The Door

by Lorilyn Roberts

  Chapter Two

  Suspension

  “Who Am I?

  when no one sees

  when no one loves

  when no one understands

  when no one hears

  when no one cares about

  Me.”

  I closed my diary and locked it, then set it aside and hid the key under my pillow. Sleepy dreams visited me, but the diary called my name. I flipped back on the light, grabbed the diary from my nightstand, and stashed it in a dark corner of the bookshelf. Another book, The Donkey and the King, caught my attention. I’d not looked at it for a long time. I flipped through its worn and crinkled pages.

  Even when I was younger, I felt sorry for the donkey. Baruch ran away from the stable and got lost. A sheep found him and took him to meet a powerful king. Much-Afraid, the dog in the story and the donkey’s friend, looked like that stray dog I saw when I came home from school. The resemblance surprised me.

  I set the book back on the bookshelf. Along the baseboard, a straight pin clung to the wood. Mother must have dropped it when she fixed my backpack. I scooted over and picked it up. The pin was three or four inches long. I rubbed my finger along the sharp magnetic tip and stuffed it into my sweater pocket.

  Then I climbed back into bed and let my eyes adjust to the blackness. Dark creatures danced on the walls in the moonlight. They often visited me at night before I drifted off to sleep, like cartoon characters that never slept.

  ***

  The bell rang and the ninth grade stragglers found their seats. Mrs. Wilkes took roll, followed by an in-depth critique of Shakespeare’s play, As You Like It. She was a diminutive old woman, boxy with skinny legs and an overpowering voice. The class listened politely, though most couldn’t have cared less about the finer points of literary criticism. When it came to competing with iPads and iPods and iPhones and Blackberries, critiquing seemed tedious unless downloaded on a Kindle, but Mrs. Wilkes was too old fashioned to permit them in class. Disheveled papers covered her desk.

  My heart skipped when she announced my name, Shale Snyder. Clearing her throat, she began: “Would one be better off never to love and avoid being hurt? Does love always make one happy? As You Like It has its roots in Greek literature, though written by Shakespeare between 1598 and 1600…” Her voice trailed off as she read a few more lines to herself. Then, with one fell swoop, she threw my paper in the trash. “This is too well written to be original. I’m sure Shale copied it off the web. I’m not going to read it.”

  Thirty sets of eyes shifted to me and my face and neck felt hot. Mrs. Wilkes’s beady eyes pulsated. No one moved. If I dropped the straight pin that was in my sweater pocket, the room would have heard it ping on the floor.

  After an unbearable silence, she added, “We’ll deal with this later.” She dug in her pile for another report.

  Anything else that happened was a blur, except the ringing of the bell. I ran out the door with Mrs. Wilkes’s voice trailing behind me, “Shale Snyder, I need to talk to you.”

  Before I got more than a few feet down the hall, I felt a hand reach up my skirt again. I spun around. Angry fireballs surged through my popping veins. My eyes dashed back and forth, examining faces and moving bodies in the crowded hallway. There he was—right in front of me, snaking through the maze. The boy wore a red shirt and Atlanta Braves cap.

  I shoved students with my flailing arms and heard gasps and curse words as I splayed bodies on the floor. A teacher in a lab coat jumped out of the way. When the guilty one turned his head, the nerve endings on my spine tingled. I lunged forward. Reaching into my sweater pocket, I pulled out the straight pin and stabbed it into his back. Judd winced in pain. I jammed my hand as hard as I could and then pulled out the pin. My hand felt numb and the pin slipped out of my fingers and fell onto the floor.

  I looked around. Shocked students stood frozen, mouths gaping. Judd groaned as he hunched over. A wet splotch grew on his back, soaking through his shirt. It looked like blood. Did I hurt him that badly? My heart raced.

  “You little witch!” Judd shrieked. I started to hyperventilate. Tripping over students, I hurried to my next class, scrambling out of sight as he yelled profanities at me.

  As I neared the gymnasium, I still felt his hand touching me. Seeing the blood on his back made me dizzy. I stood outside the gym entrance breathless. What would happen if the kids reported it? How much did the lab teacher see? What would Remi, my stepfather, do if he found out?

  I coiled my hands around the metal flagpole. The late bell rang and several minutes passed. I pulled out my cell phone. Time was ticking. I was already twenty minutes late. I leaned my head against the pole. Be calm. This was my last class. Just open the door.

  Inside the girl’s dressing room, I headed for my locker. The other students were already outside. As I reached for the metal handle, I noticed the door was unlocked and partly open. Pulling on it, I almost yanked the door off its hinges. Where was my uniform? I checked every corner—it was missing.

  “Are you looking for something?”

  I spun around and Chumana greeted me. A wicked smile crossed her lips and her smirk irritated me.

  “Yes. My gym outfit. Do you know where it is?”

  “Try the toilet, doll,” Chumana snickered. “Even though you don’t live with me anymore, I can still make your life miserable—cursed.” She ran out the gym door.

  I bolted to the bathroom and checked the stalls. In the first one, a blue uniform floated in the commode. I pulled it out by the end that wasn’t wet. Globs of water dropped back into the toilet. Holding it away from me as it dripped on the floor, I took it over to the sink. Yuck! The water splattered when I turned on the faucet.

  Clicking heels approached. I expected to see Chumana, but instead, it was the principal, Mrs. Twiggs—a left-behind Nazi. Her hair was pulled back in a bun and she wore a navy pencil skirt, white blouse, black stockings, and pointed shoes. Her steely eyes had far too much mascara.

  “Please follow me to the office.” She smacked a ruler in her hand impatiently.

  The water was running, forming clouds of hot vapors. “Okay. Can I get my books?”

  “Hurry,” the principal demanded.

  I shut off the water and examined my wet uniform. I didn’t want it anyway. I’d make Chumana replace it—somehow. It wasn’t enough to get even; I wanted payback.

  Mrs. Twiggs pointed with the ruler for me to walk in front of her. The Nazi wanted nothing better than to see me expelled. I couldn’t remember how many times I had been in her office. Too many students had tattled on me for ridiculous reasons. Sometimes I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  On the way, another teacher stopped us. She and Mrs. Twiggs walked away from me and spoke in whispers. Were they talking about me? They occasionally made eye contact. I hated not knowing. The whole time Mrs. Twiggs smacked the ruler in her hand.

  After a few minutes, we continued to the office, located in the adjoining building by the school entrance. I gasped when I opened the door. “Remi!” He sat in a chair beside the lab teacher who had seen me in the hallway with Judd. I wasn’t used to seeing my stepfather look so debonair in his business suit and red tie. Our eyes met before I glanced away. I took a seat as far from him as possible. What had the lab teacher told him?

  “Mr. Heller, I’m Mrs. Twiggs, the principal. I’m sorry to call you away from work, but we need you to take Shale home. She’s being suspended.”

  “For chasing a student in the hallway?”

  “She attacked Judd Luster.”

  Remi rubbed the back of his neck, looking baffled. “Mrs. Gluck here told me what happened—that Shale chased a young man down the hallway and caused a commotion. Have you asked for her side of the story?”

  “What’s there to ask?” Mrs. Twiggs continued to snap the ruler. When Remi didn’t answer, she continued, “There’s never an excuse for violence at school. If he offended her in some way, she should have reported it. There are proper channel
s for handling disputes between students and using a deadly weapon isn’t one of them.”

  “A weapon?” Remi asked.

  I examined the wooden parquet tiles on the floor. Maybe he didn’t hear that part.

  “Shale has a history of issues dating back to first grade,” Mrs. Twiggs stated matter-of-factly. “I’ll have a psychological assessment done as soon as possible. I’m suspending her from school until the testing is completed.”

  “Suspending me from school?” My question was ignored.

  “Then we’ll decide if she can return. Do you have any questions, Mr. Heller?”

  Remi looked stunned.

  Tears welled up in my eyes. He would never believe me. Did I want to tell him? I was embarrassed to talk about it. What was a psychological assessment anyway?

  I zoned out as Mrs. Twiggs made mindless accusations about me—what a troubled kid I was and that I’d never amount to anything if someone didn’t set me straight.

  I didn’t want to ride home with Remi and listen to him blow up at me in the car.

  I vaguely heard Mrs. Twiggs addressing me, “Shale, do you have anything to add?”

  “What?” I asked.

  “Do you have anything to say?”

  Sure. I had lots to say, but not to her, not to Remi, not to my mother. I felt like a bird trapped in a cage. I wanted to fly away and never return. I imagined myself so thick-skinned that nothing anyone said or did to me would hurt, but I wasn’t like that.

  “Do you have anything you want to add, Shale? We’re waiting.”

  I looked at each of them, searching for a sympathetic ear. I shook my head and turned away. A teardrop fell on my hand as I covered my mouth with a fist to deafen my sobs.

  “Thank you, Mr. Heller, for your prompt attention. I know you and Mrs. Heller recently married. I’d hoped things would get better for Shale with a father in the house. Perhaps it will take more time.”

  “He’s not my father,” I blurted out.

  “What did you say, little lady?” the principal asked.

  “Never mind, Mrs. Twiggs.” Remi reached out to shake her hand. Mrs. Twiggs was blocking the door.

  “Are we done?” Remi asked.

  The principal didn’t move.

  “I promise to talk to Shale’s mother about her behavior, Mrs. Twiggs. I’m sorry for all of this.” His hand was still extended.

  After an awkward moment, she shoved her hand into his. “I’ve already contacted Doctor Silverstein. We’ll do the testing in the next couple of days.”

  “As soon as possible would be appreciated so Shale doesn’t miss any more school than necessary.” Remi turned to me. “Grab your books, honey, and let’s go.”

  “Can—can I go to the restroom?” I asked.

  Remi looked at Mrs. Twiggs.

  She nodded. “Go ahead.”

  I rushed down the hall to the restroom and shoved open the door. It smacked into something on the other side. I stumbled into the bathroom and saw urinals lining the wall. Had I walked into the men’s room? I spun around to make a quick exit— and collided into a bare-chested male. Judd’s cold eyes met mine.

  “Get out of my way,” I screeched.

  “Why are you in here?”

  “I—I went into the wrong bathroom.”

  I glanced down and in his hand was a blood-soaked paper towel. I shoved past him but he grabbed me from behind, sinking his fingers into my shoulder. “Let me go,” I shouted. I got away and ran out the door. Someday he’s going to murder me because I killed his dog.

  Chapter Three

  Shale Faces Judgment

  A knock on my bedroom door disturbed the silence. I closed the diary and hid it underneath the covers.

  “Come in.”

  Mother walked in and sat on the side of my bed. Her puffy eyes betrayed dried tears. I overheard her and Remi behind closed doors arguing about me. Earlier in the day, when Remi brought me home, he ranted the whole time. When he got tired of letting off steam, he gave me the silent treatment, staring straight at the road, distant and angry. I wasn’t sure I could ever connect with him, let alone allow him to be a father to me.

  “Honey,” she said. Mother twisted the knotted handkerchief in her lap, her bony knuckles white from tension. “How would you like to go live with your father for a while? Maybe it would be good for you to make that connection.”

  “My father?” I convinced myself she couldn’t be serious, just desperate.

  “Oh, never mind.” She wistfully tossed her head aside, looking across the room, “You—you’re so much like him. He couldn’t get along with a fence post, let alone me. I don’t want you to turn out like him—an alcoholic, hooked on drugs, wasting all that talent. Of course, I’m sure he’s not like that now....”

  A distant look of regret and sorrow shadowed her blood-shot eyes, hardened by the passage of time. She hated my father, what he did to her, how he deserted us on a dark street in Miami. I had heard the story many times. Mother wandered the streets looking for a stranger to take us in. Who wanted to put up a homeless mother and a crying baby?

  Her raw emotions flared. “Why can’t you behave at school and not cause us so much trouble? You want to destroy this marriage, too?” She dabbed her tears with a handkerchief. “I—I don’t know how to love you. You push us away with your bad behavior, like you mean to hurt us.”

  I reminded her of a past she wanted to forget, especially when I looked a certain way, though I never knew what that way was. I had his eyes, his smile. If only I did have his talent, maybe I’d be worth something.

  “You have no idea what I went through to keep you,” she continued. “They wanted you.”

  “Who wanted me?” I asked.

  “You were a ward of the state.” Regaining her composure, warmth returned to her strained face. “Get some sleep, honey.” She leaned over and whispered. “I want you to do well on the testing tomorrow.” She kissed me on the forehead and left.

  As she closed the door, her words echoed in my ears. She wanted me to do well to save her marriage. That was it. It was all about her. What about me? Shadows swept through my bedroom. Dancing shades of gray cartoon creatures covered my walls once again as I drifted off to sleep.

  ***

  We crowded into the principal’s office around a small oak table on the third day of testing. Why did I have to take the same test twice? I took the first one on Monday and then a similar test on Tuesday. Midway through the second one, I just filled in the blanks. I didn’t care anymore.

  Remi and my mother were to the right. Mrs. Twiggs sat across from me. The psychologist, Dr. Silverstein, was at the head of the table. Books lined the wall behind him. The voices of students rose and fell as they passed by the office doorway. The subdued lighting in the room darkened my optimism about the outcome. I hoped I wouldn’t be expelled.

  Remi had driven home from work to bring us. Mother dressed up more than usual and wore heavy make-up and high heels. Since I had been suspended, I didn’t need to wear a dress, but I wore one anyway. I dabbed on enough make-up to cover a zit that had popped up overnight.

  Staring through the frosted glass out the office door, I wished I were somewhere else. The room became uncomfortably quiet as we waited to begin. Two sets of official-looking papers labeled “Shale Snyder” were stacked in front of Dr. Silverstein. He reminded me of an eccentric scientist, wearing glasses that were too big. His bushy eyebrows stuck out and I wanted to pluck them and watch him cringe.

  Mrs. Twiggs turned on a tape recorder and gave the perfunctory greetings. “Doctor Silverstein, our school psychologist here at Garden High School, has conducted an examination of Shale’s psychological, intellectual, and cognitive abilities. He’s a leading authority on ‘troubled kids’ and has prepared a report to share with us.”

  Mrs. Twiggs readjusted the tape recorder to the center of the table. “I was going to set up this meeting for next week, but because the parents of Shale Snyder insisted we hold this hearing as so
on as possible, I re-arranged my busy schedule to accommodate them.”

  “Appreciate that,” Remi said. Mother nodded.

  Mrs. Twiggs opened a plastic packet and dumped the contents out on the table. “This is a pin that was found on the hall floor where Shale attacked Judd Luster.”

  Mother examined the straight pin. “I wondered where this went to. Shale, where did you find it?”

  “It was on the floor in my bedroom, against the wall.”

  “I must have dropped it when I fixed the zipper on your backpack.” She picked up the pin and rubbed it between her fingers. Mother eyed me questioningly, but didn’t say anything else. She then turned to Dr. Silverstein. “What about the testing?”

  Remi reached over and grabbed Mother’s hand. “Do you have the results?”

  Dr. Silverstein flipped through his documents to look for the pertinent information. He adjusted his glasses and began, “Shale Snyder was referred to me for evaluation following an incident at school. She has a long history of juvenile delinquency. Our first intervention occurred when she failed first grade.”

  The doctor took a sip of coffee before continuing. “However, Shale did successfully repeat the grade, but continued to exhibit behavioral problems when she entered high school, including disrespect for authority, inability to follow rules, painting graffiti on the school hallways, cheating, plagiarism, and initiating fights, which, as I alluded to, resulted in a student requiring medical treatment. The latter event is what prompted this psychological evaluation.”

  “I never drew on the walls,” I protested.

  Remi admonished me to be quiet with his eyes.

  Dr. Silverstein continued, “I performed cognitive testing twice. The second set of testing was done to validate the results of the first test.”