“What--?”
Before I could even get a sentence out, Claire shot me a look from one pod over which stopped me right in my tracks. I ducked my head down before sneaking a gaze at Mr. Nash, who had just entered. He took a seat behind his desk without saying a word. The silence had become uncomfortable.
“So,” Mr. Nash began. Instead of taking his usual jaunt around the classroom, he stayed stationary in his seat. Nobody moved.
“I’m going to address the whole class, even though all of you are not necessarily involved. The ones who are, however, know who they are.” He scanned his eyes around the room. I looked over at Matt, who was focusing all of his attention on balancing a pencil across his fingers. I watched him until it fell and Mr. Nash’s voice once again broke the silence.
“Since some, if not most, of you involved are in this classroom, I figured it was time to have a little chat. It can be a lesson for all of you.” He was now staring down at some sort of paper. I pictured his perfect handwriting sprawled across it and wondered what sort of secrets it held.
“For those of you who don’t know, roughly half if not 75% of the senior class decided not to attend this year’s homecoming dance. That’s completely fine. Most of you are nearing the age of eighteen, if you’re not eighteen already, old enough to make your own decisions. Right?”
He stopped to look around the class. Someone to my right yelled out “Right!” This didn’t seem to faze Mr. Nash.
“Then can someone tell me why you guys decided to act like the biggest morons over the weekend?” I could tell he wanted to use a stronger word.
The class was silent as Mr. Nash got up and weaved in and out between the desks. Nobody moved and, honestly, I’m not sure anyone breathed either.
“Because—seriously, you guys. Throwing a separate party with more kegs and booze than spring break in Puerto Vallarta is not only irresponsible, it’s downright dangerous.”
I allowed myself to look up and made contact with Alyssa who raised her eyebrows at me.
“Now, throw in drinking and driving, and you couldn’t make a worse mistake,” Mr. Nash was now pacing between the desks. Were the kids in my homeroom class right? Did Jenna actually drink and drive? I narrowed my eyebrows at Matt, who looked at me for a moment before shaking his head ever so slightly, a warning sign.
Mr. Nash continued despite the hushed murmurs that now filled the classroom. Apparently everyone had their own opinions and questions as to who got caught driving drunk. I was scared to look around.
“I love you guys,” he was saying. I now saw that he had returned to his signature spot, sitting on the edge of his desk. “But this is a disappointing... Is something funny, Zeke, Seth?” Mr. Nash narrowed his eyes. It was the same guys that I had gotten into it with that morning in homeroom.
Since Mr. Nash was looking down at some sort of clipboard, he missed Seth flipping him off.
“Excuse me,” I said, narrowing my eyes at Seth. The whole class turned to look at me. What the hell was I getting myself into? I stared Seth straight in the eye before shooting a sideways glance at Zeke for good measure. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Language, Abigail,” Mr. Nash walked towards us, still clutching the clipboard. “What is this all about?”
I stayed silent, hoping my glare was enough to scare them into taking action. Seth shrugged, and Zeke mumbled “No clue” as he leaned back in his chair with his arms folded behind his head.
I looked around the classroom. No one spoke up, even though I knew others saw the crude gesture. I couldn’t help but feel Matt staring at me. I knew he was trying to get me to glance his way, but I paid no attention.
I realized no one was going to help me out, and Mr. Nash was still looking for an answer.
“Nothing. Sorry.” My voice was small, almost inaudible.
“We don’t swear in here, Miss Henderson.” Mr. Nash continued, although I couldn’t help but notice that his mouth had softened slightly from the hard line that it was in before. “That’s a detention.”
He returned to his desk, slamming down the clipboard. A few kids jumped, myself included.
“Detention will be held every Wednesday. For those of you who have no clue what I’m talking about, you’re not included. For those of you who do know what I’m talking about, if you’d like your detention to not stretch until the end of the school year, I have a volunteer opportunity available that I’m in charge of. I can’t make you do volunteer work, hence the name. But, if you’re interested, there is a sheet up here. I promise it will help you complete your detention faster.”
“No one is going to sign up for that shit,” a girl sitting across from Seth whispered. Even though her back was to me, I could hear her. Mr. Nash, however, didn’t. My blood started boiling again, but I kept my mouth shut.
Mr. Nash spoke for a few moments longer about consequences before turning his attention to the lesson plan. We were rewriting famous literary classics into modernized versions. It was tedious work and not something I particularly enjoyed, but it was good to have a distraction. Halfway through my work, a piece of paper hit my arm. I looked up immediately, trying to see who had thrown it. Everyone looked as if they were working, except Seth, who seemed to be smirking. I could see that there were words written between the crinkles. I knew he had intended for me to open it. Instead I crushed in tighter in my hands, allowing the satisfying crinkling of the paper to cut through the otherwise silent air.
I pushed my chair back and kept my gaze forward as I headed towards Mr. Nash’s desk. I tossed the note into the garbage can and turned to sign my name, the first on the list.
Mr. Nash never looked up from his book, but I saw a slight smile cross his face.
I turned and narrowed my eyes at Seth right before the bell rang.
CHAPTER 16
“Psst. Come here.” Her voice was somewhere between a whisper and a hiss. Her long fingers and even longer nails were painted the color of blood. It was the same blood that was running through my veins and pounding in my ears.
I moved closer, and her sharp features came into view. Her black hair fell down around her shoulders in tangles, covering the left half of her face. The right appeared to be fragile, made of porcelain. As if it would all shatter if anyone so much as reached out to touch her.
“I have something for you.” Her voice was clearer now. She grabbed my arm tightly as I reached out my hand. I couldn’t pull away until she let go and dropped a charm bracelet into my outstretched palm. It was cool to the touch. I ran my fingers over each glass bead, fire and water reflecting in each. Eventually I came to the engraved initials. The letters suddenly twisted, intertwining together as if engaging in some sort of ritual I didn’t understand. Suddenly, they stopped. A new word formed: “Run.”
I looked around. I was on an empty street.
“Dylan.” A voice pierced the silence from behind me. “Run.”
I opened my mouth. Blood poured out as I began to scream.
That scream suddenly reverberated off the empty walls, echoing. My eyes flew open. My palms were flat on a cool glass surface. It wasn’t the beads I was dreaming about, however. It was my bathroom floor. I sat up. My head was pounding. It took me a moment to realize I was screaming in real life. I shook my head.
Scattered around me were papers and various charts from an all-nighter of research. I quickly grabbed a piece of paper and added the name ‘Dylan?’ underneath the place where I had scratched out Jenna’s name. Something felt off about this latest addition of a name after I lifted the pencil off the paper. It was that feeling of déjà vu. There was a dull ache somewhere within my heart and a strong possibility that Dylan was my identity in my previous life.
After gulping down some water, I let my eyes glance over my arm. Basking in the warm glow of the hallway light, I saw a fresh cut right where the woman from my nightmare had dug her nails into my skin.
I wasn’t stupid. Even if I thought I was, the notebook reminded me o
f the truth. I had been someone else before I was Abigail. Glen had given me that much. Although the thought was always in the back of my head, I kept it hidden away. Think too much about everything that was happening, and I would drown in everything. In sorrow, in worries, in confusion. I laid back down on the bathroom floor, bunching back up the towel I was using as a pillow. It was the dead of night. I knew that without even having to look at the clock.
I was home alone again, a frequent occurrence on weekends, as Dad’s work included trial runs at arcades across the area.
I hadn’t had a good night’s sleep since the weekend before the dance. The events of that night were fresh in my mind, especially since this morning would be the first volunteer option with Mr. Nash. We still weren’t entirely sure where we were going. We were just told to meet in front of the school and carpool over.
I lay back down, letting the cool air from the vent blast over me. For the end of September, it was surprisingly warm. I knew that the months would soon get colder, eventually leading us into winter and the month of December. Those were the last thoughts that entered my mind before I fell into another restless sleep.
By the time my alarm beeped again, signaling I needed to head to school, I looked and felt no better.
I splashed water on my face and added a little bronzer to my cheeks, hoping to add a little life to my face. I had no idea what type of work we were doing, except that Mr. Nash had told us to wear sturdy shoes and dress for the weather.
I barely managed to pull on a pair of leggings and a t-shirt with the emperor tamarin mascot. It looked up at me, smiling, as if it were mocking me and everything I still had left to do. I found a sweatshirt hanging in my closet. With a quick zip, I was able to hide the mascot and the cut on my arm.
It was a little after 8 a.m. when I left but the road was already filled with early weekend risers. I stopped to grab a muffin at a local convenience store before pulling into the parking lot of the school, which was for the most part empty. I saw Mr. Nash sitting at the bench where he had told us to meet. Above him, the fall leaves were beginning to change color. While I watched, two leaves fell from their branches, landing next to Mr. Nash, who paid no attention to them. He seemed deep in thought, peering down at a book.
I flipped down my mirror and checked my appearance. I looked tired, but not as horrible as I had felt earlier that morning.
The clock now read 8:30 a.m. which was the exact time that Mr. Nash had told us to meet, saying we’d drive to the site shortly after.
I meticulously picked crumbs off my shirt and pants, putting them into the plastic garbage bag next to me. I was trying to kill a few minutes in hopes that someone else from the class would show up and be the first to approach Mr. Nash.
By the time every last crumb was in the bag, the clock had only moved forward three minutes.
I looked around. No cars had pulled in, and no one had joined Mr. Nash on the bench. A flurry of activity caught my attention, but it was just a cleaning crew emptying the garbage near the front entrance. I turned back to look at Mr. Nash, who was staring at me.
It was time to commit. I got out of the car, walking towards him. He closed his book and put it in a briefcase as he saw me approaching.
“Abigail, hello.”
“Hi, Mr. Nash.” I smiled back warmly at him and took a seat on the empty picnic bench, trying to calm my nerves. “Um...” I trailed off for a moment. “Where is everyone?”
Mr. Nash sighed. “No one else is here yet.” He was fiddling around in his briefcase, eventually pulling out the sign-up list.
I was able to sneak a glance at it before he tucked it back away. There was my name on top, followed by ‘screw you’ in capital letters, and a few scribbled names I couldn’t make out. Something told me they were fake names. Kids were mean.
“We’re waiting on Chase, who said he may be able to make it,” Mr. Nash continued. “And I was hoping that a few other kids would show up. Sometimes high-schoolers are fickle about putting their names down in writing.”
I nodded. “Big commitment.”
Mr. Nash smiled, and we waited in silence for a few more minutes. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat for a moment, well aware of how close his arm was to mine. I scolded myself for the thoughts that were entering my head.
“Well, I guess we better get going,” Mr. Nash picked up his briefcase. “They’re expecting us there at 9, and it’s a bit of a drive.”
I nodded.
“Now the reason I had everyone meet here is because I figured carpooling would be easier, but with just the two of us, you’re still more than welcome to drive with me.”
I nodded. “That’s probably for the best. I get lost easily.” More like, locations confuse me until Glen gets involved.
The car ride started off a little awkwardly. I stumbled over my words as Mr. Nash fiddled with the windows and radio, making sure that I was comfortable.
His jeep was nice and smelled new, mixed with the scent of vanilla thanks to the air freshener I spotted. I looked around. It was almost like having a glimpse into his personal life. Aside from his briefcase and a water bottle, there wasn’t much to go on. I was hoping for one of those stick-figure bumper stickers, an indication that he had some sort of family.
My thoughts came back to reality, Mr. Nash was talking.
“They’re super-grateful for the help. I’ve actually been helping out for the past year, and they’ve been asking when I’m going to bring in some of my students.”
I missed the first part of whatever he said but I nodded. “I’m sorry no one else came.” I sincerely meant it. I couldn’t help but notice the way Mr. Nash’s shoulders slumped when he realized no tires were squealing into the parking lot to indicate that at least a latecomer would be rushing to join us.
“I’m sorry too,” Mr. Nash said softly as he pulled onto the highway.
For the next fifteen minutes, we stuck to safe topics. He asked what plans I had for college. None yet, but I knew I wanted to have a future.
“Maybe something with writing?” I wasn’t just saying it to be a teacher’s pet. When the words were out of my mouth, they just felt right.
“Ambitious. I like it,” Mr. Nash smiled at me as he looked over his shoulder before changing lanes. “I’ve been meaning to tell you, but we haven’t had conferences yet. Your writing is good. Very good, especially for someone your age.”
“I appreciate it.”
“Not to bash the class, because some do have potential. It’s just that none of them take writing seriously. I find that if they’re not interested in it as a career, which the vast majority of them aren’t, then they just don’t put in the effort.”
We talked a little bit more about my other classes, eventually turning to Mr. Nash and what led him to be a teacher. I was surprised to learn that it wasn’t always his first choice, even though it came so naturally to him. He had wanted to be a firefighter. He laughed, remembering how his mom had even taken him to tour a local firehouse once, but he had cried because he was too scared of the poles they had to slide down.
I was able to sneak a sideways glance as he studied the road. I knew his first name was Ethan and he was around twenty-five years old. Other than that, his past was just as vague as my future. Both filled with murky waters that, something told me, we both were trying to trudge through.
My initial nerves were gone. In what seemed like no time, we were pulling off the highway and driving down winding roads lined with sparse trees. I felt more at ease than I ever had before.
“It’s nice out here.” I rolled down my window a little more, letting in the fresh air of the country.
“It is.” Mr. Nash nodded in agreement. “I’ve driven out here many times just to think.”
It was the first personal detail he’d shared. We drove a little further in silence until I squinted at a homemade sign created with a wooden pallet and peeling yellow paint.
“Copper Hope Farm, Next Left.” Below the main sign, someone
had written that there were sunflower seeds for sale.
“Welcome to the epitome of the Midwest.” Mr. Nash smiled at me as he turned up the hill. There was a farm. That explained the need for sturdy shoes.
I threw my hair into a bun as we pulled into a makeshift parking lot, the car crunching over gravel as Mr. Nash found a spot between two cars.
“Can you hand me that folder near your feet?”
His hand brushed against mine as I handed him the bright yellow folder, which appeared to be stuffed with handouts. He slid a piece of paper over to me.
“Guess printing off twenty of these was overkill.” He gave a dry laugh as I began to read through the paper.
“So this just basically has general guidelines. I’m good friends with the owners, the Coppers. This has been their family farm for years. Recently they’ve partnered with an inpatient treatment facility up the road for recovering addicts. The people from the facility do farm work. They help plant, feed the animals, run the gift shop, things like that.”
I read over the form. It was more or less as the same one I’d had to sign for permission to go.
“It’s great because it gives the recovering addicts something positive to focus on. It’s also great for the Coppers, because they’re getting older and they can’t do as much as they used to. They only recently added Hope to the name, after they partnered with the facility.”
“That’s very sweet.”
Mr. Nash nodded, “So basically, today and for as long as you--” he took a pause before adding, “and anyone else-- choose to come, we’ll be helping with whatever they need. And you’ll be avoiding detention this way.”
The cut on my arm had started to tingle as the memory of my nightmare worked its way into my brain.
Mr. Nash gingerly touched my arm, causing me to jump.
“I’m sorry.” He was looking at me quizzically. “Are you okay?”
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