by Lindy Zart
Mr. Welsh was short, in his fifties, and had black curly hair. He was a hard teacher to begin with and anyone caught not paying attention usually regretted it.
He always wore white dress shirts and khaki slacks. Some students, the braver, or stupider ones, depending on how you looked at it, joked he only had one shirt and one pair of pants and had to do laundry every night.
“Yes?” she asked the history teacher.
Two bushy eyebrows lifted and he leaned his hips against the edge of his desk, arms crossed. His dark eyes drilled into hers. “What’s the answer?”
She could tell by his expression he was enjoying her discomfort.
Lola swallowed and looked at the blackboard for help, but it was blank. “Um…” Her palms turned sweaty and she turned to her classmates, but they were all conspicuously faced forward in their seats.
“Or maybe I should repeat the question?”
Her eyes flew to his and she nodded, relieved. “Yes. Please.”
One corner of his thin mouth quirked up and he pushed away from the desk. “Of course, if you were listening, I wouldn’t have to do that, now would I?” Mr. Welsh strode to the front of the room and faced the classroom. “Anyone want to help Miss Murphy out?”
Lola’s heart pounded and that sick feeling from the night before returned, but for different reasons. No one said anything. Either they didn’t know the answer, were scared to help her, or simply didn’t care.
He smiled and looked at Lola. “Since my class is so boring and unnecessary you don’t even pay attention, you might as well sit outside until it’s over.”
Her heartbeat tripped. “But—“
Mr. Welsh pointed at the door and said, “Out.”
Something snapped inside her. Rage, instant and red hot, swept through her. Trembling, Lola got to her feet and slammed her book on the desk. “No.”
“What did you say?” Mr. Welsh’s voice shook with anger.
Oh God, she was out of control. “I didn’t do anything wrong.” The words flew from her lips. “I’m not leaving.” Her voice and body trembled, tears threatened to fall, and her lips kept moving. “I don’t deserve this.” Lola’s voice cracked.
The history teacher’s lips thinned. “Now you have detention too. Go to the office. Now.”
The impulse to throw something was strong and Lola’s fingers tightened on her books. Mr. Welsh stared her down and she finally moved. Lola avoided the stunned eyes of her classmates and hurried from the room.
Once outside, she leaned against a row of lockers and let her head drop back against the cool metal. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. What had she just done? What had she said? What was wrong with her? She didn’t do things like that; she didn’t have outbursts like that.
“Lola?” a small voice spoke.
A hand lightly touched her arm and Lola jerked away from the contact.
“Are you okay?” Concern pooled within the chocolate depths of Rachel Conrad’s eyes.
Sweet, friendly Rachel. They were once close friends, but didn’t talk much anymore outside of school. Rachel was one of those people who never had a bad thing to say about someone, who always saw the good in a person, even when it was hard to find.
Rachel was short and thin with short brown hair. She habitually wore black and today was no different. She had on a black turtleneck and black slacks. The only splash of color was her blood red heels.
Lola glanced down at her plain purple long-sleeved tee, dark jeans, and tennis shoes. She felt underdressed next to Rachel. Not that she had money to buy clothes like hers anyway.
“What are you doing out here?”
Rachel had a loving mother and father, a younger brother and sister who looked up to her. She was praised instead of put down, she was hugged and told she was loved. She was safe. Rachel couldn’t understand what it was like.
“I volunteered to make sure you made it to the office, but really I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
She wanted to disappear, to vanish, to no longer be. “I’m fine.” Lola turned toward the office.
“Lola.”
Lola stopped, but didn’t face Rachel. “What?”
“Nothing. Nevermind.” Rachel’s voice was tired.
She hesitated. They used to tell each other everything, just a year ago. She closed her eyes against a wave of tears. So much had changed. Lola had lost so much.
Lola remembered the carefree, unimportant conversations they used to have that had been so vital to them. The giggles they’d shared. Their shopping adventures at the mall in the next city over. She missed all that, but most of all she missed the illusion of safety she’d had.
Rachel’s mother was a secretary at a law office; her father worked construction. They were by no means rich, but they were stable and happy. They had family meals and family game nights. They asked how everyone’s day was and listened when one responded. They were on another planet from Lola.
Lola gave herself a mental shake and went to the office.
***
Lola spent detention in the library, doodling on her notebook once her homework was finished. The room smelled musty and had pale wood paneling on the walls. There were five computers, lots of books, and Mrs. Horton. The librarian had to be in her seventies, but rumor had it she refused to retire. Lola wondered if eventually she’d just be kicked out of the school.
She sat behind her desk, plump and red curly-haired, dressed in a black and pink floral print top and green slacks. Lola watched out of the corner of her eye as she shoved candy bars in her mouth and chewed away.
Her stomach grumbled and Lola realized she hadn’t eaten since the granola bar she’d choked down at lunch.
Lola and one other boy were in there. He stared at her and she ignored him. He had shaggy black hair, pale green eyes, and a surly disposition. Lola couldn’t remember his name, but she knew he was a senior like Sebastian and he got in trouble a lot. The boy was a loner, kept to himself. Lola didn’t think he had many friends, if any.
A lot like you.
His jeans were always holey, his shirts black or red or some other dark color, and he liked to draw disturbing things.
“Time to go,” Mrs. Horton announced at exactly five o’clock.
Lola packed her things up and shoved them in her backpack, intent on getting out of the school and away from the creepy boy as quickly as she could.
Her footsteps echoed down the empty hallway. It was odd to be there afterhours and see the darkened, uninhabited rooms. It made her think of scary movies with predators lurking in dark corners and shadows. Lola shivered and picked up her pace.
“Hey. Goody Two Shoes.”
Lola stumbled and glanced over her shoulder, unnerved to find the boy from detention not far behind. She hadn’t even heard him.
“What did you call me?” Lola was immediately annoyed at the label and it showed in her voice. She was so sick of being ridiculed when she didn’t deserve it.
One side of the boy’s full mouth lifted and his eyes darkened, like he was having naughty thoughts. Lola’s pulse tripped and she turned away. Ignoring him would probably be the best option.
Only he strode along beside her, looking completely at ease and in no hurry to go his own way. Lola glanced at him, surprised by how tall he was; even taller than Sebastian. He wasn’t as muscular as Sebastian; his was a more lean build. He smelled faintly of cologne; expensive, good-smelling cologne.
Why am I even thinking of this? Lola asked herself and pushed the door open, blinking in the blinding light of the sun. It was a nice day out, in the sixties with a light breeze. The wind caught her hair and played with it.
“I called you Goody Two Shoes. What were you in for? Did you forget to say please when you asked to go to the bathroom? Show up one minute late for class? Wear white on a red only day?”
Face on fire, Lola glared at him. He waited, an innocent look on his sharply angled face. “Are you enjoying yourself?”
“You h
ave no idea,” was his response.
“Well, I’m not. So…goodbye.” Lola turned in the direction of her house, her steps leaden with dread.
“Lola.” Softly spoken, like a caress.
She stopped and slowly turned to face the nameless boy, breath uneven. “Who are you?”
The sunlight hit him just right and he seemed to glow; become otherworldly, angelic even. Lola shook her head and he was just a troubled boy once more.
His lips twisted. “You don’t remember me, do you?”
Something nagged at her subconscious, but she pushed it away, feeling sick. “No. I don’t know you.”
I don’t want to know you.
Where had that come from?
An emotion flickered within the pale green depths of his eyes and was gone; his perpetual brood back in place. “The name’s Jack, Goody Two Shoes. Jack Forrester.”
“Don’t call me Goody Two Shoes. It’s not nice!”
He laughed. “It’s not nice? Really? You can’t even have a comeback that doesn’t sound preppy.”
Everyone was always ganging up on her, belittling her, criticizing her, making her feel less than. A burst of anger erupted in Lola and she reacted without thought. She slammed her palms against Jack’s hard chest and shoved. It felt amazing.
He propelled back, arms waving, and landed on his rear end in the grass with a grunt. His look of incomprehension was comical.
Lola put her hands over her mouth, eyes wide, and stared at him in horror. “Oh! I’m so sorry! I can’t believe I just did that.”
When Jack just sat there looking at her like he couldn’t believe it either, laughter bubbled up. She was stunned by the sound of it, and her expression must have shown it, because Jack intently watched her, like he knew some secret about her even she didn’t know. Lola’s laughter abruptly cut off.
“Stop staring at me.”
“I’ve never seen anyone look so surprised to be happy,” he said quietly.
Her eyes burned and she swallowed. Lola grabbed her backpack she’d dropped at some point and raced home. She forced herself not to look back, not once.
Why had he acted like she was supposed to know him, to remember him? Like they’d had some kind of interaction or shared some experience together. They never had. She would remember if they had.
He was probably on drugs as well as being an academic failure and troublemaker. They all usually went hand and hand. Lola pushed the guilt she felt with that thought away and inwardly put a layer of armor on. She was home.
3
She crept past the partially opened bedroom door on the way to her own bedroom, hoping against hope they were asleep and wouldn’t know she was home two hours late from school. Supper would be late as well. Lola’s stomach churned at the thought of repercussions.
The floor creaked and gave her away.
“Lola, is that you?”
Lola closed her eyes. “Yes. I’m sorry for being noisy.”
“Open the door.”
She didn’t want to open the door, she didn’t want to see her mother and Bob in bed and think of the things they did there. It made her nauseous. How could her mother stand the look of him, the smell of him, his touch?
“I have to get ready for work, Mom.” A lie. She didn’t have to work tonight. Lola didn’t want to be home either.
“Please come here.” The weakness of her voice, the acute sorrow in it, pulled at Lola. She slowly pushed the door open. It smelled musty and unclean in the room. It smelled like Bob.
Her mother was huddled in the middle of the bed, looking small and child-like. A light blue blanket covered her, pillows propped her head up. The curtain was drawn, casting the room in shadows. With relief, she saw Bob wasn’t in the room.
The room was small and sparse of furnishings. Though Lola’s room was small too, her mother had unselfishly given her the slightly larger one of the two. The walls were painted a pale green. There was a bed and a dresser in the room, some framed photographs.
“Mom?” There was a catch to her voice, a waver in that one syllable word. Lola cleared her throat and made her way to the bed. She looked down at her mother, wondering at what precise moment their roles had reversed.
She kept hoping her mom would come back to her, that she’d suddenly wake up and be who Lola knew her to be. Maybe the strong woman Lola remembered hadn’t really ever been; maybe she was a figment of Lola’s imagination.
Why did she keep trying to catch a glimpse of that person? She supposed, on some level, she couldn’t give up on her mom.
Lana patted the bed. “Sit down. I want to talk to you.”
She silently shook her head. There was no way she would sit in the spot Bob slept, no way.
Lola pretended not to see her mother’s hurt look and instead focused on a framed photograph above the bed. It was a picture of her, taken when she was seven. Lola was missing her two front teeth and her eyes sparkled with happiness. Her skin had a healthy glow. She wore a purple dress and had a red headband in her auburn hair.
Had I ever been so innocent?
She turned away. “Where’s Bob?”
Her mother folded over an edge of the blanket, head down. “Out with friends.”
‘Out with friends’ meant he was drinking at the bar. When he drank at the bar, he came home late and missed work. Bob also went from mean to really mean. All it took was a wrong look or word and he got scary real fast. Lola’s stomach turned queasy and it was harder to take a breath.
“I thought…I thought maybe we could hang out tonight.” Eyes full of hope fixed on Lola, waiting.
Lola’s chest tightened. She wanted to. She so wanted her mother back, if only for one evening. Lola was desperate for her old mom. This new mom she didn’t know and didn’t like.
Her lips parted and she almost said yes; was on the verge of it, but the urge to confront her mom was stronger. She had to try to get her mom to see reason.
“Mom, please leave him. We can leave tonight, while he’s gone. We’ll be okay without him, I promise. You’ll be okay. Please.” Lola regretted the words as soon as she saw her mother’s face.
Lana’s face closed up and she retreated into herself.
She backed away, feeling sad even though she knew better than to. What was the point?
Lola stopped near the door, pretending she hadn’t just said that. “I can’t hang out tonight. I have to work. Remember?”
Her eyes dropped, another little sliver of life seemed to slip from her, dimming her. “Oh. That’s right. I thought you had Thursdays off usually.”
I do. Lola closed her eyes, torn. I want you back, Mom, I want you back. But you’re not her anymore. I don’t know you.
She took a deep breath and opened her eyes. “I’m sorry, Mom.” I’m sorry our lives are the way they are. I’m sorry you’re not strong enough. I’m sorry you don’t love me enough. I’m sorry I’m not enough.
Lola walked out the door, wanting to escape her mother’s pain and sadness, wanting to escape the house, Bob, her life. Her mother’s disappointment was like a heavy weight in the air and it was stifling.
She couldn’t stay there, she couldn’t be there. Part of her wanted to leave, to run away and never return. Some fledgling sense of loyalty wouldn’t allow her to leave her mother, but that didn’t mean she wanted to be around her either. It hurt too much. And she was so angry with her. She hated what she had become almost as much as she hated Bob.
***
The outside air was refreshing after the stale interior of the house. The sun was lowering in the sky, turning the horizon into pretty shades of pink and orange.
Images of her mother haunted Lola as she walked down the streets of Morgan Creek. The tinkle of her laughter, the sparkle in her blue eyes. The way she used to hold Lola close and whisper she loved her.
She almost turned back. Lola yearned to rush into her mother’s arms and be held. To hold her mother like she used to. She couldn’t. Her mother was tainted by Bob’s touch
and scent. It wasn’t her anymore. Lola had to keep reminding herself of that.
Tears flowed down her cheeks, warm against her cool flesh.
Not for the first time she ached for her father. Benjamin Murphy had died of a brain aneurism when he was twenty-eight and she was four. All he was to her was a photograph of a young man whose chin and nose she’d inherited; someone whose memory her mother’s eyes and voice softened over. A distant memory almost completely faded from her mind. Someone, who if he still lived, would have made Lola’s life so very different from the way it was.
From what her mother had told her, he’d been a good man. Lola didn’t trust her mother’s definition of what a good man was. But she liked to believe he had been. She liked to believe he would have loved her and never hurt her. What few pictures she’d seen of him and Lola together told her he had. Lola could take some comfort from that.
There was a longing within her for a father she would never know. Bob being his replacement made it all that much more unbearable.
Lola found herself at the creek the town was named after. It ran through the middle of town and met up with the Mississippi River at some point. Children liked to fish in it. There was a cemented path on the side of it people walked or rode bikes on.
She stared into the gray water and listened to the sound of it lapping. It soothed her. Her eyes closed and she held herself still. A sense of peace slowly encompassed her and Lola exhaled.
Just another year. She had one more year to get through and then she could leave. Maybe Lola could leave as soon as she turned eighteen in September. Where would she go? She had no other relatives. At least none her mother talked to.
Lola vaguely remembered an aunt; her father’s sister. She didn’t know anything about her and her mother never brought her up. Lola sensed something had happened between the two of them and that was why she was just a faceless being Lola didn’t know.
A familiar, cruel giggled sounded behind her. Lola stiffened, but didn’t move, hoping she would just pass by. Of course that was wishful thinking.
“Well, well, well, looky here. It’s the detention queen,” a singsong voice called.
