don’t want you leaving this house until I say so, understand?”

  “Don’t leave the house? I don’t have to go to school?” I asked.

  “You know what I mean, Teal. Of course, you have to go to school, although I don’t imagine you will last there much longer. When they kick you out, you will be in a far worse situation, believe me, so if there is any advice you should heed, it’s this: don’t get into any more trouble. I mean it, Teal. I have reached the end of my patience.”

  I started to put the earphones back on.

  “Just a minute, young lady. Before you withdraw into your own world as usual…” he said, and marched across my room to my phone. He unplugged it. “No more private line, and you will not be permitted to make any phone calls on the family lines or my line, understand?”

  “Smoke signals still okay?”

  He stared at me and for the first time, I did see something more than just impatience and disappointment. His eyes weren’t hot with anger. They were cold, deadly, fixed on me like a snake fixes on its prey. It actually put a shudder down my spine. I had to look away quickly.

  “You’re not going to go on bringing this family down, Teal. Your mother has given up, and I don’t have the time or the inclination to baby you and try to convince you how you are wasting your life. Don’t push me on this,” he warned.

  “I hate the school I’m in,” I whined. “It’s full of snobby girls and boys who act like they’re all God’s gift to women. I haven’t a single real friend!”

  “That’s not why you’re there. You’re there to get an education, not to socialize. It’s an opportunity other girls your age don’t have, and you should make the most of it.”

  “I hate it,” I insisted.

  “You’re there because you couldn’t go to a public school without getting into trouble.”

  “I got in trouble here, too,” I said, and he straightened up.

  “Don’t do it again, Teal.” His eyes were clouding like a sky being prepared for a fierce thunderstorm.

  “Now,” he said in a softer tone, “I want you to spend your time thinking about your future, thinking about what you’ve done with your blessings. You and I will sit and talk about what you want to do with yourself.”

  “When?” I asked, looking up quickly. He had never offered to do that before.

  “As soon as you show me I won’t be wasting my time,” he said.

  “Oh.”

  “No ‘oh.’ I’ll do it when you prove to me you’re worth it, Teal.
I want to see an improvement in your school work as well as your behavior. I don’t want to see you giving your mother any more aggravation. If you show me you’re mature and you can behave like an adult, I’ll treat you like an adult and talk to you like an adult.”

  When will you treat me like your daughter? I wanted to reply, but I bit down on my lip and trapped the words in my mouth.

  He walked to the doorway, carrying my phone, and then turned back.

  “You’re grounded now. You don’t go anywhere but school and back, Teal. Do you understand?”

  Instead of replying, I put my earphones on again and lowered myself to the pillow to stare up at the ceiling. I didn’t know how much longer he stood there looking at me. All I knew was when I lifted my head some time later, he was gone and the door was closed.

  I was just as alone as ever.

  3

  Drifting

  My three-day suspension did not pass quickly. When you have so much time to spend by yourself with no responsibilities, the clock becomes arthritic, its hands creaking reluctantly along. One of our maids who also prepared our dinners used to tell me that a watched pot never boils. Every time I asked if dinner was ready, she would recite that. I suppose there was some truth to it. I found the more I looked at the clock, the slower it seemed to move.

  Without any transportation, I really couldn’t leave the house. I suppose I could have called for a taxi or snuck a ride in Mother’s Lexus SUV when Mother wasn’t around, but there was no place for me to go during the day anyway. All my real friends were in public school. Late the first day of my suspension, a taxicab did arrive, but that was because the driver had been hired to deliver my homework assignments. I could just see my brother Carson adding that cost to his profit-and-loss statement on me. I found out Mother had asked Mr. Bloomberg if I could be given the work so I didn’t fall too far behind. I didn’t know how to break the news to her that I was already far behind. My report card was sure to be in Christmas colors, with failures twinkling like holiday lights.

  Out of boredom more than anything else, I diddled with the assignments, getting slightly interested in the history chapter on the American Civil War. Mr. Croft sent a pile of grammar exercises, more than he was giving the rest of the class, I felt sure. I knew he used homework as punishment or as a means of revenge.

  On Friday, I was permitted to return to school. Even though the snob birds looked so self-satisfied about my punishment, I handed in the assignments and sat in class like a perfect little angel. There was a great temptation to chew off their feathers and wipe those gleeful smiles off their faces, but I was operating under the hope that if I didn’t get in trouble right away, my father might grant me a reprieve.

  At dinner that night, he cross-examined me on my day, and I tried to give him the answers I knew he would like. I had passed a science quiz with a seventy-eight and a history quiz with an eighty-two and showed them to him. He looked them over carefully, studying the grades to be sure I hadn’t tampered with them. I had done that before, changing threes to eights and ones to nines.

  “Well,” he said, tapping the papers, “this is not terrific, but it is an improvement of sorts,” he relented.

  I threw Mother a mournful look.

  “I’m trying,” I declared. “The other kids have been attending this school for years. They’re used to everything,” I moaned. “It isn’t fair to judge me the same way. You’ve got to get used to new teachers, get used to the building, everything.”

  He looked like he was softening, so I continued.

  “It’s always harder when you attend a school or do something you’ve never done before. It was probably hard for you when you first went to college, wasn’t it?”

  “No,” he practically bellowed back at me. “I had good study habits and I had a determined purpose,” he said, continuing to hold on to his steel spine. “Challenges weren’t challenges if they weren’t hard. You can’t be proud of yourself for hitting soft balls, Teal. If you want to survive in this world, you have to toughen up.”

  “Well, I’m trying,” I whined.

  “See that it continues,” he said, glancing at Mother, whose neck muscles were straining. They always did when there was any sort of tension, especially at the dinner table.

  I lowered my head and returned to my seat. Then I looked up as if I had just remembered something.

  “Can I go to the mall tomorrow? I’d like to do some shopping,” I said. “I need some things.”

  He continued to eat without replying.

  “I’ll come right back.”

  Still he was silent.

  “I can’t be locked up here like a prisoner!”

  “Oh, let her go to the mall,” my mother said, acting as if she was now having trouble breathing.

  My father glared at me.

  “I shouldn’t let you out of here. You haven’t done enough yet to make up for all the trouble you’ve caused your mother and me,” he said. He paused, shaking his head. “It’s a mistake, something I’ll regret, I’m sure. Okay, but I want you back here before five, understand?”

  “Yes,” I said quickly before he changed his mind.

  “I mean it, Teal. If you don’t get back here by five on the dot, I’ll have you locked in your room.”

  “I will!” I cried even though I had no intention of doing so. I would come up with some plausible excuse. Like he had said, I was good at it. “Can I use the SUV?”

  It was the vehicle Mother was supposed to use when she went shopping, but she was still favoring the Mercedes sedan.

  He put down his fork sharply.

  “I’m glad you asked that. I had forgotten that I just received a serious warning from the police department concerning seven parking tickets I never knew you had gotten when you did use it.”

  I shook my head.

  “I don’t remember any parking tickets,” I said. I did, of course. I had merely torn them up and thrown them away. My friends at public school thought that was funny. “You know,” I added before he could speak, “I heard that for a joke some kids were taking parking tickets off the cars before the owners could find them. I’m sure we’re not the only ones the police are giving serious warnings. Call your friends at the mayor’s office if you don’t believe me. You’ll see I’m right,” I said.

  “You didn’t do that, too, did you—take parking tickets off people’s cars, Teal?” he asked, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.

  “No, Daddy. That’s really juvenile.”

  “I’m glad something is below you,” he muttered. “Speeding tickets aren’t, however, are they?”

  “I haven’t had one since…”

  “And you better not have another, young lady, or driving my vehicles will become prohibited forever, understand?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  He picked up his fork again.

  “You can take a cab both ways. You don’t need to take the car.”

  “But—”

  “I want you back by five,” he repeated sternly, which I knew meant the conversation was over.

  “Okay,” I said in a small voice. It was never good to argue too much with him.

  “We do want so much to give you things, honey,” Mommy said, reaching over to put her hand over mine. “We want you to be happy and to succeed in life, but you must improve your behavior.”

  “I know,” I said, nearly whimpering. She patted my hand and smiled.

  I could be so agreeable when I had to be. Inside, that second self my therapist used to talk about was laughing so hard, I thought she would break out and dance on the table.

  “We have so much,” Mother went on, “so much to give you if you will just be kind to yourself first.”

  I nodded.

  “May I be excused?” I asked. “I want to soak in a bubble bath.”

  Mother smiled. Doing feminine things reinforced her lifestyle, validated it. If I could just be more like her and care about my hair, my skin, my fingernails and toenails, we could go o
ff to the great beauty parlor in the sky together, mother and daughter choosing antiox-idants and nail polish. Afterward, there was always lunch at the club with the ladies’ auxiliary or some such charitable organization. What else could I possibly want out of life?

  “Go on, go on,” Daddy said, “but keep everything I’ve said here,” he added, pointing to his temple.

  Right, Daddy, I thought. I’ll keep it there in your head, not mine.

  Off I went, smiling to myself and thinking about Del Grant.

  After my parents went to bed, I snuck out of my room and down to Daddy’s office, where I called Shirley to determine a time and a place in the mall where we would meet.

  “Why don’t we just meet at Del’s pizza parlor,” she suggested, her voice full of giggles.

  “Not a bad idea. That’s what we’ll do,” I said, and hung up. I practically floated my way through the hall and up the stairs to my room, closing the door so softly, it was as if a breeze had passed through and nothing else. All the echoes, the lectures, and the threats were left outside.

  Then I curled up in bed and dreamed the dreams I wanted.

  I slept late and then, when I finally rose, I spent my time deciding what I should wear and how I should style my hair. Mother, passing by, was pleased I had put on the pair of designer jeans she had bought for me last month. They were hipster denim with a sash. They cost four hundred fifty dollars. If Mother hadn’t seen the jeans advertised in Vogue, she would never have bought them for me. Normally, I wouldn’t care, but I wanted to look outstanding and a little older so Del would notice me quickly. With my matching tight-fitting short-sleeved silk blouse, I thought I looked very sexy. I wore a bra because my father went into a small rage whenever I didn’t, but as soon as I left the house, I would take it off.

  I brushed my hair back and even put on a pair of earrings.

  Someone else’s mother might have questioned why her daughter was getting so dressed up just to go to a mall, but not mine. She would do the same thing just naturally. She wouldn’t leave the house even to go to the post office unless she was prepared to have her picture taken for Cosmopolitan or some such magazine. As far as she was concerned, there was only one place where a woman should not have herself put together as perfectly as possible, and that was in her own bedroom. She shouldn’t step out unless she was dressed well enough to meet the President of the United States.