2
Maggie
“Absolutely pathetic!” Sadly, pulling the comb through my hair again did nothing to improve it. The dull brown strands fell lifelessly down the center of my back. Of course, technically, hair was already dead, yet somehow mine seemed deader than most. I carefully set the skinny comb on the edge of our avocado green sink. The bathroom was much too small for a counter-top so the retro sink had to pull double duty.
“I wonder if Hillary ever has a bad hair day.” I asked my reflection in the chipped mirror above the sink. “Probably not.” Hillary was the cheer captain at my school, Port Fare High, and every boy’s fantasy girl. Whatever!
I wasn’t an ugly girl. I had nice eyes, sort of. There were huge shadows around them anymore thanks to too many late-night study sessions, but their blue color was somewhat pretty. I had a good nose. It was straight and short, though it did turn up a little too much at the end. And my skin was clear, this week anyway.
I jabbed my fingers through my hair again in hopes of infusing some life into it.
Nope.
I dropped my hands back down onto the sink’s edge, forgetting about the precariously placed comb, and sent it plunging into our pink toilet. Yet another great day in my dull, boring life! I fished the comb out, pouring bleach on it and left it in the sink to soak. I wrapped a rubber band around my dead hair and went to my room.
The back seam of my one and only winter coat had ripped out right before Christmas, and I now had to dress in layers to keep warm. I pulled on a tank top and two tee shirts, grabbing my beige sweater off the bed before heading into the kitchen to pack some lunch.
Scooping up the mail off the wobbly kitchen table, I thumbed through it while standing next to our trash bin. “Hmm, junk mail.” One was addressed to me: Maggie Brown, You may already be a $1,000,000 winner!
“Good, my troubles are over.” I tossed the envelope into the dilapidated orange bin and gathered the peanut butter and the last of the bread from the cupboard before continuing.
The next letter was addressed to my mother. Barbara Brown, you are invited to join the Wine of the Month club. Call 1-800—“Oh, yeah, exactly what my mother needs.” I ripped the invitation into several small pieces and filed it alongside the $1,000,000 advertisement. The only other piece of mail was the electric bill, and it was overdue. “Shoot!” I set it beside the tattered dish drainer to remind myself to write out a check after school.
With only one slice of bread left, I made up half a sandwich for my mother. If anyone needed food, she did. I packed up my book bag and walked over to where her skeletal frame lay sprawled across the couch sleeping off last night’s dinner: a bottle of vodka. I swept back a matted strand of gray hair from her prematurely-lined face—no one would have guessed her to be only 34 years-old—and kissed her cheek, something I'd have never done if she were coherent.
“I lo … bye, Mom.” I wanted to tell her I loved her, but she’d never made our home a safe place for expressing emotions. And even though she was asleep, I still couldn’t do it. I’d learned from an early age to keep my feelings buried deep inside, training myself never to cry in front of her. Having to endure her ridiculing if I were to show her my true emotions would have killed me.
I thought back to when I was just seven years old. I’d fallen out of an apple tree and had hurt my arm. Lying on a rotting heap of wormy apples, I screamed out in pain. Within seconds, my mother was at my side.
“Shut up! You’re embarrassing me.” She jerked me up by my injured arm and dragged me into the house. “Stop crying and go to bed!”
I remembered rubbing the tears dry from my cheeks, and forcing myself to stop crying. “My arm hurts, bad!”
“Good! Maybe that will teach you to be more careful, cry-baby.”
Two days later the school nurse noticed my swollen, misshapen arm during recess and tried calling my mom for over two hours. She never answered the phone. The neighbor listed on my emergency contact card drove me to the hospital instead. It turned out my arm was broken in two places. And the reason my mother never picked up the phone? She was passed out from her liquid lunch.
Social services showed up at our home the next day. My mother was sober by then and was able to lie her way out of trouble, but she went ballistic on me after they’d left.
“If you ever pull a stunt like that again, I’ll stick you in a foster home so fast your head will spin, and then you’ll no long be a burden to me!” From then on, all my tears were saved for my pillow.
I turned and gave the room a quick once-over to make sure nothing was lying around she might stumble over and hurt herself on. Quietly closing the door of our dilapidated blue trailer, I tightened my antiquated sweater as the bitter cold wind sliced through it. “Oooh!” Spring couldn’t come soon enough for me. Still, despite the brutal winters, Upstate New York was a beautiful place to live.
The school was close, only 12 minutes away if I jogged, something I usually did during the winter months. It was the first day of school since the Christmas break, and I was looking forward to getting back into a routine
When I reached the park near my home, a sporty red Lexus IS F pulled up alongside me. My heart skipped a beat. I knew the car and could easily pick it out in a crowd, along with its hot owner. Seth Prescott: beautiful car, beautiful hair, beautiful… seriously, what wasn’t beautiful about him? He even had a way of making the scruffy brown cowboy boots he always wore look hot. He’d transferred to Port Fare High from some fancy private school last summer, and I’d developed a serious crush on him, along with every other girl in school. I knew he was out of my league, but it didn’t stop me from indulging in a daydream or two. I’d heard he lived alone since his parents died a while back. Rather impressive for a guy who was only eighteen.
“Want a ride?” He flashed a to-die-for smile as a gust of wind caught his shoulder-length brown hair, tossing the silky locks onto his face. His green eyes sparkled as he brushed the hair behind his ears and laughed.
Yep, he was freakin’ hot.
I thought of the look on Hillary’s face if she were to see me in Seth’s car. Priceless. I quickly doused the daydream. “No, thanks.” The idea of trying to make conversation with Mr. Tall and Yummy, even if only for five minutes, was more than I could handle this early in the morning. I’d rather walk. He let out a rush of air as if he had been holding his breath and drove away.
Crossing the school parking lot a short time later, my ex-boyfriend Zack Finkle cruised by in his rusted-out Chevy something or other. I quickly diverted my gaze to the ground. He honked his horn, or rather played his horn in his search for a parking spot, all the while primping his spiky blond hair. Some goofy tune bellowed out of the car, and he gave his engine a punch of gas as he shifted gears. For some unknown reason I waved, though I had to wrestle back a sneer. He smiled and winked one of his dull gray eyes. Sick! We broke up after dating two months. He insisted we sleep together, I insisted we didn’t.
I won.
Weaving my way through the last row of cars, I was nearly plowed down by a bright yellow Mini Cooper driven by none other than Hillary Jeffers: cheerleader, beautiful, perfect in every way. Perfect hair, perfect skin, perfect clothes, and perfect pom-poms. She didn’t as much as glance in my direction. No surprise, she rarely acknowledged my existence. It worked for me.
Naturally, Zack had a thing for her, but Hillary only had eyes for Seth—and who could blame her—even still, I had no doubt Zack would have her one day. He was a devious little worm. His family had considerable power in the community, which meant they hung out in all the right circles. Regardless of her lust for Seth, Hillary lusted after power and money even more. Zack was just her speed.
I entered the main building via the gym door and went straight to my locker, running into Karen Mayes on the way. She was yet another tall gorgeous cheerleader, but Karen was Hillary’s opposite–she was nice. She looked toasty warm in her long, red sweater and black leggings.
“Hi, Maggie, did you have a good Christmas?” Her smile sparkled against her clear ebony skin, as did the shiny white headband in her hair.
“Yes, how about you?”
“Great. My family and I went skiing in Utah for a week. It was awesome. Have you ever been there?”
“No,” nor had I ever been skiing. After fighting with my locker combination a few times, I opened the door and shoved my extra books inside.
Karen carefully slipped her pom-poms in behind my books and gently shut the door. Her locker was jammed fully of cheer paraphernalia, leaving little room for the blue and gold streamers. I let her keep them in mine.
“I appreciate you letting me use your locker. I guess it’s silly to be this fussy over pom-poms, it’s just that some of the other girls get rather nasty if they don’t look perfect.” Undoubtedly, she meant Hillary. “Did you get anything fun for Christmas?”
“Oh, you know the same old boring thing.” Nothing.
“Yes, but those boring Christmas’ make the big Christmas’ even better, don’t you think?” She then lowered her voice. “Guess what? I got an email from Mrs. Connor over break. I’m getting a B!”
I’d been helping her study for her English Lit class during the lunch hour. She was getting a D, and would have been suspended from the cheer team if she couldn’t bring it up to a C.
“That’s great!”
“Thanks for the help. I lost track of how many lunches you skipped to help me.”
Not many really. It’s not as if I brought lunch very often.
“Hey, I have an extra donut. Do you want it?” She wiggled a tan sack at me. “It won’t make up for all the lunches you missed, but it’s a start.”
“Are you sure?” I tried to sound casual despite the fact I was starving.
“Yes.” She handed me a glazed doughnut from a small sack. “See ya later.”
“Thanks.” I eagerly stuffed the doughnut into my mouth. It tasted wonderful, of course, hungry as I was, cardboard would have tasted wonderful. After licking the last of the icing off my fingers, I made my way over to my first class of the day, Modern Mythology.
Port Fare High divided the classes up into 90-minute blocks. Each class was taught every other day, a plus for me since I hated math.
On the other hand, it could be extremely painful if you had a dull teacher. Case in point, the Modern Mythology teacher, Dr. Bore, or Bore the Snore as he was known amongst the student body. Not only was he a complete bore, but he was also a bit bizarre.
The self-proclaimed nonconformist was a thin, scrawny man, with a feeble gray beard. It matched the straggly gray hair he kept tied back in a ponytail via a thin leather strap. He wore collarless shirts, and because the school policy stated male teachers had to wear a tie, he kept one draped about his neck, untied. He wore sandals every day. Nothing, not rain, nor sleet, not even snow could keep him from wearing his silly Birkenstocks. If that wasn’t bad enough, a weird odor hung on him all the time. I did my best to avoid standing too close to him.
His five or six minions sat in the front desks soaking up every word he had to say, while the rest of the class battled sleep. My favorite spot was the far right corner of the room where I could sit unnoticed. Before class started, I dropped into my usual desk and began doodling in my notebook, immediately becoming lost in my thoughts. So lost I didn’t notice who sat down next to me.
“Hello, again.” I immediately recognized the deep warm voice and turned to look into Seth’s delicious eyes. He had on a long-sleeved, yellow striped polo, and a pair of well-worn Levis. I glanced about to see who he was talking to, only to discover there wasn’t anyone else around.
“Hi?” Not meaning for it to sound like a question, I blushed.
“Maggie Brown, right?” I nodded cautiously at him. “Where do you live?”
Why did he want to know that? “Why?” I sounded rude, which wasn’t my intent. Maybe I should stick to nodding. My hand sprung to a strand of limp hair that had escaped from my rubber band, and I was about to begin twirling the hairs back and forth between my first two fingers, an anxious habit of mine, but thankfully, I caught myself and quickly dropped my hand back down.
“I noticed you were walking to school today and it’s pretty cold out. Would you like a ride in the mornings? My house is over on Ivy Circle, do you live near there?”
Where else would this beautiful being live except for on the rich side of town. “Sorry, I live off Main Street, by Applegate Park. Thanks anyway.”
He reached over and tucked the limp strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers felt warm as they brushed against the jaw of my still cold face and it forced another shiver down my back.
“It’s not that far out of my way. If you’d like, I can pick you up,” he said with a smile.
My first instinct was to wonder why he was being so kind. What did he want? True, I had seen him around school, but we’d never hung out, let alone had a conversation.
“I’m trying to get in shape for track team tryouts in the spring.” Okay, that was a shameless lie. “Thanks anyway.” He looked as if he was about to insist, when Hillary appeared out of nowhere, wrapping her arms about his neck. She was wearing a pink mini skirt and white blouse. How she was staying warm was a mystery to me.
“Good morning, beautiful.” Hillary smiled as he turned and stood. I briefly wondered if I looked as mesmerized as she did when looking at him. “Will you help me with the Mythology homework? You never called back last night, naughty boy. Trying to avoid me?” She stuck out her bottom lip in a pout and slid her arm around his waist.
“Sorry, Hillary. I was busy and forgot.”
“I’ll forgive you if you come over and help me before class starts.” She flashed him another impish pout and turned to leave. He followed like a whipped puppy, but not before he glanced back at me and mouthed, “We’ll talk later.”
Okay, weird. I had no idea he even knew my name. Apparently, Hillary had her hooks into him deep. She whistles. He jumps. I wondered if a guy would ever care for me like that. “Maybe if I was built like Hillary,” I mumbled under my breath.
I was actually enjoying the single life since breaking up with Zack. I had no one trying to force me into compromising on things I wanted, or didn’t want.
While we were dating, Zack was constantly trying to pressure me into trying alcohol. No thanks. Living with an alcoholic all my life gave me ample cause to avoid the stuff. He also tried getting me to smoke pot, which in my book was the same as alcohol except more destructive.
However, his all-time favorite thing was to try pressuring me into sex, with him. Ha! As if! A ripple of disgust washed over me as I remembered his wet, sloppy kisses. Since breaking up, I’d tried to figure out why I ever dated him in the first place. Loneliness, I suppose, but now that I was free, loneliness wasn’t so bad. I was independent and enjoying it immensely. I vowed never again to have a boyfriend hanging around me like a noose. I was a liberated woman who didn’t need a boy to be happy.
Dr. Bore droned on and on, it felt as if class would never end. To break up the agony, I pulled out my new class schedule and verified the changes. Everything was pretty much the same as last semester, except I added a fourth period Culinary class and had to switch my Community at Large class to second period.
Community at Large, or CaL, was my favorite class. Students from the high school drove over to Hunter Hills, the local elementary school, and assisted the teacher in the classroom for an hour with various activities. I worked with the emotionally needy children. Over half the class was in foster care, and had been through unspeakable horrors already in their young lives.
CaL was the highlight of my day. Truthfully, it was more like the highlight of my life. I felt more alive there than I did anywhere else. I willingly gave those kids the real me I didn’t trust to anyone else. It felt liberating, and truthfully, they did more for me than I could possibly have done for them.
The bell rang, rousing me out of my daydream. Since carpooling to the child’s home was mandatory, I hurried toward the CaL classroom to find out whom I was driving with.
“Hey, Maggie, how was your Christmas break?”
Melody Winkmyer. We’d known each other since the third grade though we rarely hung out. She was short, maybe 5’2,” and had tons of short, curly brown hair. Her face was always a bright red, as if she’d just run a marathon. She was also a wizard on the lacrosse team. “Have you heard the latest?” Gossip, Melody should have a PhD in it by now. To be sure, the girl knew something about everyone. “Mark and Debbie broke up!”
That was news. They had been a couple since tenth grade, and everyone assumed they’d get married after high school. “Debbie and her family went on a cruise over Christmas break, and she met some guy from Mexico. They’re engaged!”
“Not!”
“Debbie told me herself. Her parents are livid.” Melody’s cheeks were positively glowing with excitement over the news. It made me uncomfortable.
“How’s Mark doing?” I liked Mark, he was a decent guy. This had to be difficult for him.
“Well, he’s not in school today!” She smiled broadly. I was about to change the subject when Hillary rushed past me. Seth was walking directly ahead of us, no doubt she was trying to catch up to him.
Melody frowned. “Are those two still an item?” Hillary reached Seth and looped her arm through his. She proceeded to flip her long strawberry-blond hair, drawing attention from every male within 100 yards. I had to pull my head back to avoid being smacked in the face with it.
Melody’s frown deepened, and she whispered loudly, “Never mind. Does he ever date regular people like me?”
“There are plenty of other guys out there. Zack and I broke up.”
“No thanks, he’s too handsie.” So true. He had little respect for anyone’s personal space especially if that someone were female.
“I heard Seth keeps a comb in his back pocket in case his precious hair dares to mess up,” she again whispered loudly. I hoped he was too busy drooling over Hillary to overhear her, though he’d have to be deaf not to.
“I also heard he ducks into the bathroom between classes to check up on it. Girls only like him because he’s hot. I’ll bet his personality totally sucks. And did you know Hillary changed her schedule around so they would be in all the same classes?”
“I don’t know him very well. He seems nice.” She rolled her eyes and accused me of having a crush on him before running off after another friend.
The CaL classroom was full. I worked my way to the back, waiting for my carpool assignment. The teacher, Miss Coy, came in and tried to call the class to order. She was a small soft-spoken woman and it took her several tries to quiet the room down. Eventually, a techno-geek helped her hook up a microphone. It only made it worse. Her petite voice kept breaking up over the speakers. I leaned toward her as if it would help me to understand better.
“Most of you had this c—ss last s—ester and wo-ld like you to conti—e driving with the same p—ple. H—ever some of you are new, or h—ve switched perio—. Who does not —ave a ride this seme—er?” My hand and four others went up. Before Miss Coy could ask for volunteers, Seth Prescott turned to her and said something.
Seth? I had no idea he had signed up for CaL. He didn’t seem the type: a good looking, seemingly self-absorbed guy, working with children? I quickly chastised myself for judging him unfairly. I’d noticed I was getting a little too judgmental lately and decided my New Year’s resolution this year would be to rein it in. Might as well start now. I will not judge, I repeated over in my mind.
Miss Coy said something in reply to Seth before calling the class to order again. “Who can t—ke —?” She rattled off the other four student’s names, nine kids volunteered, and she made the assignments. “Maggie Br—, you’—be riding wi-h—” Her voice broke up again making it impossible for me to understand her. She continued. “These assi—ments are for the e—ire semest—, no exceptio—,” she added sternly. I raised my hand to ask of my fate, when Seth appeared next to me out of nowhere.
“Ready, Maggie?” Seth rattled his keys in front of me. I gawked at him as if he had lost his mind. Surely, Miss Coy hadn’t assigned me to ride with him? “I’m afraid you’re stuck with me for the entire semester, you heard what she said about switching rides.”
He volunteered to take me? Why? The expression on my face must have been obvious because he added, “I believe we’re both in Mrs. Mathew's class at the child’s home, correct?”
I groaned silently and nodded. There was my answer. What in the world would we possibly have to talk about on the drive over? Hair-gel? He could probably give me some pointers. His hair always looked great even after the wind had tossed it onto his face. I heaved my book bag up onto my shoulder, smiled politely, and followed him out to the parking lot.
An arctic blast cut through my thin sweater as he opened the car door for me, and I let out a gasp. He was around and in the car in record time, cranking up the heat and twisting the vents in my direction. “You really should wear a warmer coat,” he said. “You could get pneumonia wearing only that.” His car had black leather interior; it was beautiful, and cold. I was glad the heater worked well.
“I love this sweater,” I mumbled through my chattering teeth. Besides, it’s not as if I had another choice. Rich people like him don’t have a clue what … You’re judging him, Maggie. I smiled, tightened my sweater around me, and blocked out the negative thoughts.
Before long, we lapsed into an uncomfortable silence. Neither he nor I seemed to know what to say. I wrenched myself closer to the door while stealing a quick glance at him. I was surprised to see his hands wrapped tightly around the steering wheel, so tight his knuckles were white. I looked out at the road to see if maybe we were driving on ice. It looked clear to me.
Finally, Seth broke the silence. “Why do I make you nervous?” He had a slight smile on his face now. “By the way, you should slide to the center of the seat, it’s much more comfortable.”
“I’m comfortable, thanks.” In actuality, the armrest was digging into my hip, causing me significant pain. I shifted a bit, making it worse.
“Isn’t Hillary taking this class with you?” I desperately wanted to change the subject.
“No, cheerleading practice was switched to second period. She had to drop CaL.” He chuckled softly, leading me to believe he’d heard Melody in the hall earlier. How embarrassing!
Only when we pulled up to the school did I realize my fingers were tangled up around my hair. Seth looked over at me and smiled. My face went pink as I untwisted them. He jumped out and came around to open my door before I could get out.
“Thanks for the ride.”
He nodded. “This is my second semester here. It’s my favorite class.”
“Mine too,” I said, astonished.
“Why is it yours?” His face looked sincere, as if he was truly interested in what I had to say.
“The kids love you, and they don’t care what you wear.” I thought of my thin worn out sweater. “Nor do they care what your hair looks like.” That was aimed at his vanity. For a split second, he smiled. “They love you and want you to love them. No strings attached. It’s …” I trailed off in search of the right word.
“Pure love.”
“Yes, pure love.” I couldn’t have said it any better. This was the one place on earth I’d ever felt loved or wanted. My mother certainly didn’t love me. At least she’d never expressed it in any way. As a child I longed for her to gather me onto her lap and read me a story, or brush my hair and tell me I was pretty. She never did. She never hugged me, or tucked me into bed at night, and she never made me dinner, or any other meal for that matter. She had a wicked mean streak, and when she was upset, her harsh words nipped at my heart. She was a cold, distant woman who drank too much.
A year and a half ago things changed, for the worst. She was rarely sober anymore and seldom left the house. Her words took on a new cruelty; they cut clear to my soul, some days shredding it into pieces. Words like: get out of my sight, you lazy girl, or, can't you do anything right, you unlovable nothing? And my favorite, why didn’t I give you up when I had the chance?
As we approached the school door, a passage from my favorite Victor Hugo novel Les Misérables crossed my mind. For Jean Valjean there was no sun, no beautiful summer days, no radiant sky, no fresh April dawn. Completely lost in my pain, I didn’t feel the tears brimming up in my eyes until one spilled over the edge.
Seth softly turned me around to face him. “What’s wrong?” He peered into my eyes and it felt as if he was burrowing down into the dark recesses of my soul. His fingers ran softly across my cheek, brushing away the tears. There was an undeniable tenderness about him and it made my heart flutter. His reaction caught me off guard. I stammered for a moment not knowing what to say. Should I tell him about my pathetic life, explain to him how unloved I was, or how I could totally relate to these children and what they were feeling?
I opted for the safe answer, like always; show no emotion, keep it locked inside, they can’t hurt you if they don’t know anything about you.
“It’s the cold air, it’s burning my eyes.” Clearly, he didn’t buy my lame answer, but to his credit, he said nothing. He held the school door open for me and led us down the hall.
Crying? What the heck was wrong with me? It must be PMS! I stayed a few steps behind him secretly drying my face and running through a calendar in my mind.
Approaching the classroom, I peered around his shoulder and saw twenty-two little smiles eagerly awaiting us, their little cherub faces pressed up against the glass in the door that promptly flew open. Out they came, jumping on Seth and me, knocking us both to the floor. Their reaction to him stunned me. Apparently, they loved him as much as they did me.
Zane, a tenderhearted blond boy, was now perched on my knees. “Why are you here early, Miss Maggie?”
“I had to change my school schedule to this hour.”
“Wow! Our two most favoritist teachers at the same time,” swooned Noah, a sweet little guy with big brown eyes. “I’m the luckiest boy ever!” He smiled as Seth helped me up off the floor.
“You know what this means!” said Elise, a stunning, curly-haired blond girl.
“What?” Seth asked.
“It means you two have to get married.” She smothered her giggle into her hands, along with several other little girls, while some began chanting, “Kiss her, kiss her.” Seth laughed loudly, scooped me into his arms, and before I could protest, planted a big noisy kiss on my cheek. Wow, his cologne smelled heavenly. I laughed as the girls cheered and the boys made gagging sounds. He released me when their teacher, Mrs. Mathews, a tall, middle-aged, Korean woman with long silky black hair, came out into the hall and shooed them back inside.
“Alright, children, settle down.” As always, her voice was gentle. “We now have Mr. Seth, along with Miss Maggie as our visiting teachers for this hour. Since we haven’t had our guest teachers read to us for several weeks, we’re going to separate into two groups for story time.” She quickly divided the kids up and sent the groups to opposing ends of the room. Harrison, a precious redheaded boy, chose several books for me to read as the rest of my group settled into beanbag chairs or on small carpet squares. Noah curled up in my lap and began stroking my cheek.
The time flew. Occasionally, I’d hear Seth read a line with exaggerated drama and the children would laugh. I tried not to look over at him, yet my eyes were drawn there as if by some unseen force. He was glowing. He seemed at home with the little first graders, three of whom were sitting on his lap. I was taken aback by this side of him.
Halfway through the hour, Mrs. Mathews had us switch places so the children could spend equal time with both of us, though Noah insisted he stay with me. I looked at Seth as we crossed the room. He smiled and winked. I dropped my head as my face turned at least four shades of red, and my mind flooded with suspicion. Why was he acting this way? Did he think I was going to be another notch in his belt?
Elise tugged at my arm. “What’s wrong, Miss Maggie?” I didn’t realize my expression had deteriorated into a scowl. Nudging the negative thoughts out, I began reading to my new group.
By the end of class, my ill feelings toward Seth had almost vanished, that was until he slipped his arm around my shoulders while we walked down the hall toward his car. I pulled away and gave him an icy glare.
“Sorry,” he said, wrestling with a smile. “My car is out this way.” I glanced around and realized I had turned down the wrong hall. I nodded curtly and walked toward the correct door, completely humiliated by my childish overreaction.
I quietly settled into his car, and we drove back to the high school, again, in tortured silence. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear he was as nervous as I was.
Clearing my throat, I attempted to make conversation as we approached the school. “The kids really like you,” I said.
“Yeah, probably because I’m so hot!” he teased… I think… I hope! Augh! Melody!
“You know, I’m surprised the three of us can fit in your car.”
“Three? I do believe there are only two.”
“Me, you, and your over-sized ego, I believe that makes three.” I jumped out before the car came to a complete stop, slamming the door shut behind me. I was trying to placate some of my guilt, though why I should feel guilt I had no idea. It was Melody who criticized him, not me.
“You’re welcome,” he shouted to my backside.
Just because he does something kind doesn’t mean he’s not an egomaniac, I reasoned, still trying to salve my wounded pride.
Later at lunch, I cut through the cafeteria on my way to the library. The placed smacked of rotted food and gym socks, not the most inviting smells for a lunchroom.
Divided into rows of three were forty long gray plastic tables with attached benches. Spread across the ceiling were a dozen humming fluorescent lights, and down the center of the room sat three huge black garbage cans spaced between the tables, adding to the ambiance.
Seth and Hillary were snuggled together at their usual table near the front of the room, all giggles and jokes. Never once did he look my way, which was just fine with me. Who needed an arrogant snob in their life? I had enough to deal with without adding him to the list, including the nagging voice in the back of my head telling me it was wrong to judge him. It really needed to shut up!
I arrived home from school to find my slimy neighbor, Mr. Hoffman from across the road, walking back toward his haggard gray trailer. My guess was he had spent the afternoon with my mother and a bottle or two of vodka, something he seemed to be doing all too regularly over the past three weeks. I opened the door and found my mother passed out on the couch and surmised I was right.
My mom used to have lots of friends coming by to visit until I realized they were using her for what little money we had. After I’d gone to the bank and set up a checking account with direct deposit, and kept the checkbook hidden, the supposed friendships evaporated. Except for Hoffman. He’d moved in a few months ago and they’d become fast friends. He gave me the creeps.
I set about cleaning the house so not think about the aching hunger in the pit of my stomach. It was a pocket-sized trailer consisting of an extremely small living room-dining room-kitchen combination. The sparse mismatched furnishings were tattered beyond repair.
There was a brown couch that sagged horribly in the middle, a blue armchair—minus an arm, and a rickety kitchen table with two wobbly folding chairs Toward the back of the trailer was our micro-chip sized bathroom, and opposite the bathroom, were two 9 by 7 foot bedrooms. My mother rarely used hers, preferring to spend most of her days and nights passed out on the couch.
The floors throughout were a linoleum, cold brown linoleum, and it was normally littered with an empty booze bottle or two and a few stray tissues. The walls were painted a blanched white and were bare and tedious, mostly because we didn’t have the money to decorate them. I’d used thumbtacks to hang some old beige pillowcases over the tall narrow windows to afford us privacy.
My frantic cleaning efforts were rewarded. I found 83 cents under the chair’s flattened cushion. I finished my housework and ran to the store to buy some day-old bread.
***
Most of my lunch hours were spent in the library studying, that way I didn’t have to watch others eat. But not today. I had a peanut butter sandwich, and I ate in the cafeteria sitting alongside Melody who had asked me to sit with her before anyone else did. On any given day, I battled hunger headaches. Today it was a stress headache from listening to Melody’s insipid gossiping. I made several attempts to change the subject and finally gave up. The girl was like a dog with a bone. I tried to chew loudly on my dry bread and crunchy peanut butter, nevertheless, her voice still hacked through the white noise.
“Hillary said you are riding with Seth to CaL class now,” Melody said, adjusting her black polka dot shirt. “How many times did pretty boy fix his hair on the ride over?” I shrugged my shoulders, and dropped my head back down to my lunch. “You’re trying to be nice by not say anything, but you know I’m right. Look at the two of them. The perfect couple.”
They were sitting a few tables away from us, and I hoped they couldn’t hear her this time. I didn’t dare look, and instead nodded silently and continued staring down at my dehydrated bread.
“They sit there never speaking to anyone who isn’t in their little clique. They think they’re better than any of us because they’re rich and good-looking.” She snorted loudly. “They’re totally self-absorbed. It’s as if the rest of us don’t exist.”
I wiggled around uncomfortably in my seat, debating whether to say something about Seth and the way he loved the CaL kids. Or that I had indeed seen him hanging out with lots of different kids around school, not just the popular ones. But I didn’t. Instead, I swallowed the last of my sandwich and gathered up my things.
“I have to go, Melody. Thanks for sitting with me at lunch today.” I rushed off to my culinary class, relieved to be away from her. Some of what she said was probably true, yet I couldn’t stop thinking about him yesterday with the children.
The advantage of a cooking class was you got to eat what you created, and as hungry as I was most of the time I’d even eat my cooking. The classroom was close to the cafeteria, and with my hasty departure, I arrived ten minutes early. I chose a desk in the far back corner and hoped the teacher wasn’t one of those control freaks with a seating chart.
The classroom was huge. On one side were twelve two-person desks, and on the opposite end of the room were twelve white stoves with small counters to the left of each, along with four stainless steel refrigerators spaced out across the back.
Soon the class began filling up. Several of my friends stopped at my desk to ask how my Christmas was. Since everyone had already partnered up before coming in, I was still sitting alone at my desk when the teacher arrived. I hope that she’d pair me up with someone who cooked better than I did.
“Alright everyone, take your seat.” The teacher, Mrs. Gianchi, was a feisty Italian woman with dark hair that she wrapped tightly into a bun and anchored to the top of her head with several clips. Her smile was warm and generous, and her cheeks glowed bright pink, presumably from the heat of the ovens in the room. I’d seen her walking around in the halls before with her flowered aprons, and they usually looked nice, but today she had on a striped dress and the combination of the two made my eyes hurt.
“Good afternoon.” She stepped her petite frame up onto a small stool so everyone could see her better. “We’re going to jump right into cooking today with an easy lesson on candy making.” She explained how we were to mix up the ingredients and record the effect various temperatures had on our candy mixture as it heated up. She directed us toward the stoves, dividing everyone up into pairs. When she came to me, I still didn’t have partner.
“How can this be?” She pulled out her roll book. “There’s an even number of students enrolled in class.” Before she could find the list, Seth appeared at my side out of nowhere, startling me.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said with a grin.
Oh, no! This can’t be! We now had three classes together!
“There you are,” Mrs. Gianchi said to him, closing her book.
“I was held up, it won’t happen again.” He looked over at me and quietly adding, “I had to fix my hair.” Heat overtook my face, and I looked away.
“I need you to partner with Maggie.” He smiled broadly at Mrs. Gianchi's request. I turned my back on him as he slid up behind me, standing much too close. I moved away a few inches away, hoping he wouldn’t realize it. He did and scooted even closer. I got the distinct impression he was teasing me. I folded my arms across my stomach and glued my feet to the floor. He would have to walk over me if he thought I’d give him another inch. My eyes stayed fixed on the teacher, and yet I could feel his smile burrowing into the back of my head. She handed me the instructions, and I accidentally bumped into him moving toward the small counter. Still ignoring him, I began measuring and pouring items into the pan.
“Would you like my help, or am I supposed to stand here and look pretty?” he asked. I passed the recipe over and signaled for him to continue. He poured and measured quickly, I had a hard time keeping up with what he was doing.
Neither of us spoke as the temperature of our candy mixture slowly rose. Bore the Snore’s class was more thrilling than this… well, maybe it wasn’t quite that bad. Thankfully, Mrs. Gianchi interrupted our rampant excitement. “Class, remember drop a small amount of your mixture in cold water at each temperature, and record the reaction on your worksheet.”
An eternity later, the stupid mixture finally reached 230 degrees, our first test temperature. I reached into the pot, scooped up a spoonful of the sugary substance and was about to drop it into the glass of cold water, when an all-too-familiar voice startled me, causing me to spill the liquid candy.
“Seth, what did you do in a previous life that doomed you to be stuck with her for a partner?” Hillary. She was dressed in jeans and a cute black shearing jacket with a white fleece collar that made her alabaster skin glow. I never felt uglier. She gave me a supercilious look as she folded her arms across her chest. Her perfect chest. I quickly folded my arms crossed my not so perfect chest, as if it were a big secret God had forgotten to give me breasts. “Nice sweater, by the way,” she added. “It just screams trailer trash.”
“That’s enough, Hillary.” Seth frowned and glanced over at me. I was surprised that he actually shut her down. Impressive, though it didn’t seem to bother her any since she just flipped her hair and twisted his face back to her.
“My notebook is still in your car from last night.” She actually purred as she walked her fingers up his arm. “I need it for my history class. May I have your keys?”
Hillary and I both watched him walk over to the desk and rifled through his book bag for his keys.
Abruptly, she coiled back to me. “You’re so out of your league, girlfriend.” Her voice was low and her face, tight. “Even if he were to go out with you, it’d be for one reason and one reason only. Your kind are merely toys for boys like him.”
Racking my brain for a witty comeback, I came up flat and turned back to the thermometer. It now read 315 degrees. Sure, now the dumb mixture heats up fast! We’d missed every reading in-between. I pulled the pan off the burner as Seth returned with the keys. Hillary dropped them into her purse and blew him a kiss as she left.
“It’s ruined.” I slammed the pot onto the back of the stove, causing the contents to splash everywhere. “If your airhead girlfriend hadn’t come in and interrupted us we wouldn’t have failed this cooking lab. Now we’re going to get an F on the assignment!” For the life of me I couldn’t figure out why I was letting those two upset me like this.
His jaw tightened. “Hillary’s on the honor roll, so I guess that blows your airhead theory, and she’s not my girlfriend. Please let Melody know, won’t you?”
He snagged the candy worksheet, wrote down the answers, and tossed it back at me, muttering that something wasn’t working and he needed to make a phone call. He turned and stormed out the door without saying another word. Mrs. Gianchi rushed over.
“What is the matter with Seth?” I shrugged my shoulders trying not to look guilty. She picked up the worksheet and smiled. “He’s such a nice boy and what wonderful penmanship.”
Geez, even the adults were bedazzled by him!
“This worksheet looks correct. Once you’ve cleaned up this mess, you may leave,” she said, pointing at the candy splattered on the stove. She walked away leaving me to wallow in my misery. It took me the rest of the class period to clean up the now hardened mess.
My mind kept replaying Seth’s angry words in culinary class on my walk home, and I took offense to his comment. Melody was the bad guy here. I never said anything about him.
On the other hand, I didn’t stop her from maligning him or Hillary, and I did laugh at a few of her comments. As hard as I tried to appease my guilty conscience, I still felt terrible. I had been a victim of false rumors before and even though they were lies, it still hurt. I swore to myself that the next time Melody started ranting about Seth, I was going to speak up. My decision helped ease the guilt somewhat, and I picked up the pace. It was cold.
I got home and took a long hot shower to warm up my frigid body. My mom had already ingested her daily allotment of booze and was passed out on the couch. I thought about helping her into bed, only the last two times I’d tried, I was rewarded with some pretty nasty bruises. She was an ornery drunk. Sometimes it was best to let sleeping dogs lie.
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