by Seven Steps
Why had I volunteered to collect the exam books for math class that day? Who was I kidding? Because I needed all the extra credit I could get. Failing was not an option, not with my dad worried about my mom, and Mom’s chemo treatments making her feel like a bulldozer had run her over.
The image of Mrs. Fleck’s tight bun floated in front of me as I remembered the first time I heard the ugly rumor. Her heavy body blocked the secretary’s view of me standing in the doorway.
“I’m not conjuring this information out of thin air! Marco Kotopuli is being blacklisted from contracts all across the country because of shady business practices, and—”
At the mention of my father’s name, I froze. I wanted to turn and flee from the office, but something kept me there. I stilled my feet on the crème-colored plush carpet, desperate to hear the rest of their conversation, to hear the reason why our phone only rang with bill collectors on the other end instead of customers, to understand why there were so many overdue notices in our mailbox, why he hadn’t paid my tuition back in August when it was due in full.
Mrs. Fleck leaned over the desk, pushing the secretary’s tray full of papers aside. The secretary grabbed it before it hit the floor, but Mrs. Fleck didn’t flinch, nor did she bother whispering or covering her mouth when she said, “They say he’s in millions of dollars of debt, and he might even end up in prison.”
What? No! Not my father. Prison was for murders and thieves, not loving parents like him. It couldn’t be true.
Mrs. Fleck was a lying witch. My fist begged to punch her in her big, British, supersized mouth. Just who the freak was ‘everyone’? Contractors? The mayor? The news? They were liars!
The phone rang and the secretary held up her finger to answer it. After hanging up, she leaned back in her chair and rocked a little, as if considering if Mrs. Fleck was lying or not. “No, I don’t believe it.” At least she had the decency to lower her voice. “He’s a nice man. His family’s attended this school for generations, and he hasn’t left his wife’s side since she got cancer last year. He can’t be doing anything illegal.”
Mrs. Fleck snorted. “It’s irrelevant how nice he is. The other company’s foreman implied that Mr. Kotopuli paid his boss to overbid. That’s illegal! You can’t deny the truth when it’s staring you in the face. Zeus Construction bought the competition off then tried to drive them out of business.” Mrs. Fleck waved her hands in the air, causing her arms to jiggle and wiggle like gelatin.
Shock and fury burned in my chest.
I wanted to shriek, That’s not true, you fat cow, right before I belted her so hard that her eyes would pop out, but I couldn’t.
I folded my arms and clenched my fists instead.
Would the two women have restrained themselves if they’d known I stood mere feet from them? If they’d known I could hear every word they said?
My body didn’t move, intent on holding my ground and listening to the rest of whatever lie Mrs. Fleck made up, but then the door opened behind me and I knew I had to go or risk losing my mind right there in the office. I slipped out, not bothering to stay and listen to the rest of Mrs. Fleck’s statements about my dad.
I shook my head to erase the memory of the day my world came apart. They were lies, all stinking lies. They had to be, because what she said couldn’t be true. My father wasn’t capable of cheating the system. Not him. He would never do that in a million years. It was probably all fabricated by his competitors to taint Dad’s reputation.
I checked the soup, added a couple drops of lemon, and scooped up the floating cilantro my dad didn’t like. I grabbed a small red onion and a couple of cloves of garlic along with a knife and the purple cutting board—my mom’s favorite. Using her cutting board brought me closer to her, as if she was right here, cooking next to me like she used to.
Would Mom would ever cook next to me again?
I sighed, dropped the onion and garlic, crossed the room, and plopped into a chair. The St. Mary’s tuition statement sat open on the table. The enormous amount in the monies due box mocked me. Fifty thousand freaking dollars due on the 25th of October. St. Mary’s wasn’t even offering him the monthly payment plan anymore because his credit had been denied.
Did the people who started this rumor know it hurt Dad’s business? Did they know a rumor could destroy a person or a company, even when it was false? Was that their goal? To ruin Zeus Construction Company and our family?
I reread the bill for the umpteenth time. He had to pay this tuition. If he didn’t pay, they’d throw me out on my bottom. For over a hundred years, every member of the Kotopuli family had graduated from the school. Would the family tradition of attending St. Mary’s Academy end with me?
Anger simmered deep inside of me.
I stood and walked back to the counter. With steady hands, I hacked at the onion until a person almost needed a microscope to see the pieces. I quickly wiped the tears that erupted due to the pungent smell away before I attacked the garlic cloves in the same manner. After I finished mincing them, I tossed everything into the pot and inhaled the mixture of herbs. At least Mom would be able to drink the broth—that is, if she even had an appetite after her treatment.
It was a treatment well worth the money it cost us to battle the horrible disease. If we ran out of money, would I have to choose between Mom’s treatments and my school? What if we couldn’t afford either option?
Ugh! What could I do?
The words danced in front of me. Any reservation about bothering him went out the door and I pulled out my phone.
Me: How’s Mom?
Dad: She’s good.
Me: I’m making chicken soup. My tuition is due by the 25th. Can you leave the check on the mantelpiece? They sent another notice and called.
Dad: Have to run as they’re checking your mom’s vitals to start the chemo.
Me: K. The soup will be ready in an hour.
Dad: Thanks but don’t stress yourself out. If she can’t eat the soup at least she can drink the juice I’ll make her.
I twisted and twirled my hair around my fingers.
What would I do if Dad didn’t pay the tuition? I didn’t want to leave school, and no way did I want to return to public school. They didn’t even have enough money to support regular after school programs. I doubted they’d have a film club, a club I loved because it gave me and my fellow creatives a place to relax.
The vivid, painful memories surged from four years before. Eighth grade was the only time I didn’t attend a private school. My mom had decided we should simplify our lives by enrolling me in the New York City public school system. She searched through Manhattan until she found the magnet school that was just as exclusive as St. Mary’s but without the expensive tuition, and while everyone raved about the school’s vigorous STEM program, it made me feel like a dumb first grader. I learned to hate math and science.
Four months later, when my classmates started calling me “Meg the Dread” because my hair wouldn’t cooperate, my mom pulled me out.
I shuddered and slammed my palm on the counter. No way would I return to public school where the middle school kids had made fun of my hair and my name. Teens would call me worse things, and they wouldn’t relent no matter how many anti-bullying posters the school plastered on the walls.
But how would my dad come up with the money on time?
Clay.
I pushed his name from my thoughts because I didn’t want to lie—not to Julius, a guy who’d never done anything to me—but the desperation I experienced thinking about returning to public school was terrible, and we needed all the money we could get to treat mom’s disease.
Clay’s offer tempted me again, and a horrible thought rose in my mind before I could stop it.
What if I accepted his offer?
It would only be one little lie. It wouldn’t hurt anyone. Julius would probably be asked to leave the team, and I would tell him I miscarried as soon as Clay gave me the green light. Some private school would pick h
im up, like Dartmouth or Franklin, and his life would continue.
But, more importantly, so would mine.
The plan solidified. All I had to do was find him, tell him I was pregnant, and wait for Clay to take his place as the new quarterback, and I would be able to carry on the family’s tradition of attending St. Mary’s Academy.
3
My hands shook as I ran mousse through my thick curls. The white foam slid through my fingers, doing its very best to tame the riot of hair that sprouted from my head.
I was on edge.
I snatched my hands through the rest of my hair and smoothed it as best as I could.
I stared at my reflection in the mirror, taking in my appearance. A girl I didn’t recognize stared back at me. Sure, she looked like me—same narrow nose, same thin upper lip and fuller lower one, same chestnut brown eyes, same wild hair—but the girl in the mirror was different. She wore makeup; I never wore makeup. She was dressed in a pretty top and skirt, whereas I lived in jeans and polo shirts. This girl chose to lie with no regard for the consequences; I’d never do that—my parents had raised me better than that.
Who was this girl I was looking at? What had she done with the old Meg?
The squeak of my parents’ door opening broke through my wayward thoughts, and I quickly pulled on a thick pair of socks and tall black boots. I grabbed my bookbag and jacket and walked out of my room.
Dad sprinted down the hallway and down the steps as if his pants were on fire.
Where was he going? Had something happened?
I dropped my bag and followed him as he raced out the front door. By the time I crossed the threshold, I saw what all the running was about.
Daddy’s favorite car, his red Lamborghini, was being pulled down the street on the back of a tow truck. I stepped out onto the steps and watched my father chase down the truck for half a block, swearing and screaming about a check the entire way.
A few neighbors came out, watching my father throw a fit as the truck disappeared down the street with his beloved car.
The full weight of what had just happened hit me like a ton of bricks.
That truck had just repo’d my father’s car in front of the entire neighborhood.
My cheeks heated in embarrassment as I watched him, red from exertion and breathing hard, march back into the house.
If the car had been repo’d, that meant he hadn’t paid the bill, right? And if he hadn’t paid the car bill, that meant…
I followed him into the kitchen and placed my hands on the counter as he snatched fruits and vegetables out of the bowls on the counter and chucked them into the blender.
“So, Dad—”
“What?” he snapped.
I gasped at his abruptness and twiddled my fingers. Daddy had never been abrupt with me before. What had just happened sucked, but I had school to think about. I remembered the open bill on the table, and steeled my courage.
“About my school bill—”
He slammed his hand on the counter, cutting me off, and whipped around to face me. I’d never seen my father look so angry.
“You don’t think I know about your school bill?” he bellowed. “Our car just got repossessed. Do you know what that means? It means the money is running out, and you are asking me about school bills?”
The money was running out? Did that mean that the rumors were true?
Just two years ago he had donated a million dollars to a charity and the newspapers talked about how even ten million dollars was nickel change to him.
My heart raced.
“I…I…I just—”
His eyes narrowed in a glare. “Go upstairs, say goodbye to your mother, and go to school. We will talk about this later.”
“But—”
He turned from me and flipped on the blender, ending our conversation.
I stood there for a moment in a daze. A piece of dust floated past my eyes, and I followed it until it landed on the floor. My head was spinning.
We were broke? But how? Why? How could so much money just be gone?
Confused, I walked up the stairs and knocked on the open door before entering my mother’s room.
The sight of her always made me gasp. Every day she grew thinner and paler. Her shiny brown hair was gone now, replaced by a red and blue silk headwrap. Her full, curvaceous body was now barely a blip beneath the stack of blankets she lay under.
She let out a low moan, then, with great difficulty, turned her head to look at me. With even greater difficulty, she managed to smile.
“Hey Mom.” I put on a brave face and sat on the bed next to her, placing my hand over hers. She was so cold. She was always so cold.
“Hey, baby,” she whispered. Mom always whispered these days. The cancer was taking everything from her, even her voice. “What’s on your mind?”
I gave her a half-smile.
“How did you know?”
“I always know. Just because I’m laid up doesn’t mean I’m not still your mama.”
I squeezed her cold fingers.
“There’s something I have to do today,” I said. “Something hard.”
“School?”
I paused, and then nodded. “Yeah, school.”
She took a small breath. That was how she talked these days, every few words punctuated by a small breath.
“Well, whatever it is…I know you’ll conquer it. You can do anything…you put your mind to…remember that. Any obstacle that stands in your way…go over it…and if you can’t go over it…”
She paused, waiting for me to finish our family’s mantra.
“You go through it.”
“That’s right, baby.”
More questions ran through my head.
What if the obstacle was so big that I couldn’t go through it or over it? What were the other options? How could I get through or over getting kicked out of school because we couldn’t pay my tuition? We couldn’t even pay for our car!
“Mom, is Dad okay?” I asked. “I mean, with the bills and stuff.”
Her thin, chapped lips rose a little, then fell again.
“Daddy is working…so hard for us, baby…so, very hard. We just have to be patient…and have faith…that everything will work…itself out.”
She reached her hand up and touched my face. She didn’t have enough energy to keep it there long and after a few seconds it dropped.
“You’re so beautiful…so young. Your whole life…is ahead of you. Promise me…you won’t throw….it away. Promise me…you’ll use your energy…for good…that you’ll graduate…from St. Mary’s…and go to college…and spend the rest of your life…doing something you love.. Can you…promise me that?”
I frowned. Mom was getting cryptic again, saying things that sounded so…final. The kinds of words that always came after the phrase, The last thing she said to me was. I hated when she got like this. Like she was lying in a coffin instead of her own bed in her own home.
I sighed but gave her as big a smile as I could.
“I will promise you all that, if you promise me you’ll kick this cancer’s butt.” I shrugged. “Or, you can give up and I’ll be doomed to become a supervillain.” I pretended to consider this option. “Maybe it won’t be so bad. I do like to wear black.”
I raised a teasing eyebrow and, for one glorious moment, my mother laughed. It was a short laugh, but still I treasured it. It’d been so long since I’d heard her laugh.
“Deal. I’ll fight cancer, and you fight the forces of evil.”
“Challenge accepted.”
I leaned down and hugged my mother’s frail body as tight as I could without hurting her.
“I love you, Mom.”
She weakly wrapped her arms around me.
“I love you too, Nutmeg.”
My throat grew thick and tears clawed up my eyes, but I wouldn’t cry. I’d made my mother laugh, and that alone was enough for at least a little happiness.
I finally let go of her and walked out
of the room.
It was settled: my mom would kick cancer’s butt, and I would graduate from St. Mary’s Academy, one way or another.
I couldn’t count on Dad’s money now. That was gone, or close to it.
There was only one thing left to do.
I texted Clay and told him I’d be going along with his insane plan.
His reply was short.
Clay: I knew you would. Don’t tell him until after school.
He knew I would? Was I so transparent that he knew the price of my soul? Was I making a deal with the devil?
School had ended nearly fifteen minutes ago, but instead of going to film club, I was jogging down the street toward an unfamiliar group of guys, eager to get on with my plan.
A car screeched to a stop on my left, followed by a serenade of horns and some creative New York City swearing, but I barely registered it. Once you’ve lived here long enough, near-miss car accidents aren’t exactly attention-worthy.
Julius “Hercules” Samson and several of his friends were heading toward The Center, a hangout spot near our school.
This was it. I had to act quickly. If I thought too much about my words or his reaction, my resolve would crumble like a week-old cookie.
My heart sped up. Blood rushed in my ears.
Well, here goes nothing.
“Julius!”
The sound echoed off the buildings around me, making it sound ten times louder.
If that didn’t get his attention, nothing would.
Julius stopped. Then he and his friends turned to look at me.
My gut twisted, and I suddenly felt nauseous. My body wanted to freeze, but I wouldn’t let it. I kept jogging until I was less than a yard away from him.
I swallowed my fear and looked up at a boy a full head taller than me. His muscles started at his ears and ran all the way down to his feet.
I didn’t even know feet had muscles.
He was wearing his typical St. Mary’s Academy Lions red and white football jersey, showing off biceps the size of my head—literally. It was no wonder they’d nicknamed him Hercules. He was huge.