Something Wicked

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Something Wicked Page 17

by Teresa Mummert


  My fingers tapped against my jeans to a classic rock song my father played on a loop as he worked on his car that never seemed to run just right. The secretary cleared her throat as she brushed back her fire-red curls from her face, and my hand stilled.

  “Can’t have any fun in this place.” The door to the principal’s office opened as I spoke, and I sat up straight, cutting off my words as a school officer exited the room, stopping to turn to Mr. Wallace and say something.

  The officer’s sullen eyes landed on mine, and Mr. Wallace stopped as he replied to the officer in a hushed tone. Now both of them stared at me.

  All I did was pull a stupid girl’s stupid hair. My dad was going to kill me. Why did I have to touch her? Why couldn’t I just be good like the others? Stupid girl. Stupid birthday.

  “Why are you here?” Mr. Wallace’s eyebrows pulled together, causing his forehead to crease.

  “I, uh...I don’t know.”

  The men exchanged glances, and I was waved into the office and told to sit. The police officer stood to my right as Mr. Wallace sat on the edge of his giant oak desk in front of me. He ran his hand along his jaw with a sigh as he avoided my gaze.

  “I’m sorry,” I blurted out as I felt my cheeks heat and my chest tighten.

  “What?”

  “I didn’t think about the dirt on my fingers, and then I was embarrassed,” I rambled. When the cop placed his heavy hand on my shoulder, I jumped fractionally, and my pleas for forgiveness died in my throat. I held my breath, bracing for the punishment I had earned. Mr. Thomas, the guidance counselor and one of my mother’s friends, slipped inside the room. His eyes met Mr. Wallace’s, and he shook his head fractionally.

  “I got here as quickly as I could. I had some errands to run during my lunch break.”

  The officer sank down to eye level, ran his tongue over his lips, and loudly cleared his throat. “There has been an accident.”

  “Ryder, your father has been in an accident. He’s at Reagan Memorial now, and your mother is with him,” Mr. Thomas spoke calmly.

  “Are they okay?” It felt as though someone had stomped on my chest. This was not the kind of surprise you expected on your birthday.

  “Your mother is fine. She wasn’t with your father at the time. The doctors are doing everything they can to help them.” Mr. Thomas covered my dirty hand with his damp palm. I couldn’t look him in the eye because it would only confirm that this was all real. Instead, I focused on the small bead of sweat clinging to his tanned flesh just below his auburn hair, which was uncharacteristically disheveled. “She called me and asked me to take you into the hospital.”

  My thoughts briefly drifted over his words, and I had only absorbed one. “Them? What do you mean them? Who was with him?”

  He looked back at the officer before offering me a sad smile. “Grab your things. We can talk more on the road.

  Did you have lunch yet?”

  I shook my head, wondering how I could even eat after hearing something like this.

  “I had just finished my lunch at Franklin’s Deli when I got the call, so we can stop at a drive-through on the way.” His hand slid from mine, and he took a step back. I slowly stood and walked toward the door, with Mr. Thomas following close behind me. The hall was still empty, something I normally loved because it felt like a different world without all the people and noise, but now it felt small and suffocating. Tragedy has a way of putting life in perspective like that. I could smell the food from the cafeteria, and it turned my stomach as I stopped in front of Ms. Simmons’s door. I gripped the handle, shoving it wide open. The entire class sat silently, staring at me as I froze in the doorway. I felt utterly and devastatingly alone.

  My skin was on fire, and I could feel it dampen under my tears, but I was unable to regain my composure. Still, the world continued to spin as I cried unabashedly. I’d just wanted to be noticed, and now all I wanted was to disappear, evaporate. Kids whispered and giggled, but I heard nothing except the steady whooshing of blood in my ears as my heart raced. It felt like my veins had been electrified, and I couldn’t help but shuffle from one foot to the other. One set of eyes stayed locked on mine. Katie’s expression mirrored my own sadness as she mouthed the words, “Are you okay?” I couldn’t even find the strength to shake my head. Through blurred vision I stared down at my smudged fingers and waited for Mr. Thomas to retrieve my book bag. No one else spoke a word to me, and I wasn’t even sure I was still breathing. All I could hear were my fears in rapid succession screaming inside my head. Even in the moment of unknowing and panic, I was able to take a lesson from Katie, although it took me a few years to realize it. That moment of compassion when she owed me nothing changed something in me, but there would be a lot more changes before the day would end.

  Mr. Thomas led me to his car, and I slid into the old beige Buick, the heat from the day making it feel as if I were in a sauna. As he got into the driver side, he tossed my book bag onto the backseat and offered me a sad smile.

  “Everything is going to be okay,” he said as he twisted the key in the ignition. The engine sputtered before growling to life. I pulled my seat belt across my chest and clicked it into place.

  “What happened?” I asked, knowing I wasn’t prepared to hear the answer.

  Mr. Thomas sighed as he adjusted his grip on the steering wheel, and I focused on the rearview mirror. “I think I should leave that to your mother to explain.” He glanced in the rearview mirror as he drove into the turning lane and headed toward the hospital.

  We rode in silence, only speaking when he asked me what food I wanted from Shambles drive-through. I rattled off a number, knowing I wouldn’t be able to eat anything until I knew my dad was okay, but maybe my mother would need something.

  We parked near the emergency room entrance, and I froze, suddenly terrified to know the truth that was on the other side of the automatic doors. In this moment he was neither alive nor dead. We were suspended in a state of unknowing, and I wanted to stay there for as long as possible. My father was everything to me.

  Mr. Thomas got out of the car and came to my side, pulling open the door for me. I hesitated, hating that in such a vulnerable moment, I had to force back my tears so I could be strong for my mother. I pushed myself out of the car, paper bag of food in hand, and walked toward the automatic doors that read EMERGENCY in red-lighted lettering.

  Mr. Thomas kept his hand on my shoulder as he guided me from the waiting area to a set of heavy, thick, wooden doors. He hit the button on the wall, and they opened before me. The sight of doctors and patients hurrying through the mint-colored hall filled my view.

  “Your mother is in the third room to the left. I have to wait out here, but if you need me, just come back through these doors.” He looked up, and I noticed that a nurse in pink scrubs stood to my side. He nodded to her, and she placed her hand on my shoulder. I wanted to shrug her away, but I didn’t have any energy. She guided me to the waiting room, which was nothing more than a hole-in-the-wall with a few blue vinyl chairs lining the walls.

  When her puffy, tear-soaked eyes met mine, my mother sobbed into a tissue she had pressed against her mouth, her freshly honey-highlighted hair knotted and disheveled. I’d never seen my mother cry. She was always so happy, or at least that was the illusion I had become accustomed to. I felt like I was on autopilot, unable to think or feel. I was thankful for the numbness that had taken over, because my mother was in no state to comfort me. She lurched toward me, wrapping her arms around my shoulder and squeezing me with all her strength. She pulled back, her hands on my face, and frantically rubbed my hair as if she was examining me to make sure I was okay.

  “I brought you food,” I mumbled, realizing how stupid it was to think a chicken sandwich would somehow take away her pain, but I wasn’t ready to hear about my father’s condition.

  She smiled, her hand still trying to tame my hair as she sniffled. “I had lunch at Franklin’s Deli, but you should eat something, baby.”


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