“Maybe for small-minded people like you, but to Olivia or me, it’s not funny.”
“We were just playing around,” he says laughing and not showing a bit of remorse. Anger consumes me. So much for not being violent, I think to myself as I launch myself at him. I start by smacking his chest. His reaction is to laugh at me, which only fuels my anger.
“You’re a real dick, you know that?” I scream at him.
“I gotta dick for you,” he says grabbing his crotch.
I start swinging harder, not actually hitting him. He is able to block my moves, but I keep swinging just hoping one of these times I’ll make contact. Before I know it, I’m being pulled off of him. But that doesn’t stop my legs from kicking and my arms from throwing punches. Whoever is restraining me had to pick me up.
“Settle down,” Mr. Stone says.
Of course, it has to be him. I can't settle down. I still see Lewis laughing and now his sidekicks are laughing. I’m worried I’ve made things worse for Olivia.
“I said settle down,” he demands as he wraps his sturdy arms more firmly around me, trapping my arms from swinging.
“You’re an asshole! YOU PRICK!” I continue to yell because my mouth is the only thing not being restrained.
“Get to class,” Mr. Stone yells at the boys and this sends me into another fit of rage.
“Yeah, get to class,” I mock Mr. Stone's tone. Of course, those assholes aren’t in trouble. After they go into the classroom, he sets me down.
“You calm now?” he asks, but I don’t say anything. The adrenaline is starting to recede and I feel the tears start to brim my eyes.
“You mind telling me what happened?” he questions.
I continue to say nothing.
“Alright, I’ll tell you what. You tell me what happened or you’re going to see Mr. Stephens.” Mr. Stephens is our tough as nails principal. I definitely do not want to see him. Knowing this could go on my record, I decide to start talking.
“He put glue in her hair,” I spit out. It’s all I can manage because I’m holding back tears.
“Do you think he deserved to be pummeled?” he asks and again my anger gets the best of me.
“I’ll go see Mr. Stephens, obviously you’ve chosen your side,” I reply and quickly turn around and storm away. He stops me by grabbing my arm. “Let go of me Mr. Stone.” I demand jerking my arm back and he does.
"Miss Carter, I've not dismissed you," he says in an authoritative voice and I die laughing. "Something funny?" He questions looking pissed. His dark, captivating eyes stare into mine and I can tell the aggressive side of Mr. Stone is trying to hold it together. Why his dominant behavior is such a turn on, I have no idea.
"No sir," I say as I straighten up and try to get the smile off my face. I know I'm flirting with trouble but he got all bossy with me and I realize how much I miss being bossed around by my father. Not that I see Mr. Stone as a father figure. Far from it. But every time Amy or I were in trouble, he would get all bossy until one of us started crying and then he'd cave. He always told us he couldn’t stand to see his girls cry. How he lived to make his girls happy and to make us feel safe. He was an amazing father. My heart starts to pound as the memory of the accident plays out in my mind. I need to choke these tears down.
"I'd like to see Mr. Stephens please," I say without making eye contact.
"Not until you tell me why you think it's ok to throw punches like you were."
"Because he's a prick and a bully who you let get away with everything."
"Watch your language, Miss Carter."
"Oh, because I don't have a dick I can't swear. Tell me Mr. Stone, do you allow Lewis to swear in front of you?"
"On the football field, not in school."
Like a child, I roll my eyes knowing I’m losing this battle. "Whatever. Just give me my punishment."
Lane
What’s going on here? No one has ever disrespected me like this. I asked a simple question and I'm pissed that she thinks she has me all figured out. I don't tolerate bullying, especially from my players. I also don't take sides right away and I hear each student out. Mallory isn't even trying to defend herself.
"All right, I need a full page report from you explaining what happened, how you could've handled it better and what you'll do the next time something like this occurs.”
"Yes, sir," she says and walks back into the classroom and I call Lewis out to get his side.
"What's your side?" I ask.
"It was a joke. We didn't hurt her."
"You didn't hurt her? You put glue in someone's hair. Yes, it may wash out or can be cut out but you humiliated a classmate. Grab your bags and go see the principal. If I hear anything like this again you won't be playing next year," I say and Lewis huffs but reluctantly grabs his bags and leaves the classroom. Lewis is smart; he’s in all AP classes. Hell, he’s a sophomore doing a senior workload, which is why it’s so surprising to me that he’s the ringleader.
Once I walk back inside I see Mallory kneeling in front of Olivia and offering comfort while the rest of the girls are either glaring daggers or snickering at them. Venom in their veins, I’m reassured.
••••••••••••••••
The next day I have a letter on my desk from Mallory. Once I've assigned the chapters to be read today, I open the letter. What the hell? I take one glance at it and realize she hasn’t done what I’ve asked of her.
Mr. Stone,
I know I’m not doing what was requested of me, but I couldn’t think of anything I would do differently. I will always defend my friends or people who’ve been wronged. I’m sorry this letter may disappoint you. It isn’t my intention but it’s all I’ve got.
Mallory Carter
I sit here dumbfounded at her complete disregard to her punishment. I couldn't help but wish that the old school system of spanking as punishment hadn't been ruled out. That way I could bend her over my knee and let that tiny little cheerleading skirt rise up as I turned her bare ass red to teach her a lesson. What the fuck, Lane?
I decide it's best to leave it alone; Mallory pushes buttons in me that I didn't know I had.
Chapter 4
Mallory
“Merry Christmas, Amy!” I say, placing the small gift, wrapped in the construction paper that I took from art class, gently in her lap.
She smiles and stands up quickly, passing me my present as she says, “Merry Christmas, Mallory!”
After unwrapping our gifts, we start laughing when we see what we bought. We must have been to the same sale at the discount mall; we got each other the same scarf only in different colors.
“I knew I should’ve gotten you the movie, Annie!” Amy jokes. My parents always called me Annie and I hated it. Yes, I have red hair but I hated the nickname, although it almost seems fitting now. The little orphan Annie, I think sadly to myself.
Our laughter dies down when we hear fighting coming from the room next to ours. This place doesn’t attract the best characters, so we’re always on alert, and rightly so. It’s such a far cry from where we were two years ago. We had had it all. Parents who loved us and a beautiful home in a nice subdivision. You never think it will happen to you and then you’re driving home, listening to the sound of Fourth of July fireworks in the distance and your car is the one that gets hit by the drunk driver.
Our Suburban was struck from behind and pushed into the tractor-trailer in front of us. I can still remember the feeling of my head whipping back and forth as the impact switched from back to front. I didn’t have time to think about what was happening but my mother’s ear-splitting scream followed by the sound of our family car being crushed like a soda can, brought me back to reality.
I remember the questions the paramedics asked me, “Are you hurt?” Not physically. “Do you know who you are?” Yes and no, how could I know who I was anymore? “What’s your birthday?” Does it matter? “Can you tell me what happened?” Every second, although I wish I
couldn’t. I almost wished I would’ve been hurt or killed so that I didn’t have to know what happened to my family. Waking up to it would’ve broken my heart, but at least in that instance I could’ve imagined my father went peacefully.
“Lucky” the paramedics called us because we had only suffered minor injuries, but Amy and I felt cursed. We stood on the side of the road watching as our parents were pulled from the wreckage. I tried to convince myself this was all a bad dream and I was going to wake up any moment now, but I never have. It was almost like I was watching a movie scene and this was happening to someone else, anyone else, it couldn’t be happening to us.
The moment I saw the paramedics working on Mom, the slow- moving dream turned into a fast-paced, living nightmare. Our mother suffered internal injuries; a shattered knee and pelvis, a broken collarbone and her front teeth were knocked out. She was still in a coma when we buried our father. I hope we did what he would’ve wanted. We worried about what he would want to wear or what flowers he would’ve picked. Amy and I had no idea what we were doing; we were only children at the time. Our father’s sister, Aunt Marnie, was our closest living relative but my mother never got along with her so she wasn’t of any help.
When our mother finally woke up and came home, she was lost without our father. I know she wanted to be there for us, but she just couldn’t get out of bed and face reality.
Eventually, she started using her prescription medicine more than required and the gateway opened to harder drugs. We lost our house, moved into a hotel, and then we started to see Mom less and less. For a while she’d come back to sleep or shower, but it’s been a few months since we’ve seen or heard from her.
At first, Amy and I tried to help. We showered her and even hand fed her if we had to, but after a while, any trace of our mother was gone. Her eyes no longer belonged to her; they belonged to the addiction—black pools of destructive need that were only satisfied by her next fix. It's been so long now that we've had to give up hope on her ever getting help. We still pray she will, but we can’t find her; so, for now, we count on each other.
Lane
“Merry Christmas!” Mom says while running to me with arms open wide. She makes me laugh because every time she hugs me, it’s like she hasn’t seen me in years, regardless of the fact that I was here just yesterday bringing all the presents for my brothers, sister and cousins. When your family is this big, you have to prepare in advance.
“Where is everyone?” I ask.
“Scattered about. Your brothers are playing video games, your sister and Taylor are baking, Harper is going over the music selection and your aunts and uncles are drinking in the living room with your dad,” Mom explains this to me with a happy smile, and I chuckle to myself. It’s always chaos around here, every event, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
“Hey jackass, you made it!” Gavin says, as he comes out of the bathroom.
“Gavin, it’s Christmas,” Aunt Kerrigan scolds him.
“Sorry, Mom,” he says and I know, hell we all know, he is anything but.
My mom rolls her eyes and heads into the living room as I follow.
“Hey son,” Dad says, handing me a beer and clapping me on the back firmly in our usual greeting.
“Hey, Dad.”
“Gather everyone so we can get this evening started?” he asks, as I wrap my arm around his shoulders, and give him a squeeze.
I do as he asks and make my rounds getting everyone together. We’re all sitting around the living room and there’s a sadness hanging in the air amidst the holiday spirit. Landon, my oldest brother and best friend, will be headed on his first deployment to Iraq right after the holidays. We are all beyond nervous. Mom and Dad constantly talk about when this war started, about how they can’t believe it hasn’t ended, and how things are heating up again. We’re all aware Landon will be in danger, and you can see it in everyone’s eyes.
“Well, it’s Landon's last Christmas at home for a while so I think he should go first,” Mom says.
“Thanks, Mom,” he smiles, “you heard her! Give the favorite son his gifts!” he jokes, just like always.
We watch as he opens his gifts; they are all sentimental, forget-me-not types of gifts, except the one from Lucas. That boy doesn’t have a serious bone in his body, which should be concerning considering he is part of the Chicago Fire Department.
“That isn’t what I think it is... is it?” my Aunt Lani asks, trying to act shocked but her stifled laugh betrays her.
“Yep, it’s a blow-up doll!” Landon says, glaring at Lucas who’s holding back laughter.
“Well, I figured it would be a while before you had any real pus…”
“Lucas! None of that talk on Christmas!” my mother scolds.
“Landon, just call me tomorrow, and I’ll explain how to use it,” Lucas says and my uncles all crack up laughing, as my aunts elbow them in the ribs. I can tell they are trying not to laugh as well.
“I just want one holiday where my boys don’t talk about… oh, never mind. Noah, Evan, Maddox this is all your fault!” my Mom says, shaking her head, resigned to the fact she has raised a group of male whores.
“Well, maybe next year we can talk about dicks,” Harper says, making a joke she should know better than to make. Uncle Evan immediately puts a stop to that talk.
“Harper! Stop!” Uncle Evan demands.
“Why do you laugh at the boys, but you don’t think it’s funny for the girls?” she questions pouting.
“Yeah, honey. It isn’t fair!” Aunt Lani says, and Uncle Evan gives her a look that immediately shuts her up.
“How about no dick or vagina talk? It’s Christmas for God's sake!” Aunt Kerrigan says.
“Alright, enough! Who’s next?” Dad asks, changing the subject.
“Mom, Aunt Kerrigan and Aunt Lani,” I say. It’s always funny watching them open gifts. My dad and uncles got into a game years ago of one-upping each other. I think Mom and my aunts enjoy the banter between my dad and his brothers, but it’s gotten way out of control; so out of control that last year my mom and aunts repaid them with ridiculously extravagant gifts they inevitably hated. Matching gaudy gold bracelets with the words ’Brothers and Best Friends’ engraved on them. We’ll see how it goes this year.
We all wait patiently as the women open their gifts, noticing that they all start to tear up. Landon is the first to ask what they got. They all got the same thing; it’s a collage of photos from when we were growing up. There are a lot of photos of all of us kids camping in Kentucky, those are some of my favorite memories. I think the photo that really got everyone was the photo of my grandma. She passed away unexpectedly last year from a massive heart attack. Looking at my family, I can see everyone’s mood has turned somber. I can see it in the weak smiles and lingering glances, we’re listening to the slow flow of Christmas music playing in the background and no one is really talking.
“Some great memories!” Mom says as she squeezes my father's hand.
“The best,” he responds while touching his cheek to hers.
I can't help but fight back tears as I look around the room at the people that surround me. My dad takes this moment to start handing out gifts again. Lucas, of course, takes this moment to start messing with the blow up doll and Gavin isn’t far behind as he starts to pet her plastic head. I watch my mom roll her eyes again. Even though the mood is starting to shift to one of happiness again, I need a moment away. I’m not going to cry like a little girl, but I know Christmas will no longer be the same with Landon and Grandma both gone. Not long after I go outside, I hear the door slide open.
“I’m going to miss you man,” Landon says with a quiver in his voice.
“You too. Keep your head down and hurry home to us, big brother. Those people over there aren't playing.”
“Will do,” he replies as I wrap my arm around his shoulders and we both continue to stare out at the skyline. Chicago is gorgeous at Christmas.
C
&nb
sp; hapter 5
Mallory
I’ve had to pick up extra hours at Connie's diner. My sister and I are barely making enough between the both of us to pay for that seedy motel room. I’m standing behind the counter serving classmates on New Year's Eve. No one makes me feel bad or embarrassed, but I want to be on the other side of this experience for once. To be the one saying, “thank you” instead of “you’re welcome;” just the chance to be one of them. I would love to live like a normal teenager. There’s just something about today, I feel more alone than I have in the past couple of years.
As I stare out at the snow-covered parking lot, I’m choking back tears, remembering the times I spent building snowmen with my parents and sister. Slipping into my memories, I can feel the cold stinging my face. I can see the proud look on my sister’s face as she tells us all to look at her always-pitiful snowmen. I can hear my parents’ laughter and feel the way my jaw hurt from smiling so much at my family’s accomplishment in building the best snowmen in the neighborhood. For one day, I want it back. I want those memories again, and I want to make those fleeting moments count.
I've tried to keep from resenting my mother, but it's impossible when we're struggling as much as we are. Amy had to drop out of night school to keep us from living out of our cars, which we thought about trading in for something a little more economical but we can't afford cars that need more maintenance. Not to mention, trying to keep up with all of this on top of getting good grades and to make myself a good candidate for scholarships.
I maintain a 4.0, but so do a lot of high school seniors. I can’t help but feel disheartened. There’s so much I want to accomplish. I want to travel and live carelessly; I want to be able to go to a really good school and help kids like my sister and I who feel like they have no option but to rely on themselves.
But for now I’m stuck with this crappy diner, in this smaller than extra-small yellow uniform that makes my skin itch when I get too warm. I think the owner might have been going for pin-up and instead she got soft porn. I’m the first to admit it, I’m not a busty girl by any means but even my B cups are having a hard time staying in this uniform. Something, anything, has to give.
Lane (Made From Stone Book 1) Page 3