“He has developmental problems. He’s in special education at the junior high,” I explained.
“Casey, does your mother know he’s supposed to be here at the high school at his age?”
“Oh yeah,” I answered in a tone that announced there was a lot more to the story.
“She could get into problems with pupil personnel or the court system if he’s not placed in the right school.”
“Don’t worry. It was all worked out a long time ago. Mom and Dad went through some kind of hearing to have him placed at the junior high.”
“That may not be the best thing for him,” Mrs. Hoffstedder cautioned.
“I just know it was a huge deal with attorneys and everything. Derek had an advocate who said because of his disabilities and his size; it would be better for him to be there and not here.” I shrugged.
The nurse looked doubtful. “Well, I suppose those decisions are hard. Is he getting support services at home?” She began writing on a pink pad I recognized as detention slips with carbonless duplicates.
“Yeah, he’s got therapists and caseworkers.”
“That’s good,” she said, looking satisfied we weren’t neglecting him. “That can be a real challenge for any family to deal with.”
“Yeah, he needs all the help he can get,” I agreed. “So how long do I have to stay after school?”
“It’s an hour,” she answered. “You’ll need to have your mother call the school about your brother.”
“Yeah, that’s my plan if I can get hold of her. She’s at work.” I wasn’t sure why, but I felt dangerously close to tearing up. It must have been from the stress because I just don’t cry.
Mrs. Hoffstedder looked at me with concern in her eyes. “Tell you what; I’ll call the school and ask if someone can stay with your foster brother until you get there. Will that help?”
I exhaled the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, and I felt an offending droplet spill from one eye. “Yes, that would be great,” I said. “Thank you so much, Mrs. Hoffstedder. His name is Derek Compton, and he’s in Miss Snelling’s resource room.”
She pulled the top copy of the detention slip from the pad and handed to me. “You’ll turn this in to the teacher on duty. I don’t know who it will be today. Just go to the room. The number is listed in the upper right-hand corner. You’re expected to be there immediately after the last bell. If you’re late, or you don’t show up, there will be other disciplinary actions. She scribbled her signature across a class admission slip and handed it to me. “Are we clear?” she asked.
“We’re clear.”
◆◆◆
I reached my English class, already in progress. Mr. Straub was mid-performance of the current Old-English poem we’d been studying. I entered the room making as little noise as possible and held up the admission slip for him to see. He nodded, and I placed it on his desk before taking my seat. As he continued, I quietly found my cell phone and hid it on my lap. I typed out a quick message to Mom explaining that Derek needed a ride home after school and asking her to text me. I clicked the send icon, slipped the phone into my pocket, and turned my attention to Straub.
Physical education was next on my schedule. It was a girls-only class, and after we all changed into our dress-code-approved t-shirts and shorts, Coach Jensen had us running an obstacle course she’d set up in the gym. It consisted of running suicides, climbing ropes, tire drills, and pushups. We were supposed to run the course five times, but I just couldn’t do it. Not today. I fell out after the third round, the full force of my lack of sleep knocking me flat. I knew I could do this under normal circumstances, and the coach did too. She reminded me anyway that I would have to be able to run the full course by the end of the year and that I needed the practice. That was Jensen. No nonsense. No excuses. Just results.
I bit my lip to keep from snapping back at her, reminding myself she was just doing her job. I was moody and edgy when I was tired, and it was hard to focus. Every muscle in my body ached, and for once, I actually looked forward to the showers. The area beneath the gym was dank and musty, and the locker rooms appeared to have been constructed as an afterthought. At the foot of the stairs, the guys’ locker room was off to the left, and the girls’ room was to the right. The center of the basement, for lack of a better term, was a long tunnel rumored to lead to a mechanical room where the furnaces and boilers were located. It was probably true because pipes ran overhead and led to that area. The ceiling was low, and I always felt cooped up and uncomfortable down here. As I turned to the right toward the locker area, Harley Evans’s voice called out.
“Hey, Casey!” she called. “Wait up.”
I heard the sound of small, sneaker-clad feet skipping down the concrete steps. I leaned against my locker, as much to rest as to give Harley time to catch up.
She skipped into the steamy haze and chlorine smell, her long, magenta ponytail swinging with each step. She wrapped her arms around me in a hug. “Saw you bottom out back there. You look tired.”
“Thanks for the news flash,”
“Touchy today much?” she asked. “Just kidding. I’ve been so worried about you,” she said, the vestiges of her Texan drawl evident in her speech.
I met her in junior high when she and her family moved here after her dad’s company was transferred.
“Are you doin’ okay?” she asked.
“Yeah,” I answered. “I’m good. I’m always good.” I pulled away from her and began removing my sweaty t-shirt and shorts as we talked. Harley followed suit.
“C’mon now, you can tell me. I know what you’re really dealin’ with.” Locker doors banged and clanged around us as the rest of the girls from class came down for showers.
“There’s no fooling you, huh?” I withdrew my shower basked from the locker and checked the contents. I made a quick check of my phone for messages, but my mother hadn’t responded. I slipped it back into the pocket of my jacket hanging inside the locker door.
“I just know how it really is,” she said, “but I understand if you don’t want to talk about it.” She slipped off her sneakers and socks. “I’m sorry I didn’t make it to the funeral.” Harley, who was more of a minimalist in locker organization, dug out some mismatched flip-flops and slung a towel over her shoulder.
“It’s okay,” I assured her. “I didn’t make it either. Well, not for all of it.”
“What? Why?” She dug deep under a huge pile of t-shirts and towels that probably should have been taken home a long time ago to wash and retrieved a bottle of men’s 3-in-1 shower gel.
“Wow, you’ve had that same bottle for a long time,” I said, looking at the scuffed-up label. I recognized it as the brand she had said her ex had liked.
“I’m rationing it,” she explained. “Stores don’t carry it around here.”
I gave her my best ‘you’ve got to be kidding’ face. “Why are you doing this to yourself? You can’t keep using your boyfriend’s shower gel. He’s all the way back in Texas, and he’s told you he’s moving on. You need to move on too.”
“It’s okay if I like the scent,” she said with a defensive edge to her voice.
“I think it’s more than that.” I accused, staring at the pile of dirty clothes in her locker. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you were refilling it and keeping the same bottle.” I could feel her glare as I continued to look at her locker. I spied what appeared to be the tip of a feather poking out from beneath a striped towel.
“Well, you’re wrong,” she insisted. “Sure, I miss Zack, but I’m not hanging onto mementos like a jilted loser with no life,” she explained.
I reached down and lifted the pile of clothing and found what I’d suspected had been hiding under it. Zack’s black Stetson. It was obviously the same one I’d seen her wearing most of the time when we first met because it still had that same feathered roach clip hanging on the back brim. “Um, I thought you gave that back to him last year.”
Harley shoved the hat deep into
the locker and replaced the laundry on top of it. “He didn’t want it back,” she insisted.
“You could have donated it to Goodwill or something. Surely there’s some bronco-wannabe here in Ft. Wayne that would buy it with all the damned testosterone there is in this city.”
The effect of my words made me instantly regret saying it. Her demeanor darkened, and she looked somehow smaller and weaker. “Hey, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” I reached for her, and she flinched. “That was shitty of me. It’s none of my business.”
“No big deal,” she said, as she looked away for no apparent reason. I turned back to my locker to give her some space. I didn’t know what was wrong with me. Why couldn’t I just leave things be?
“So how come you missed the funeral?” she asked, breaking the uncomfortable silence.
I accepted the change of subject. I needed it too. “I was at the funeral but missed the graveside part. I had to take Derek for a walk, away from the ceremony.”
“Why?”
“He was getting fidgety, and he would have been scared by the gunshots.”
“Oh…” Harley looked like she had no response for this. I could understand that. It was an odd situation. I moved to walk toward the back of the locker room where the shower stalls were located.
Harley gasped. “Casey! What the Sam Hell happened to your back?”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“You’re covered in bruises!”
“Oh, that.”
“Did your mom hit you?”
“No, it was just Derek.”
“Just Derek?” she asked. “Have you seen yourself?”
In fact, I hadn’t. I just never took the time. If and when I took a shower, I just did it. I didn’t linger or primp or do any of those things I imagined that other girls probably did. I wasn’t motivated. “He’s having a rough time dealing with Dad’s death,” I explained. As I said it out loud, I realized how strange it must seem to Harley. She looked at me, her head slightly tilted to the side like a dog trying to figure out what its owner is saying. We managed to find two stalls side-by-side, and we continued talking to each other over the partitions between them. I stepped into the private area and turned on the hot spray. I removed my underwear and stepped into the warmth.
“You’ve got to tell someone about this,” she said. “He needs help,” Harley’s voice drifted over the cinderblock divider. Her voice was punctuated by splashes of water from her side.
I let the heat from the stream pelt my back. It stung in spots, probably where the bruises were, but I could also feel it relaxing the tension from my neck and shoulders. “Harley, it’s not like that. He just doesn’t understand what he’s doing. He doesn’t mean to hurt me.”
“Do you really know that? I mean what do you actually know about him?” Harley’s voice carried concern with a rare hint of anger.
“Listen to you!” I tossed over the barrier. “All full of that righteous Texas temper. “It’s not like you to get ‘all riled up’ as you say.”
“You’re my friend, Casey, and I care. Your parents. Sorry. I mean your mom should do something to stop this.”
“Look, they’ve done everything they can for him. I’d say we’ve had every available therapist in the tri-state area at our house. He’s seen psychiatrists, and he takes medication.”
“I’m just worried about you,” she said. “Maybe he needs more than what you and your mom can do for him.”
“Such as?” I asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe he needs to be in a special place or something.”
Harley may be right, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that I needed to fix whatever went wrong in his life. Whatever problems he had, the sad reality is that he’d become more familiar to me than my own family. In a weird sort of way, he’d grown on me.
After showering, drying off, and dressing, it was time for lunch, and Harley and I headed for the cafeteria. My head was throbbing, and I was worn out. My stomach had been growling for the last hour because I’d lost my protein bar. I guess it happened when I jumped off the bus this morning. I knew I had to be starving when I saw the little square fish sandwiches being served and thought they smelled good. Usually, I couldn’t stand the site of them. Today though, I took a sandwich and chose dishes of the typical fish square accoutrements, mac and cheese, steamed broccoli, and corn. I decided to take an extra dish of each. Harley whipped out her phone and snapped some photos of my tray.
“Harley! Stop taking pictures of my food.”
She laughed and took one of me complaining. “I have to have evidence of this because nobody will believe you actually got a fish sandwich.”
“I’m warning you; I’d better not see these on the Internet later. You do NOT want to meme-shame me.” Even the tapioca pudding looked good, and I reached for a dish. I looked back down at my tray and noticed the dishes of mac and cheese were missing. What the heck? Was I losing my mind too?
I turned to reach across the student behind me to grab another serving and saw Jordan Parker’s big smile and laughing dark eyes looking straight down at me. In his hands, were the missing bowls.
“Girl, you’re in another world,” he said. “I been talking to you for five minutes, and you didn’t even see me.”
I had to look up to meet his eyes. His six-foot, four-inch frame towered over me and most other students too. “For real?” I considered it for a minute. It wouldn’t have been the first time I’d been so lost in my thoughts that I missed something important. “Jordan, I’m sorry. I’ve just had a lot on my mind.”
Matt Fanes peered around Jordan’s side, just below his shoulder level. “Mished jou lashe week,” he muddled out as he chomped on an apple.
“Yeah, missed you too, and don’t talk with your mouth full,” I scolded him with a laugh.
“Listen to momma Casey, Matt,” Harley teased him as she backed up and took another snapshot, apparently trying to get all of us in it. “You’ll get choked if you’re not careful.”
Matt’s eyes grew wider behind his thick frames as if he hadn’t considered this possibility. Harley caught a photo of his worried face.
I ribbed Harley, and she snorted while suppressing a laugh. “You’d better stop it, or he’ll think you like him,” I whispered, half-kidding.
The cafeteria tables were arranged in long rows, and the seats were attached benches that were a pain to get into and out of. We picked a spot near the outer wall where long windows stretched across the back of the building. We spread around the table, girls facing the guys. Jordan sat on the end and stretched his long legs out the side.
“So, what did I miss last week, guys?” I asked Jordan and Matt. I dove into the fish sandwich and gorged unashamed of my absence of table manners.
“Sorry about your dad, Casey,” Matt answered. Jordan’s head gave a slight bow of agreement. “You didn’t miss much,” Matt continued, “but, my data analysis software design made it to the regional science fair.”
“That’s cool, Matt.” Harley munched on carrot sticks slathered in ranch dressing. “I didn’t know you won.” She reached across the table and attempted to knuckle bump Matt’s hand. “You are so smart!”
Matt’s golden-brown cheeks flushed red, and he snatched his hand away from Harley’s touch. Harley shot me a sideways glance with a questioning look in her eye. I shrugged with an I told you so response.
Matt seemed to pick up on the sea of awkwardness swirling in the air and put his fist out for Harley to bump again but then pulled it back.
“Too late Dawg,” Jordan said. He clasped his hands and formed a steeple with his fingers. “And that, my child, is why you’re the team stats geek and not the point guard,” he explained, giving Matt a look of learned superiority.
I swatted Jordan’s shoulder. “Hey! Being the star doesn’t give you the right to be a jerk.”
“Matt knows I’m just messin’ with him,” Jordan said. “’Ain’t that right?”
Matt clasped
his hands and formed a steeple in perfect mimicry of Jordan. “Ain’t is not a word, and that my child, is why you’re the team star and not the class valedictorian.”
“Touché, Matt,” I yelled, and held my hand up for a high five. He was a little slow on the match five, but he did, in fact, make contact. Harley clicked her phone, catching another photo.
“And I, for one, think your projects are great,” I continued. “Maybe you’ll win state again like you did last year with that solar generator thingy you did.”
Matt lowered his head and smiled.
“Solar thingy?” Harley asked. “How did I not know about this?”
“It was just a generator,” Matt said as he scooted his fork around, scooping up stray bits of corn from his plate.
“Naw man, it was cool,” Jordan admitted. “It’s on display in the case in the science hall if you want to see it,” Jordan told Harley.
“So, do you all want to meet up for coffee after school?” Harley asked, after a few moments of silent munching. “That new shop is open by the bookstore on Second Street.”
“No can do, chica,” Jordan said. “Got practice ‘til five. Matt’s got to be there too.”
Matt pushed his glasses up his nose and gave a disappointed nod of agreement. “Some other time?” he asked.
“Yeah, sure,” Harley answered. “What about you, Casey?”
“Sorry, but no. I have detention.”
Everyone stopped talking and stared at me.
“You got detention?” Matt’s voice was pitched in disbelief.
“No way!” Disbelief was evident in Harley’s voice.
“Yeah, well. Everybody’s got a dark side,” I said. “I was late this morning.”
“Don’t you ride the bus?” Jordan asked.
“I do. Long story, but the short version is that Derek got kicked off the bus. I walked him to school and then came here, so that’s why.”
“Bummer,” Jordan stated the obvious. “So, Casey…has your mom been rethinking this whole foster parent gig? I’m not sure this is gonna work out now that your dad is--.”
“Yeah, I know. I know what you mean,” I admitted. “It’s not the best situation. I don’t know what she’s going to do, but Derek is just…He’s not a bad kid or mean. He’s just never been taught right from wrong.”
Viral Series (Book 1): Viral Dawn [Extended Edition] Page 4