by Tiffany King
“I’ve always gotten good grades,” I said defensively.
“You went from a grade point average of a three point two to a four point zero. That’s a huge jump in two months time.”
“I guess I just have more time for schoolwork,” I mumbled, not wanting to tell her the real reason.
“I understand you dropped out of your extracurricular activities and have more time, but I'm wondering if there might be a deeper reason that is driving you,” she said.
I shrugged my shoulders, remaining silent while I picked at my pants. One minute dragged into two and by the time the third minute rolled around, I finally looked up to find her watching me.
“Fine," I sighed. "I fixed my grades because it would’ve made my dad happy,” I said in a thick voice.
“Yes,” she prompted.
Sighing again, I finally relented. “I know my dad would've liked to see me apply myself more. He always said I had so much potential, but I would always brush him off, and now I wish I wouldn’t have.”
“Kassandra, I'm quite sure your father was proud of you,” she said earnestly.
“How could you know that?” I said, standing up aggravated. She knew nothing about my family.
“Because, you were his daughter,” she said to my backside as I jerked the door open.
“Well, I wasn’t a very good one,” I said quietly before fleeing down the hallway before she could ask any more questions.
I hid out in the bathroom for the remainder of the lunch period, trying to control my erratic heartbeat that threatened mutiny at the mere mention of what I had done.
My sour mood followed me through the rest of my classes, and by the time I made it to detention, I was ready to tear him up if he even dared to look at me. I sat in a different seat than I had the day before that was closer to the exit, so I could leave in a hurry if my emotions got out of control.
A different teacher's aide had the guard duty today. He was too busy texting to look up at me as I signed in. I scanned the area as I sat down and saw only one other person on the far side of the auditorium. Obviously, the rest of the student body was smart enough to avoid detention on a Friday afternoon. Squinting in the dim light, I tried to make out the other occupant and breathed a sigh of relief when I saw it was this girl Natalie that I knew vaguely.
Thank goodness he wasn’t coming today, I couldn’t help thinking as I pulled my phone out of my bag. The door swung open and sunlight flooded the space where I was sitting. My heart dropped like a stone as the silhouette from the one person I didn’t want to see walked in.
Without looking at me, he picked a seat on the other side of the aisle, several rows down. I was relieved he wouldn’t be in such close proximity, but the fact that I could still see him made the sleeping angry giant inside of me roar to life. Tearing my eyes from the back of his head, I angrily tapped the Facebook button on my phone, hoping to lose myself in some social drama for the next hour.
Unfortunately, Facebook held no appeal for me at the moment as my eyes kept drifting back to where he was seated. If he sensed my anger he didn’t acknowledge it as he gently used his drum sticks to beat against his jean clad thigh.
Time seemed to be moving backward as I continuously looked at my watch willing the time to move forward. Each passing moment so close to him only seemed to intensify the turbulent emotions I was feeling.
Halfway through detention, Natalie left to go to the bathroom and then never came back. If the teacher's aide noticed, he never gave any inclination since he was still texting madly on his phone. With fifteen minutes to spare, his phone rang with the most annoying tone I had ever heard.
“Dude, what’s up?” he answered. “Nah, I can’t right now, I’m still at work,” he paused as the caller said something. “No shit,” he exclaimed, finally noticing that I was watching him.
“Bro, I got to call you back in a few,” he said before clicking the off button. “You two have ten minutes left and then you can head out,” he said, grabbing up his backpack before heading out the door.
Seriously? I thought. He left me here alone with the last person on earth I wanted to be near. I felt like screaming as I caught him slowly turn to look at me as if he felt the same pressure buildup I was feeling.
His intense stare was more than I could handle and finally blew.
“I hate you!” I said with more venom in my voice than should have been humanly possible.
“I know,” he said simply without breaking eye contact.
It was wrong to feel elated at this particular moment, but I was just happy she was finally talking to me. Even glaring at me like I was the devil himself, she was more beautiful than should have been legal.
“I hate you!” she said.
“I know,” I replied, meeting her stare head on.
“I HATE YOU!” she yelled, standing to her feet.
“I know,” I said again, feeling like my heart was been dragged across hot coals.
She was shaking from head to toe as she jerked her bag up off the seat next her.
“Why didn’t you stop him from driving that day? You had to know he was drinking.”
I nodded my head, acknowledging her words.
“Then why? Why would you let him risk other people's lives like that?”
“You think I don’t regret it? That I wish I would have provoked him, made him take his anger out on me before passing out on the couch like he had so many times before that? It wouldn’t have taken much. One word from me would have set him off, but I didn’t, and I can’t change that now,” I said, furious at myself.
“I hate you,” she said one last heartbreaking time, looking like she wanted to cry, but refused. Instead, she stood strong and tall in front of me, just like she had when I saw her on Channel Six News. This was the girl I had fallen for. She was braver and stronger than I had ever been.
“I know,” I said quietly as she turned and fled out the auditorium, like the hounds of hell were chasing her.
I sank down in the seat with my head in my hands. The elation I felt earlier drifted away, replaced by a gaping hole in my chest.
“Yo, let's go man,” the annoyed aide said, standing in the doorway.
“So go,” I said sarcastically from my seat.
“Come on, I need to lockup,” he said, clearly aggravated.
“Fine,” I replied, taking out my frustration on him as I shoved past.
“Chill out, it's Friday, you should be happy,” he complained as I made my way to the used Toyota my aunt had bought me the previous month when she got her quarterly bonus from work. I felt guilty as hell that she had spent her hard earned money on me, but she wouldn’t take no for an answer.
At a time like this, I was grateful she hadn’t listened to my arguments because riding the bus after a day like today would have seriously sucked. Kassandra’s angry face flashed through my head as I shifted into drive and drove out of the parking lot. I plugged my iPod into the auxiliary jack and tapped the volume button until the music swelled throughout the interior of the car, drowning out everything else.
The beat of the music shook the small car, but failed to erase Kassandra’s words from my head. The screaming, I could handle it was the quiet words that made me feel like a zombie had ripped my insides out for a snack.
My hands shook uncontrollably during the entire drive home. I had dreamed of that moment, to tell him exactly how I felt. I expected to feel a sense of release once I unleashed all my anger, but instead, I felt an odd sense of guilt. His quiet acceptance of my rage was unsettling. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to be. I wasn’t supposed to care that he had flinched each time I battered him with hateful comments, or that he agreed with everything I said. I didn’t want to know that he may have been a victim, too. This was supposed to be a victory, but instead I felt utterly defeated.
As the weekend passed, I couldn’t shake my feelings of remorse. Mom felt like going shopping though, which helped take my mind off things. Her sudden tran
sformation should have alarmed me, but I reveled in having her almost back to normal. We spent the majority of Saturday at the mall looking for a winter wardrobe for Megan now that the Florida winter had finally begun. Living in a milder climate made winter shopping an easier task. Some new pairs of jeans, cute long-sleeve shirts and a couple hooded jackets pretty much sufficed to get a person through a central Florida winter.
Megan blossomed under Mom’s attentiveness, and by Sunday night, our house felt more normal than it had since the accident. Megan was still silent, but she seemed like she was on the verge of finally saying something.
“I think our first session with Brenda helped,” my om said, tucking her feet up under her as we sat on the couch sipping coffee while we watched some mindless show on the TV.
“You think?” I asked, turning to look at her.
“Well, I guess I should say it helped me somewhat,” she said, looking down.
“What do you mean?”
“Just how to cope with the realization that your father is gone. I know it’s irrational, but I guess I kept expecting him to come home at any minute. That’s why I didn’t want to leave the house,” she said sadly. “It wasn’t until your teacher came by that night that I realized my selfish actions were harming you and your sister.”
I didn’t say anything, but reached out and grabbed her hand like I used to do when I was little. I laid my head on her shoulder, thankful to have her acting normal again.
“I’ve missed this,” she said, giving me a kiss on top of the head.
“Me too.”
“So, tell me. What’s going on with your friends.”
“There’s nothing to tell,” I said, moving back to my side of the couch. “What did Brenda have to say about Megan’s muteness?” I asked, changing the subject not so subtly.
She shot me her trademark you’re not fooling me Mom look, but gave me my space. “We really didn’t talk about it. She tried to engage Megan into the conversation in the beginning, but backed off when Megan began to retreat. Toward the end of the session, Megan was at least making eye contact,” she said, running her thumb up and down the handle of her coffee mug. “I just let everything get out of control,” she said, sighing deeply. “I don’t even like to think about what my poor baby had to endure during the accident.”
Her words hit me like a ton of bricks. I thought I had acknowledged what Megan went through long ago. After all, I was the one that held her hand while they casted her arm. I was the one that had to remove the bloody leotard she had been wearing while trying not to dwell on the source of the blood. I had assumed the source of Megan’s silence was the fact that my father had died, not that she was forced to remain in the car with him until help came.
I stood up abruptly, not wanting to think about it. “I have to go to bed,” I said, trying to ignore the hurt look on Mom's face. I felt guilty, but I couldn’t handle thinking about the last moments of my father’s life without being riddled with guilt. I had been such a bitch to both of them that morning. Snipping at Megan for kicking my seat and snapping at my dad for not buying me the car I wanted.
I was the one that deserved to be punished. It should have been me that died in the car accident.
***
I got out of bed the next morning grumpy from another night with little sleep. I had woken up around 1:00 am, drenched in sweat from a nightmare of being in the car with Megan and my dad during the accident. In the dream, I had been pinned against the dashboard and I was forced to watch helplessly as my father turned to me with blood streaming down his face. “Help me,” he said as I watched him slowly drift away. I reached over to help him, but the scene changed and I was no longer pinned in the car. Instead, I stood on the side of the road, watching as their car was driven off the road. I turned in horror to the stranger beside me, pleading for help to save them, but saw that the stranger was Maddon. He watched me with the same hurt expression he had worn when I screamed at him at school. “This is our fault,” he said, just before I jerked awake.
I tried in vain to go back to sleep, but the look in his eyes haunted me. I couldn’t help feeling a stir of something other than anger when I thought of him. I tried to dredge up the previous anger I felt, but all I could think about was how defeated he looked when I had screamed at him.
I was still awake when the sun came up, and I dragged myself down the stairs, wearing my favorite jeans that had been washed so many times that sections of the jeans consisted of thin strands.
“You okay?” my mom asked as I stumbled toward the coffee pot, wishing someone would invent a caffeine IV drip for occasions such as this.
“Bad dream,” I mumbled, grabbing the flavored cream I preferred out of the refrigerator.
“You want to talk about it?” she asked in her normal inquisitive way.
“No,” I said shortly, cringing at the thought of ever telling her.
“Okay, well, if you're sure,” she added, looking hurt.
“It was nothing,” I said, trying to smooth it over. “Hey, Peanut, are those pancakes with peanut butter?” I asked, looking at the stack of pancakes on her plate.
She nodded happily as she scooped a big bite into her mouth.
“Your favorite,” I said smiling at her.
“Do you want me to whip you up a batch, too?” Mom asked.
“Sure,” I answered, surprising us both. Before my dad died, I had always watched every calorie that made its way between my lips. My cheerleading uniform required me to stay as slim as I could. Being naturally curvy hadn’t helped the situation as I worked extra hard to keep my body fat down. Giving up that part of my life had allowed me to finally eat things I had been missing out on half my life. I had put on a few pounds, but felt they suited my frame better than before. And yes, I had to endure a few snide remarks from Lacey, but I didn’t take the bait. She would get hers one day. Besides, she wishes she could eat like I was now.
Mom set the plate of pancakes down in front of me and I dug into them with gusto. She watched me for a moment and then laughed.
“What?” I asked, feeling a little self-conscious.
“I’m just not used to seeing you enjoy food so much,” she said, shooting Megan a smile who returned it.
“Okay, so you guys were right. I’ve been missing out.” I said as my mom laughed out loud for the first time in months, and Megan let out a small giggle.
My mom’s smile turned wistful as she watched us, and I didn’t need mindreading skills to know what she was thinking.
Our laughter died away and we finished eating as we all tried hard not mention the person who was missing.
I arrived at school before the first bell rang and found Colton waiting for me at my locker.
“Hey, what’s up?” I asked, grabbing my lit book for first period.
“Not much,” he said, leaning against the wall. “So, how was your meeting with Mrs. Leighton?” he asked as we made our way down the hall.
“Ugh, don’t ask,” I said, already dreading my next meeting with her.
“It couldn’t have been that bad,” he said, nudging me with his shoulder as we neared Ms. Johnson’s class.
“Believe me, it was. She’s trying to get all my deep secrets out of me like we're friends or something,” I said, making my way through the door.
“I don’t know, I think it'd be kind of nice to spill your guts to someone without worrying about who they’re going to tell,” he said, sinking down in his seat two rows from me.
I looked at him questioningly, but he kept his eyes firmly on the dry erase board at the front of the room. What a strange thing to say. Did he have something he wanted to tell me?
I waited impatiently for class to end so I could talk to him, but he was up and out of his seat the moment the bell rang. "Colton, wait." I gathered my stuff, hoping to catch him, but by the time I got out the door, he was gone. My impending meeting with Mrs. Leighton today pushed my confusion over Colton to the back burner as I contemplated using the cram
ps excuse to duck out and go home.
Against my better judgment, I stayed and before I knew it, fourth period was over and it was time for round two.
“Kassandra, it’s nice to see you again,” Mrs. Leighton greeted me, giving no indication of being upset about my abrupt ending to our last meeting.
I looked at her balefully, waiting for the prying to begin.
She sat back in her chair with her hands folded in her lap, watching me, but not saying a word.
I stared back, confused by her silence.
I watched the minute hand on the wall clock behind her move at an excruciatingly slow pace as the silence between us stretched on.
“I was a spoiled brat,” I finally said when I couldn’t take the oppressive silence a moment longer.
“You’re a teenager. All teenagers are brats,” she said, shooting me a small smile.
“Fine, I was a bitch,” I said, going for the shock factor.
“All women can be a bitch at one point or another,” she said, shocking me by repeating my choice of words.
I couldn’t help the small smile that crossed my lips before turning somber again. “I was one all the time. I complained constantly, and expected everything to go my way,” I said quietly, looking down at my lap.
“Kassandra, you’re a teenager, those things are expected. Your dad didn’t hold that against you.”
“How can you be so sure? He was always giving me ‘what if’ scenarios. 'What if I wasn’t a cheerleader? What would I do instead? What if I wasn’t so popular, would I miss my superficial friends?' He might as well have been talking to the wall. I would have died rather than give up cheerleading or all my friends. But I didn’t die. He did.”
“Why did you give up cheerleading?” she asked, shifting gears.
“Because,” I said, pulling on a frayed string on the knee of my jeans.
“Because why?”
“It’s what he would have wanted,” I said as the bell rang, ending lunch period. I jumped to my feet and headed for the door.