“So, who was it?” She must’ve assumed I was reluctant to come clean with the details, because she said, “Oh, yuck. You weren’t with Jesse Coogan, were you? Then I’d understand why you’d want that to remain a secret.”
I’d been concocting an explanation for this occasion. “It’s nothing that juicy or gross.” Fiddling with my collar, I schooled my expression with honesty. “Actually, it’s kind of stupid. I went to pick up my baby sister and accidently scraped my throat on the corner of the coffee table. It hurt like a sucker, and I could hardly breathe.” That last part was genuine. I edged my butt onto one of the sinks and reflexively massaged my bruised thigh.
“That does sound stupid and far-fetched.” She pressed her hands along her knit top, tucking it into the waistband of her hip-huggers. Then, sounding devoid of doubt, she said, “It’s a hickey.”
When I began to object, she extended her hand, palm up.
“I understand. It’s because you don’t want to hurt someone’s feelings.”
The words escaped my mouth faster than I could reel them back in. “Are Michael and Dee going out now?” Why’d I say that?
“You’re asking for personal reasons?” Her eyes narrowed and hummed in thought. “Every girl in this school is after him.”
“If it’s the truth, then it’d be a good idea for Dee to make it public,” I said. “You know what I mean. Like hands off, property taken. Weren’t Dee and Michael in the basement on Putnam’s infamous mattress?”
“Dee can get any guy she wants. She likes to play around, and I think Covington is kind of like a pet project.”
“What do you mean?”
Candy shrugged. “He’s hard to get.”
“Oh?”
“Of course, Dee likes the guy.” Candy gripped the shoulder strap of her purse. “Who doesn’t? When you and Michael were dancing at the party, Dee was pissed. I told her Michael made the move, and you didn’t have a choice. She’s practically throwing herself into his arms.”
That was a fact.
“So, tell me.” Candy stared, bewitching eyes watching for my reaction. “You like him, don’t you?”
“Umm… He’s very nice.” I tugged my hair. “Who else would carry out a waste product? He helped me. That’s not easy to forget.”
“You’re naïve. And you’d better be careful.” She sighed. “I have enough to worry about with your brother. Did Steve tell you he’s thinking of dropping out of school?”
“No. He can’t.” I didn’t believe her. He’d never mentioned it.
“Yep, he’s been talking about it.” Candy leaned over the sink, getting closer to her reflection. Using her baby finger, she touched up her lipstick. “Do you realize the bell rang a while ago?”
“Oh shit, late for class again. Why didn’t you say something?”
“I wanted to know who gave you those.” She finger-flipped my shirt collar. “My guess is Michael.”
I was on the verge of spilling my guts when the Dragon flew in. Detention.
“Monroe,” said the gym teacher, Ms. Bloome, her intonation tart, “I let it go on Monday. But it’s Wednesday, you should’ve been feeling better, get on your gym clothes or it’s detention this Friday, understand? I’ll see you in the gym in five minutes.”
I had served the Dragon’s detention the day before. It hadn’t been terrible, but on Friday? My parents wouldn’t allow me go to the football game if they found out, and I desperately wanted to see Michael play. I hadn’t seen him since the incident.
I’d used my time of the month for not participating in gym one too many times. Concealing those damn black and blue marks was the problem. The patches on my neck and arms were mellowing to a yellowish-green shade, and like Candy, everyone would think it was a healing hickey. My thigh, though, was still puffy, hued purple with traces of green and yellow, and difficult to hide.
At the start of the year, girls had been assigned a cubby for their gym clothes and sneakers. When the cubbies were opened, a fusty stench consumed the locker room. It should have been mandatory for uniforms to be laundered at least weekly. I thought it was asinine to have locks on the cubbies, who’d want to steal the ugly one-piece, stinky garments.
Some girl’s liked to flaunt their wares, whereas I tended to be shy. Lingering until no one was in sight, I had to dress fast. I slipped out of my bell-bottoms, stepped into my one-piece uniform, and hiked it to my waist. Discarding my shirt, I stuck my arms into the sleeves of the malodorous fabric.
It didn’t matter how hard I yanked at the bottom cuffs of the uniformed legs, the material wasn’t magically getting any longer. Prior to exiting the locker room, I studied my reflection in a floor length mirror to make sure the bruises were adequately hidden.
“Hey, Mary,” Dee welcomed, coming from her locker and swishing her pristine ponytail. Only she could look decent in the boxy uniform. “Taking class today?”
We scuffled into the hollow sounding gym with the rest of the class.
“Ms. Bloome is making me.” Sounding glum, I said, “Hope we’re going outside.” My thinking had been that, once outdoors, we’d have a game of field hockey and there’d be a reasonable distance between players. Thus keeping an accidental oversight of my bruised body at bay.
“It rained yesterday, and there’s standing water on the fields. I doubt Bloome will take us out.”
I grunted.
Spying her bracelet of hair ties, I motioned to her wrist and asked, “Can you spare one?” I’d overslept that morning and taming my mutinous hair was an afterthought.
“Sure.” She unwound a band from her wrist and handed it over.
The badminton nets were already in place as we made ourselves comfortable on the bleachers.
On the opposite side of the gymnasium, the boys were in the progress of a basketball game. Michael’s height made him stand out. I loved gym that year. While waiting for our teacher, the majority of girls also watched them.
Tilda Cutty went so far as to shout, “I want to have your baby, Covington.”
Giggling erupted, especially when Michael blew the girls a kiss.
Swiveling to Dee, I caught her staring at my throat.
Sounding suspicious, she asked, “What did you and Michael do while you waited for us to get to Candy’s on Saturday?”
“Nothing really.” I toyed with the neckline of my uniform. Did Candy tell her about the hickey? “I dozed in and out. Can’t remember much.”
“When I saw him carrying you from the party, I offered to come along to help. Just in case you woke up puking,” she said, sounding standoffish. “But he said he could handle you. Strange, don’t you think?”
Ms. Bloome drew our undivided attention by screeching on her blasted whistle until all eyes settled on her. We knew the drill of picking teams. So, we juggled into positions to either be with the most proficient players or with our chosen friends. We counted off—one, two, three, four. Ones and threes went to the left of the nets and twos and fours went on the right. During the game, I hopped, jumped, and batted that birdie for all I was worth because I was a gamer.
“Mary, what the hell did you do to your leg?” Dee asked.
Flushed with exertion, I whirled toward her gawking expression. She lurched and pulled the cuff of my uniform.
“Oh my God.”
“Stop it, Dee.” I thumped her intruding hand.
“Your arms are black and blue too?”
Reeling from her, my gaze met with blazing blue eyes. Michael was a half-court away, though it felt as if he was standing right in front of me.
Ms. Bloome’s jarring whistle halted all activity. “Monroe and Sorrentino, what’s going on?” Bloome’s rubber soles squeaked on the shellacked flooring.
Dee don’t mention the bruises.
“Nothing,” we said in unison.
“Ms. Bloome,�
� Patty Dingens flapped her big mouth, “did you see how beat-up Mary is?”
“What are you talking about?” The teacher gazed from Patty to Dee and then to me. Her glasses skied down her slick nose as her eyes raked over me. Her hand darted forward and grabbed my arm to inspect the bruise. Then she bent over and lifted the leg of my uniform.
I whisked a defensive hand at her and recoiled.
“Monroe, what’s going on? What are these discolorations?”
This isn’t happening. It’s a nightmare. A rush of blood pummeled into my eardrums, and a burn ignited behind my eyes. As kids fenced me in, a deadening silence blanketed the gym. Girls and boys were scrutinizing me with accusatory eyes. A lone tear had the audacity to trip over my lid. I brushed it away before it leaked over my cheek.
“She fell down the stairs at Candy Bradford’s,” Michael said, his voice low and staid.
He lingered near my back, heat emitting off him. I glimpsed Dee, who was staring at Michael.
“That’s right.” Dee confirmed his story, eyebrows askew. “We had a sleepover at Candy’s, and Mary fell down the stairs.”
There was an unsightly twist to Bloome’s mouth as she said, “Really? Was it a party?”
“Covington,” called Coach Sidney as he headed to the girls’ side of the gym to see what was transpiring. “Go pump some iron. You got a game on Friday.”
“In a minute, Coach.” Michael fixed a palm on my shoulder. “Are you okay, Mary?” His hand was warm, and I drank in his strength.
“She’s fine. Aren’t you, honey?” interjected Coach as he gazed at me with a sappy expression. “Everything’s good, right, Ms. Bloome?”
“I’d still like to know whose party,” Ms. Bloome groused.
“Ms. Bloome,” Coach said, sounding condescending, “these are teenagers, and teenagers don’t squeal. So just forget about it.”
“I’m okay.” I huffed a choppy breath.
Michael’s hand glided off my shoulder. I didn’t look, but I heard his sneakers pound along the wooden floor. My gaze steered to Ms. Bloome, and her face hardened with determination.
After gym, Dee breezed by and bumped my shoulder. She seemed to be fuming, and I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing. Clothed and ready for my next class, I couldn’t get out of the locker room fast enough. As I turned the corner, Ms. Bloome blocked the door.
“Come to my office.”
“I’ll be late for class and get detention.”
“I’ll write you a pass. Come.”
I lagged behind. This is going to be torture. What was the old hag after anyway? Why couldn’t she leave it alone?
Sitting in a chrome chair in front of her desk, Ms. Bloome shed her glasses and massaged the bridge of her nose before hooking the frames back over her ears. “Mary, those discolorations looked bad. Real bad. I don’t believe falling down a couple of stairs would make those in that area.”
She leaned and folded her arms on her desk. “I can’t turn a blind eye on what I saw. I want to help you. To me, it looks like somebody beat you up. Or worse.” Tipping her head downward, she peered at me from above the rim of her glasses. “Do you get my drift?”
“No. You’re wrong. Totally wrong, and you’re making it worse.” I set my chin stubbornly and crossed my arms over my waist.
“Mary—” She threw her hands upward in a show of exasperation. “You kids don’t know how to deal with these things.” Her words were spoken through grinding teeth. “I want to help.”
“Ms. Bloome, I’m fine.” As my nerves tightened, I pressed my hands between my thighs to reduce my tremors. “Thanks for your concern, but there’s nothing to talk about here. Can I leave now?”
She scribbled a hall pass, and with two fingers, surfed it over the desk. While leaving her office, I collided with Michael.
“Whoa.” His hands held onto my shoulders to steady me.
“What are you doing here?” I turned my head to check if Ms. Bloome had followed me.
“Coach gave me the rest of the day off. I was waiting for you, and wondered what was going on. Ms. Bloome is a real piece of work. Are you sure you’re all right?”
His thumbs rubbed my collarbone, sending thrills and chills to every nerve ending in my body. “I’m fine.” Tongued tied, I peered into his exquisite face. My heart somersaulted as I took a breath.
Man, I’m sunk.
The pressure of his thumbs increased as he bowed his head to my shoulder. The smell of his aftershave, cologne, or whatever guys splashed on was intoxicating. And breathing it in stirred a kettle of longing to kiss him right here, right now.
“You should’ve told me what that fucking bastard did,” he said, his voice pure poison as strands of his hair brushed my cheek. “After seeing those bruises, all I can think about is killing him for hurting you.”
He trampled my longing, as I stated, “He didn’t do anything.” Did he really think the pervert had performed the deed?
“Michael Covington.”
Ms. Bloome’s commanding tenor surprised me.
“Are you threatening this young lady?”
He didn’t budge. “With every ounce of my manhood,” he said, his words imbued with sarcasm. With a roll of his shoulders, he straightened his spine as guarded eyes gazed lazily at the teacher, and then gave her a brusque nod. “I was just leaving.” He sent me a charming wink, and his mouth quirked into a devilish grin. Pivoting on his heels, he sauntered along the corridor.
My eyes tracked him for a minute before I turned to witness Ms. Bloome’s clear aversion.
“Get to class, Miss Monroe.”
Her sentence, enunciated through barred teeth, raised the hairs on my neck.
I blamed Bloome for making me tardy for art class. I kept picturing her ominous expression, and having to drudge through tedious details on my art project made it ten times trickier.
Remaining longer than I should have in art, I rushed into the cafeteria and became aware of necks craning in my direction. I felt creeped-out by their furtive glances. With cheeks pinking, I dumped into the chair next to Gwen. Initially, the girls feigned apathy, though I knew better. Dee would’ve blabbed everything.
“So, Candy?” I cracked the icy silence. “Did you hear I fell down your stairs?” My lunch bag crinkled as I delved in and unwrapped my sandwich.
“Dee, thanks for backing Michael up.” Her slitty eyes appeared cynical.
Candy tossed her auburn hair over her shoulders while looking from side to side, testing for snoops. She dunked her head forward, and we angled in.
“Mary, I’ll lie for my friends if it’d help,” she whispered, “but best friends confide in one another. We’d like to know. What’s the deal?”
A flame crept to the tips of my ears, and a lump formed in my throat, making swallowing impossible. I wasn’t ready to talk about it because I’d turn into a driveling loon. I’d woven a steel cord over the abominable memory for my own sanity and didn’t want to unleash it. What if they didn’t believe that it never went all the way? Even Michael seemed to think I’d been raped, and hadn’t leaked a word to anyone. At least not that I know of.
“We’re staying after school to watch the football team practice,” Gwen said. “Why don’t we talk there, not as many ears bending our way.” She wheeled around and shouldered the girl sitting beside her who’d been listening in. “Back off creep.”
No one messed with Gwen. The girl collected her tray and moved to another table.
“I have detention tonight,” I answered. “But I’ll meet you on the bleachers afterwards.”
“Looking forward to it.” Dee’s unsavory tone couldn’t be misconstrued.
Detention wasn’t half bad. It actually enabled me to complete my homework and read a chapter in A Tale of Two Cities, assigned by Mr. Carlson. Then I pondered what I was going to say to the girl
s. The tricky part was Michael’s involvement. We’d lied by saying I’d passed-out. That part wasn’t exactly untrue.
Today, Michael’s interceding on my behalf was problematic. Is he furious because I didn’t confide in him about the bruise or angry because of Bloome’s interrogation? He must’ve seen I was coming unglued. I needed to decide if I should continue the charade?
My brain was a traffic mess of contradictions. Throughout the day, stifling my waterworks had been harrowing. I made a nest with my arms, lowered my head, and wondered if I’d ever feel normal again.
I tensed when a hand clamped my shoulder.
“Mary, are you all right?” Mr. Kwiatek, the detention monitor, inquired.
“Yes.” I swiped away the unwanted tears. The room, which had previously been packed, was now empty. “Is it time to go?”
“It’s ten minutes past,” he said. “Did you fall asleep?”
“I must’ve.” Collecting my papers and books, I said, “Thanks for waking me.”
After depositing my books in my locker, I snatched my coat. Smog had encompassed the late afternoon, and gloomy clouds threatened the skies. Shrugging on my coat, I headed to the athletic field. A few students speckled the stands, and I recognized my brother’s wavy hair swooshing over his shoulders. Candy and the girls flanked him, and I joined them on the bench.
Dee asked Gwen, “Are you really considering going out with him?”
“Tom’s a great guy.” She raised her left shoulder. “At Putnam’s, it was just one of those things. You know, like the song, “Love the One You’re With.”
Gwen swiveled to me. “Mary, Jesse’s nuts about you. He wants to know if you’ll go out with him?” Her eyebrows arched. “We could double date. Cool, huh?”
“He’s okay, for a friend.” Jesse Coogan was not the boy of my dreams. The boy of my dreams had just sprinted downfield, wearing the number twelve.
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