by Tara Marlow
“While I would love to join the debate,” she continued, “I don’t have time. Between working on assignments, preparing for the exams, working a part-time job, and dealing with… some emotional stuff at home, I just can’t take on one more thing. Please believe me when I say this, Miss O’Donnell, I am working very hard so that I can leave, what I consider my version of hell, as soon as I possibly can.” Her knees weakened, she hoped they wouldn’t give out on her. She knew she shouldn’t be speaking back to the teacher, but she just couldn’t take it anymore.
Miss O’Donnell sat in her chair, her mouth agape. Grace didn’t know why. Plenty of kids talked back. Maybe it was because Grace never had before. Composing herself, Miss O’Donnell stood, straightened her perfectly ironed, periwinkle blue top over her crisp black trousers and looked right at Grace.
“Well Grace, thank you for your honesty. I do believe you’d have a strong voice for the debate. Your essays offer a solid argument. I thought this would be an opportunity to give your voice that power as well. But I appreciate your time constraints.” Grace, thinking the berating was over, turned to walk out the door and stumbled over the chair behind her. Miss O’Donnell grabbed her arm to stop her from falling. Grace gasped, sucking in a wheezing breath.
“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” the teacher asked. Grace faltered.
“I’m fine,” she said through gritted teeth. “Anything else?” The teacher looked at her for a long moment and finally shook her head.
* * *
At the last bell, Grace stuffed her books into her backpack and followed the crowd out the door. At least school was done for the day. She still had a four-hour shift tonight.
“Grace? May I see you a moment please?” Miss O’Donnell called out from the teacher’s lounge, just as she was heading to the school gate. Shit. What did she want now? Grace looked to the ground, trying to recall what time her shift started that night. Was it six o’clock, or five? God, she wished her phone was charged. Six. It was the normal time, but there’d been some switching with the roster lately. She thought that was right. Work was the place she couldn’t afford to be tardy. She needed the pay cheque. Needed the job. She looked up at her teacher and nodded tentatively. Miss O’Donnell ushered her into the overcrowded staff room, where Grace took a seat next to the teacher’s desk. Some of her recent assignments were spread out.
Great. First the note this morning and now… this? Whatever this was. She couldn’t afford to fail Year Twelve either.
“So,” the teacher began, settling into her seat. “What are your plans after high school, Grace?”
“I...” Grace hesitated and then decided it best to be up front about her goal. “I want to be a human rights journalist.”
Miss O’Donnell smiled. “Specific. Great. That’s an ambitious goal.” She sat back in her chair.
“I believe, with some fine tuning, you could excel in your exams and be on your way to that life. From what I can see, you’re dedicated.” The teacher placed her hands over the splayed-out papers. “You’re smart, and the chosen subject for your English major work assignment is in line with your goal.” Grace’s eyes widened, staring at the teacher with skepticism. How the hell did she know about her major work assignment? She wasn’t her teacher for that subject. Hmm. She didn’t trust this turnaround after this morning’s wrath.
“Your Extended English teacher shared your major work with me,” the teacher continued. “I think you’ll do well. Have you done any research on it yet?”
Grace felt obligated to share what she discovered already, and Miss O’Donnell shared additional insights with her. Surprisingly, Grace found the information helpful and would research further.
“Don’t be afraid to go for the dream, Grace. I know first-hand how complex this world can be... and how accepting it can be, if you give it a chance.” Grace stared at her in disbelief. She didn’t understand the turnabout, considering her teacher had not shown this much interest before. It made her wary.
Miss O’Donnell leaned forward and told Grace that since their meeting that morning, she’d received feedback from the rest of Grace’s teachers. This made things even more weird. Grace looked at her with suspicion.
“Your maths, while solid, could use some extra attention. Mr. Martin has given me some additional work for you, areas, he said, you are weaker in. He also said, if you have questions, see him directly. In fact, all your teachers told me that. We all believe you to be a strong student.”
“Thank you,” mumbled Grace, unsure of what else to say. Something wasn’t right. The teacher seemed to pick up on her hesitation and sighed.
“You gave me some insight into your home life, Grace. You have a part-time job, fine, but the emotional stuff you mentioned, that worries me. And, earlier, when you cried out when I tried to catch your fall? Well, that concerns me more. You don’t look well, more tired than I’d expect a normal kid to look like. I need to know if you are okay.” Grace’s back went up. When teachers zeroed in on her, that usually resulted in an impromptu move.
“Yes. Fine. Just a few rough nights at home,” she said, trying to throw off any concern. The last thing she needed was Child Services snooping around, especially with her father’s erratic moods. And, she really didn’t want to run again. She just wanted to finish out the year at this school and then she’d be free.
“Do you have help? Support?” Miss O’Donnell probed. Grace hesitated, then decided to give the teacher what she wanted to hear, she nodded. Yes, she had support from Lowell.
“Okay, I’ll have to trust you on that for now, but I’m here if you need me, Grace. I have my suspicions of what’s going on at home,” she said. Grace sat up a little straighter. The teacher put her hand out and covered hers. “Don’t worry. You’re past the age of my legal obligation to call Child Services. But Grace? I’m here for you. Whatever is going on, I want to help in any way I can.”
Miss O’Donnell looked Grace straight in the eye. “I am here for you. For anything. I mean that.” She handed Grace a piece of paper and, reading it, was shocked to see the teacher’s name and mobile number. Why? Seconds passed. Grace knew she should say something. Something to placate her anyway.
“Thanks. But I’m okay. Really.” Grace bent her head to avoid eye contact. What was going on? How many other students had Miss O’Donnell given her number to? She stowed the piece of paper into her backpack.
“Okay, switching gears a bit. Have you looked into scholarships for university?” the teacher asked. “That may be an avenue for you. You mentioned a part-time job. The government also has programs providing financial help. You can apply for the Youth Allowance Student Payment with Centrelink.”
“I have looked, yes.” And she had, on Lowell’s suggestion, but learned that funding was not available to her. She would have to give them detailed information she didn’t have.
“Well, I have some ideas and some contacts, so leave that with me. Here’s another question I’m curious about, and then I’ll let you go, I promise. I have seen what the kids are like here, heard the things they say to you, but I never see you defend yourself. Why?”
Grace knew the answer but wasn’t sure how it had anything to do with her grades. Besides, why would the teacher even care?
“Why bother? They are going to believe what they want to, anyway. I’m new. An easy target. No matter what I say, no one will hear it. All I can do is keep my head down and keep looking toward the goal. I won’t be here much longer, so why bother stirring the pot?”
Miss O’Donnell looked at her with sympathy. Grace waited for her to spout the bullshit she’d heard from teachers about bullying. It never made a difference. Kids could be cruel. Just as adults could be. Surprising Grace, the teacher said nothing, then stood. Grace followed her to the door. While still cautious, the teacher’s concern touched her.
“Sorry to have kept you, Grace, but I hope it was worth your time. I do want you to know I am on your side. Contact me, anytime. I am here to help.”
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Grace left at five, even more determined to get the year over with, all with her grades intact, and her plan solidly in place. Knowing that the teacher couldn’t legally call Child Services was a nugget she would cling to. But if her father knew the teacher had spoken to her and, God forbid, learned she’d handed over her personal information to help her, they would be on the run before morning.
Suddenly, she saw her future at risk. It may not be Miss O’Donnell calling authorities, but now she was on the radar of the other teachers. It wouldn’t be easy, but she had to call Lowell. Things had changed with her father. She realised that now. And today, she could see her future clearly. It was finally within reach. The last thing she needed was her father’s instability to mess that up.
8
Grace saw Daniel walk into the café. She hadn’t seen him in a few days. Not since he’d bought her a coffee. He glanced over and smiled, then continued to a table on the opposite side of the room. Today, he wore a pair of lived-in jeans, a faded chambray, long-sleeve shirt rolled up to his elbows, and boots that looked to have their own story to tell.
“Focus Grace,” she mumbled. A guy, no matter how cute he was, would not distract her. She had to get this assignment ready to turn in, so she put her head down and got back to work.
“Hi. Sorry to interrupt. I’m getting a coffee. Would you like one?” Daniel asked. His cornflower-blue eyes were more vibrant than she’d realised. He stood a comfortable distance from her, unlike the other guys who came to hit on her. Lowell’s words rang in her ear: Be careful, Jelly. He’s probably just looking to hook up. She stuffed her hands under the table and began picking at her cuticles.
“Oh! Thanks, but no. And um, I got your note. I’m not interested in going out,” she stammered.
“Who said anything about going out?” he replied, smiling. She could see the laugh lines clearly now. The flutter of a thousand butterflies took off inside her stomach.
“Well, most guys...”
“Ha! I just figured you’d like a coffee. Every time I’m in here, you have one in front of you. Nothing more.”
Hmm. He looked younger than she thought. Maybe closer to twenty. Most likely a university student. Just like the others.
“What are you studying?” he asked, looking down at her notebook. There it was. Bye-bye, cute boy. She continued picking at the broken skin around her fingernails.
“The H.S.C.,” she answered, waiting for him to run in the opposite direction.
“Seriously?” Seeing the shock on his face nearly made her laugh out loud, but then his face turned into a broad grin. That wasn’t the reaction she expected, nor was it the norm.
“Yes, I’m in Year Twelve.” Grace fiddled with her hair, unconsciously moving a strand across the scar on her forehead.
“Cool. What’s your name?” Cool? Really? She hesitated.
“Grace.” He smiled. Ugh. She felt weird things inside her stomach.
“So Grace, what’s your plan for next year? University? A gap year?” he asked. Words escaped her for a moment. No guy had asked her that before. Not even Lowell.
“Uni. Studying journalism,” she said, then hesitated to add more. Saying it out loud, especially twice in one week, made it feel like an outrageous dream. She moved her hands back to her lap.
“Impressive. Most finishing Year Twelve don’t know what they want to do. So, why are you studying here and not at home like most kids doing their Higher School Certificate?”
“I guess I’m not like most kids,” she responded, throwing a sassy tone at him. Geez. What possessed her to say that?
He smiled and her face burned scarlet when she met his eyes again. She was drawn to him, but it was more than that. She felt hot when their eyes stayed locked.
“Well, I’ll let you get on with it. Are you sure that’s a no on the coffee?” he asked, breaking the stare. She nodded and Daniel left her to order, but not before tossing a look back at her, one corner of his mouth lifted in a smile. Lowell’s words rang once more: Be careful.
She spent the next hour with her head down, sneaking glances at Daniel, catching him looking at her too. She felt something, a buzz, coming from him as well. He seemed interested. Why else would he buy her coffee? Her emotional radar was going haywire.
* * *
When she finally went home, Grace settled in with a book. Her legs dangled over the edge of the futon, her head resting on her bunched up towel. Her assignment was done, and she didn’t expect her dad home for hours. But at the sound of a key in the door, Grace sprang upright. She jumped off the futon, grabbed the towel, and was halfway to her room when her father bellowed her name. She turned around and was surprised to see a woman with him.
John stood at the door with his arm slumped around the woman’s shoulders. She had greasy blonde hair and a teal green shirt, stained and tight around her ample breasts, her skirt barely covering... anything, really. Her fingers, tipped with long acrylic pink nails, held a cigarette, smoked almost to the butt. She teetered on scuffed white stilettos that were at least two decades old.
“What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be working?” Her father spat. His face flashed with anger before turning to disgust.
“I’m not working tonight. I… I was just,” she spluttered, then bolted to her room, closing the door behind her. She leaned against it, her heart racing. A woman? Here? With her dad? Her father had never brought a woman home before. Grace lay down on her bed and opened her book, but it was difficult to focus on the text. After trying for twenty minutes, she leaned down beside the bed to return the book to her backpack. Oh shit. Her backpack. It still lay on the dining room table. And her ‘absolutes’ were inside it. What if the skank went nosing around? She needed to get her backpack, and fast.
In a cold sweat, she pressed her ear to the door, but heard nothing. They must have gone to her father’s room. She swallowed a wave of disgust, imagining the woman… no. Slamming her eyes tight, she tried not to see it. Now she couldn’t unsee it. Focus, Grace, she chided herself. She had to get her backpack. It was her… everything. She cracked open the door and peered out. Her backpack was dangling off the edge of the dining table. She pulled the door wider and stopped when it creaked. She squeezed through the opening and was almost at the table when a strange squeal, like a pig at the trough, caught her attention. Her father’s pants were around his ankles and his long, bony fingers dug into the woman’s hips as he fucked her from behind. His eyes were closed, and he held a pained look on his face. The woman was bent over with her skirt hitched up, her pink tipped fingers caressing her own nipple. The woman looked over and delivered a death stare. Grace shuddered involuntarily.
The scene immobilised her. She didn’t know if she should laugh or scream, but she was too afraid to move. Too afraid that even her breathing would alert her father to her presence. But she couldn’t just stand there either. A crooked smile rose from the woman’s mouth, and she jiggled her hips slightly. Her father opened his eyes. Shit. The woman winked at her.
“Get the fuck out of here, you stupid bitch!” Grace’s father roared, seeing her for the first time.
Grace grabbed her backpack and ran back to her room.
She sat on her bed, trembling. Scrubbing her face with her hands, she tried to erase the image from her mind. The woman was pure evil. Maybe they would leave? She should have left, she realised with a silent groan. Gone to Lowell’s place, not back to her room. Shit. Could she sneak past? No. She was trapped now.
“Please, please, leave me alone,” she whispered. She tried to calm herself, rocking back and forth, taking deep breaths. When that didn’t work, she opened her book again, but the words were fuzzy. She dug into her backpack and felt the money nestled in the secret pocket at the bottom. She may need the money sooner than later, but would it be enough?
She dove into the side pocket to retrieve her phone when the front door slammed shut. Flinging the bag aside, she bolted up to move the chair against the door handle. But
it was too late. Her father was there, flinging her door open.
“What the fuck was that?!” he demanded, blocking the entire doorframe. Grace looked at him, arming herself with the chair in front of her. Her eyes, wide.
“I’m s-s-sorry, Dad. I... I needed my school bag.” He grunted, then picked up the backpack from her bed. He looked undecided as to what to do with it. Her heart was in her throat. Grace knew there would be serious repercussions if he found the hidden cash. Rather than looking inside it, he threw it hard against the opposite wall, spilling the contents. She dared not look down at the mess and hoped he wouldn’t either.
“Why are you here? And why don’t I get any fucking privacy?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean...”
“No. No, you never mean nothing,” he said in a mocking tone, like a schoolyard taunt. He took a quick step toward her and grabbed the chair, throwing it to the side. The force of his backhand across her cheek flung her backwards. Her shoulder slammed against the chest of drawers, the corner drawing blood.
“Just leave me the hell alone. I never asked for a kid. Next time I have company, I don’t want you here. Got that? I don’t care where the fuck you go, but this is my house. Do you hear me? Mine.”
“Yes,” she whispered meekly. She stood in front of the dresser with her hands raised in front of her, silently begging him to stop. He grabbed her shoulders and shoved her backwards into the drawers. The force knocked the wind out of her. She dropped like a sack to the floor. Grace remained lying there until she heard the front door slam once more. The relief was palatable, but the episode soon overwhelmed her. When would it stop? The physical pain was fleeting. But this feeling of hopelessness, the uncertainty of what his rage might inflict, that anguish was too much. Blinding tears flooded her eyes. She lay there for what seemed like hours.