by W. Winters
“Not really,” I say, feeling my defenses rise. “But it’s not okay to call someone a failure and a waste of space either,” I add, and my words are pushed through clenched teeth as I try to remember what else my algebra teacher said. I know she said “failure” at least. I know for a fact she did. All because I couldn’t remember a stupid formula. If you can look it up on Google, you shouldn’t be required to memorize it.
“This is about your repeated offenses, Dean. There’s a clear pattern of behavior you need to address,” the principal says, ignoring my statement, but there’s a hint of hesitation in her response. She takes her glasses and gently puts them back on.
“You’re only a freshman and your options for both public and private schools are dwindling. Do you think acting like this is going to help you deal with your issues?”
My body goes rigid at her last word. The air between us tenses and I see her expression change. It morphs to one of victory; she’s finally found something that gets to me.
Principal Talbot shakes her head, the look of disappointment clearly forced. “You have no idea how much you’re hurting yourself,” she tells me as if she really cares.
I scoff at her and look back to the closed door.
None of them care. They just want me gone so I’m not their problem to deal with anymore.
“I can’t have this type of behavior here and quite frankly, this was a favor to your mother.” She looks me in the eye as she adds, “Who, I’m sure, is going to be very disappointed in you.”
Her voice is stern, but that’s not what gets to me. It’s not what makes me rip my gaze away from hers and pick at the fuzz on the red upholstery fabric covering the armrests of my chair. It’s the fact that my mother won’t give a damn. Maybe she’ll say she does. Maybe she’ll even stand there next to that prick she married while he cusses me out for wasting his time. But does she really care? Not about me, she doesn’t. She only cares about the steady supply of Xanax and the allowance he gives her.
“So, what now?” I ask, staring at Principal Talbot.
“We wait for your parents to get here—”
“Parent,” I correct her and hold her gaze as she narrows her eyes at me. “I only have one parent.” My voice almost catches. I almost let my true feelings show. But thankfully, they’re mostly hidden, still buried where they belong.
“Your mother and stepfather then,” she says.
I huff and focus on the lint gathered at the edge of the chair cushion, picking up the tiny pieces between my thumb and forefinger.
She’d better get comfortable. The last time this happened they never even bothered to show up.
2
Allison
“You know you look like a ho,” Sam tells me, cocking her brow like it’s a question.
“Shut up,” I respond dismissively, although I can’t hide my smile or the laughter in my voice. It’s a blip of happiness that’s quickly dimmed by my rising anxiety.
After applying another coat of caramel apple lip gloss, I step back and try to pull the hem of my jean skirt down. It doesn’t budge much.
“Is it too much?” I ask her the legitimate question, feeling an overwhelming need to hide and not go out tonight. My heart races as my gaze sweeps from my short skirt to the clock on the wall of my bedroom. It’s one thing to think about sneaking out to meet a boy. It’s another to actually do it.
Samantha rolls her eyes as she slips on a white blazer over her short red dress. It’s skintight, showing off her curves and barely covering her breasts, but Sam’s always flaunting her boobs.
She hit puberty first and it was damn good to her. Not so much to me.
“It’s perfect,” she answers with a wink.
“My mom would kill me,” I mutter as I take one last look in the mirror.
“Well, your mom’s not here, so there’s nothing to worry about,” Sam says like this is no big deal.
“I don’t know,” I say softly. Sam’s my friend. My best friend. I’ve never kept anything from her. She already knows my stomach’s acting up and I’m getting cold feet. She devoured half the pizza we ordered with the twenty bucks my mom left us for dinner. Almost all of my half is still untouched in the kitchen. I’m leaving the box on the counter. I know it’ll tick my mother off to see I left it out, but I do forget to put it away every time Sam stays over, and I don’t want her to think we were up to anything.
Like sneaking out.
My heart flutters with anxiousness, warning me, yet again, that this is stupid. That I’m stupid.
Sam’s face falls slightly and she leans against my dresser as she asks, “Is it because you think Mike’s going to want some?”
I huff out a sarcastic laugh and shake my head no as I stare at the ceiling to avoid her prying eyes. Yes. Yes it is.
“I thought you wanted to lose your V-card?” she asks me with genuine interest.
“I do,” I answer immediately. “I’ve been thinking about how I want to do it.”
“There’s nothing wrong with being a virgin,” Sam says, and there’s a look on her face I can’t quite place. Not even a trace of a smile is there. “If you want to wait, then wait.”
“It’s not that, I just really like him and what if he’s not into it?” I swallow thickly and pick at my nail polish. Dammit. Now it’s ruined. “Or what if that’s not what he expects?” I say and shrug as if it doesn’t matter, even though my tone doesn’t match the movement.
“But you want it too, don’t you?” she says. Samantha straightens her back and I can see her swallow as she looks directly ahead. “I want to know what it’s like,” she admits to me.
“I know. I want to know too,” I tell her as if that’s not obvious. “I just really like him, but if we do it tonight, is Mike going to think that I’m like … easy or something?”
“Oh please,” Samantha says and rolls her eyes. “You’re thinking about this too much. If you want to do it, then do it. If you don’t, then don’t.” She’s already back to facing the mirror and fixing her necklace. “It’s literally that easy,” she tells me as if she’s done this before when I know she hasn’t, then turns toward the dresser, the tension from just a moment ago apparently all but forgotten.
“We’re finally in high school, Allie,” Sam says and I nod my head, although I keep my eyes on my reflection. I wish I looked like I was old enough for high school. It’s clear Sam’s more mature, but it’s the confidence she has that I truly lack.
“Sneaking out is a rite of passage,” she tells me. “I get that you like Mike and all, but just have fun tonight.”
“But there’s so much pressure,” I say, feeling anxiety running through me again.
Sam shrugs, putting away her lip gloss and striding toward the bed for her shoes. “So what?” she asks me. “It’s just a party and it’s going to be a blast, and everything’s going to be fine.”
“Are you going to drink?” I ask her and then feel like I’m my mother.
She laughs and her eyes go wide as she says, “Duh!” While she ties up the laces to her shoes around her ankles she adds, “Are you even sure his brother got the beer?”
“He said he was getting all sorts of things.” Mike’s brother is a few years older and technically it’s his party. Mike invited me and Sam. I was so excited when he told me, but right now I’m feeling something completely different from excitement.
“And what’d you tell him?” she asks me.
“That I like vodka,” I say softly, feeling my cheeks heat with a blush and she laughs again.
“Have you ever even had vodka?” she teases me.
“Shut up,” I say then push her shoulder slightly and she just laughs some more, throwing her head back. “It’s not like you’ve had it before either.”
“Yeah, yeah. Hey, check this out,” Sam says in a singsong voice as she reaches into her tote bag. It’s all smooth black leather and I think she stole it from her mom’s closet.
“Holy shit,” I say under my breath wi
th my eyes focused on the bottle.
“It’s like a party present or something,” Sam says as I pick up the bottle of red blend wine. “Hostess favor,” she says, although she sounds a little uncertain. “Is that what it’s called when you bring a gift to a party?” she asks me.
I set the heavy bottle back down in her bag. “I don’t know,” I tell her, still feeling uneasy.
“Hey, relax,” Sam says and then sits in the center of my bed. It creaks under her weight. “As far as your mom knows, we’re having a sleepover and tomorrow morning when she comes home, we’ll be right here.” She pats the bed and then grips my shoulders. “Tonight, we’re going to go to Mike’s house,” she says and tilts her head as she emphasizes my crush’s name with her broad, pearly white grin. “And we’re going to be chill and cool and he’s going to get to know you better.”
“Maybe we can use the wine to play spin the bottle?” I say as the idea of sitting in Mike’s basement and flirting makes me feel giddier than anything else has tonight.
Her smile widens and her eyes brighten. “Fucking fantastic idea,” she squeals. “This is why I love you,” she adds and then jumps off the bed.
“It’s not because we’ve been friends forever?” I joke back with her.
“Best friends for life!” she answers and then twirls her long, dark brown hair around her finger. “Seriously, tonight is going to be amazing,” she says with so much excitement and happiness, it’s contagious.
“Can I ask you something?” I blurt out, cutting through the happiness yet again.
“Anything,” Sam says instantly, looking right at me and giving me her full attention.
“Does it make me a whore if I want to have sex?” I say. “Like, even if I don’t really want to be with Mike, but I just want to know what it’s like?”
“Pretty sure that’s normal, babe,” she says with a smile. “If not, I’m fucked.”
3
Dean
My uncle’s truck rumbles to a stop in front of my stepfather’s house. It’s the corner lot on the street, a two-story colonial with blue shutters and a porch swing right out front.
It only took my dad’s death for my mother to have the house of her dreams. She even got her white picket fence.
“I don’t see the point,” I say to my uncle as I stare at the front door and then the driveway. “Both their cars are here.” I turn to look at Uncle Rob as I speak. “If they don’t want me, what’s the point of even going in there?”
“You need to face the music, kid.” He says it like that’s why I don’t want to go in there. My eyes narrow and I feel my forehead pinch.
“You don’t get it. It’s not just about today or yesterday. It’s every day. Every single day I have to live in a house where I’m hated.”
“Knock it off, Dean,” my uncle says as though what I’m saying has no weight to it.
It’s quiet for a long time, but my heart’s pounding and all I can hear is the blood rushing in my ears. I want to get it all out. Uncle Rob’s the only one who listens to me. He’s the only one who gives a shit.
“Ever since Dad died,” I say, and it hurts to say the words out loud as I continue, “she doesn’t want me anymore.”
“That’s not true—” he starts to say but I raise my voice and cut him off.
“It is true!” My eyes sting and I hate it. I hate everything. I hate her the most.
“You’re just angry,” Uncle Rob says although he twists his hands on the leather steering wheel and looks out the window like he’s judging my words. “Why can’t you just be like Jack’s kid?” he asks me. Jack is his friend who has two sons; one’s a kid my age. “Go out and have fun. Sneak a beer, kiss a girl. Why do you have to run your mouth and make a scene?”
“It’s easy for you to say,” I mumble under my breath. I was going to go out with Jack’s kid to a party tonight. I was actually looking forward to meeting Mike and a few of the guys he knows. It’s been lonely since Dad died. I’m desperate enough to admit that and I finally said yeah, I’d go out. No fucking way that’s happening now.
Maybe my uncle’s right and that’s where I should be tonight. Instead this is what I’ve got to look forward to.
“She didn’t even cry at his funeral.” My words come out hollow, matching how my chest feels. “She was already with him.” I look him in the eye. “He slept over when Dad was in the hospital.”
Uncle Rob is my mother’s brother. I know he’d never say a bad word about her, but he can’t deny the truth. The minute my dad got sick, my mother started counting how much she’d get from the insurance policy. Richard came next. Just like that, she moved on and didn’t look back. Leaving me behind and alone when my dad died. She wasn’t there with me in the hospital room and she sure as hell wasn’t there after. I can’t forgive her.
Uncle Rob looks uncomfortable as he runs his hand through his thinning hair and sighs.
“Why can’t I just come live with you?” I practically beg him. I would give anything to get away from them. I would do anything. “You at least cared that Dad died.”
“It’s not that she didn’t care.” He doesn’t say anything after that. I wait for more. For some sort of explanation that would make any of this all right, but nothing comes.
“She was happy he was going to die. All they did was fight.” Although it hurts to admit the truth, there’s relief in saying it out loud. Even more so because Uncle Rob doesn’t deny it.
“Look, Dean, different people cope with things differently. It’s hard when someone’s dying and you have to handle everything.”
“It was so hard that she went on smiling every day,” I tell him. I don’t want pretty little lies. I’m tired of living this fake-ass life my mother created. “Why can’t I just live with you?” I ask him again. He’s all I have. If not him, then I have no one.
“You just can’t,” he says like that’s final and my blood chills. A sense of unease rocks through me, followed by hopelessness.
“All right then,” I say and open the door to the truck, sick of arguing over pointless shit.
“It’s life, kid,” Uncle Rob calls after me.
“Life can go fuck itself,” I tell him as I get out, making the truck rock forward and then I slam the shiny red door shut.
A sickness churns in my stomach with each step I take closer to the house.
Day in and day out. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t be reminded every day of how easily someone else replaced Pops. That asshole my mother cheated on my dad with expects me to listen to him? No fucking way.
I push the door open and then slam it shut from pure adrenaline, but I regret it the second the loud bang reverberates through the house.
Do I regret what I said in school? Yeah, I do. I say stupid shit, I pick fights. Maybe I am angry. Maybe I’m filled with hate.
But when I get in here, it changes.
I’m just fucking sad. I’m sad that this is my life.
The kitchen is in the center of the house and my mother’s right there on a barstool, a glass of wine in her hand and the half-empty bottle on the granite countertop.
“Mom,” is all I say to greet her then slip my bookbag off my shoulder, leaving it by the door. I grit my teeth when she looks up at me with daggers. She’s quick to change her expression. Like she wants to hide how she really feels about me. She doesn’t have to, though. I know I ruined her chance at a perfect life with Richard. The son who was an accident, forcing her to marry my father. If only I’d died with him. Then we’d all be happier.
“I can’t believe you,” my mother says with tears in her eyes. Or maybe they’re just glossy because she’s drunk. Her lips look even thinner with her mouth like that, set in a straight line.
I don’t say anything; I can hear Rick getting up from the recliner in the living room.
“There you are,” he says as if I’m at fault for not being here on time.
“They wouldn’t let me leave till someone picked me up,” I answer him w
ith my words drenched in spite, looking him square in the eye as he storms over to me. My body tenses with the need to run or at least hold up my arms in defense.
“Is that what you got to say?” he yells at me. Rick’s a former marine and he acts like it. Only angrier and usually drunk. That’s one thing he and my mom have in common. His face turns red as he shouts at the top of his lungs.
The backhand comes quick, but I’m expecting it. The pain rips through my jaw, sending me backward as I hit the front door.
“You want to act like a little punk, I’ll treat you like one,” he spits at me. I can vaguely hear my mother screaming in between Richard’s threats and the ringing in my ears.
I expected the first blow but as I stand up, I don’t expect the next.
Or the one after that.
I really should have. Richard doesn’t stop until I’m crying. It’s not like I’m big enough to fight him, so I don’t know why I try to hold back the tears. I should’ve just come in here looking how I feel, defeated and hopeless. Maybe then it wouldn’t have lasted so long.
Metal is all I can taste when I wake up. My lips are bruised and swollen. My body’s stiff from sleeping in a weird position since it hurt my face to lay on my side.
The side of my face still stings and I’m sure it looks like shit too.
I’m not going to school. Not looking like this. It would make Richard all too happy to know I had to go out with the proof that he beat the shit out of me so easily seen.
Even better for him because those asshole teachers think I deserve it. Everyone does. I’m just the piece of shit kid from her first marriage who’s acting out and needs his ass beat.
That’s what the last principal told my mom. That I needed my ass beat.
Maybe I do. I don’t need to be sneaking out and going to parties. I just need my ass beat day in and day out until I don’t feel this way anymore.
I swallow thickly and sit up in bed to crack my neck.
