But this means I’ll have to wait for him to come get me.
“I absolutely loved those pictures you posted last week,” Jazmine says. She’s standing a few feet away from me.
“You have a nice body, by the way,” she says, with a small chuckle. “Very impressive.”
“Shut up, Jazmine,” I say. I know I shouldn't talk to her at all, but I can’t just let her attack me anymore.
“Ooh, feisty today, aren’t we?” Jazmine says with a smirk.
“I know it was you,” I blurt out. “I know you started the rumor about me. And I know that you were the one who posted those fake pictures of me.”
Jazmine doesn’t say anything for a moment. She just stares at me. “You’ve figured it all out, huh?”
I nod. “Yes. And you need to stop. I would never do something like this to you, so why are you doing it to me?”
“Because you’re fake!” Jazmine shouts. She got too angry so suddenly. “And everybody needs to know!”
“I didn’t make a move on your boyfriend!” I shout back. People are beginning to stare.
But I don’t care. I’m done being silent. This is my life, and I’m taking it back.
“Yes, you did!” Jazmine yells. Now people are starting to gather, but I don’t care. I don’t care, I don’t care, I don’t care.
“How could I have tried to make a move on your boyfriend?” I ask. “I’ve never even talked to him!”
“Because I-” Jazmine stutters, and that’s when I realize that I finally got her. She has no proof that I did anything to her.
“I just know, okay?” She says. “I know .”
I shake my head in frustration. “That’s not a good enough reason to torture someone!”
“What’s going on?” I can hear Lucas, but I can’t see him. He must be making his way through the crowd that has gathered.
“I know what you did!” Jazmine snarls. Her face changes, and I’m not sure what she’s thinking right now. “And I won’t just let you get away with it!”
Jazmine lunges from where she was standing, forming her hand into a fist. Suddenly I’m on the ground, and the left side of my jaw is screaming in pain. I don’t know how I got on the ground, and I don’t remember her punching me. I just remember hearing a loud gasp from the crowd that’s encircled us. Jazmine is on top of me, trying to punch me again, but I move my head out of the way just in time, so her fist only connects with the ground. She lets out a shriek of pain, so I make my move.
I ball my hand into a fist and hit Jazmine as hard as I can. Jazmine falls backwards and gasps. I push myself up, and in one swift motion, I lunge at her. Suddenly I’m being pulled back from Jazmine, as two hands wrap around my stomach.
“You can’t just do this to me!” I shout. I begin thrashing and kicking and fighting against whoever is pulling me back.
“You can’t just ruin my life!” I yell.
Jazmine is covering her face with both hands, and I think I can hear her whimpering a little. I know I shouldn’t, but I feel pride as I’m being pulled away.
I search the crowd, from everybody staring at me like I have two heads, to Jazmine crying on the floor, to Lucas-who looks like he doesn’t even know who I am anymore-and back again.
I stop thrashing. And I stop kicking. I stop fighting. I just pull away from whoever is grabbing at me, and try to walk myself.
It’s Mr. Smith. His bright blue eyes look startled as I break my way free from him, and his bright white hair is askew. I stare at him for a moment, then let him escort me from the fourth floor.
I don’t say anything as Mr. Smith leads me to the main staircase.
“Kalani!” I can hear someone calling me, and loud footsteps beating against the tile floor.
Lucas is suddenly in front of me-and Mr. Smith-and the sight of him, for some reason, overwhelms me.
He stares at me for a moment, and it’s like he doesn’t know what to say. I don’t know what to say either.
“Why?” Is all he can get out. He sounds breathless.
“I couldn’t let her attack me anymore.” Is all I can say.
Mr. Smith looks at Lucas, then at me, then back at Lucas.
“Let’s go, Kalani,” he says. He gently pulls me by the arm, so I follow without protest.
I can feel Lucas’s eyes all over me, analyzing me, as I walk past him. And I know why his eyes are all over me; because last year, I would have never allowed myself to get into a fight with anyone. Hell, three months ago, I wouldn’t have gotten into a fight with someone. He’s analyzing me because I am a problem to solve. I’m a problem that he can’t solve. I’m a completely different person. And he doesn’t know what to do anymore.
* * *
I’m sitting in the principal’s office, and I can hear my mom screaming through the phone, as the principal attempts to explain the situation. The principal is tall, with long black hair and grey-blue eyes. Her name is Mrs. Jones. Once Mrs. Jones is finished with the conversation, she hangs up the phone, placing it firmly in its holder. Then she turns to me.
“Your mother is on her way to pick you up,” she says. “I’ve decided to suspend you for five days.”
I can’t even stop my mouth from dropping to the floor. “Isn’t the standard amount of time for suspension three days?” I ask. “Why are you suspending me for five?”
“I don’t think you realize the severity of your actions, Ms. Young,” Mrs. Jones says.
“Ms. Davis is on her way to the emergency room right now.”
“What?” I ask, stunned. “Why is she going to the ER?”
“Her wrist is most likely broken,” Mrs. Jones says. Her cold blue eyes are hard, staring me down as if it’s my fault that Jazmine possibly broke her wrist.
“That’s not my fault.” I say, defensively.
“How is it not your fault?” Mrs. Jones says, and she looks at me like I might be stupid.
“Because Jazmine punched me first. Not the other way around.” I explain. “Jazmine was on top of me! And if I hadn’t had moved my head out of the way in time, she probably would have given me another concussion or worse!”
“Then how else could she have broken her wrist?” Mrs. Jones asks, she’s practically shouting now. “Huh?!”
“She punched the floor!” I shout back. “It’s like I said, she was literally on top of me. I moved my head out of the way, and her fist hit the floor instead.”
Mrs. Jones stares at me for a long time. I wonder if she doesn’t believe me. Knowing my luck, she probably doesn’t.
“Listen,” she begins. “All I know is that a girl is going to the emergency room. That’s all
I know.”
“You don’t believe me,” I conclude. I shake my head, and it takes everything I have not to roll my eyes at her.
“I don’t know what to believe, Kalani!” Mrs. Jones shouts. I stare down at the floor, because staring her in her eyes is just too much to handle at this point.
“There are multiple witnesses who have come forward, and have confirmed that you were the one who started the fight, not Jazmine Davis.”
I look up at Mrs. Jones, not even being able to hide how shocked I am.
“What?” And it’s barely a gasp. “How could they say I started the fight? That’s a lie!”
Mrs. Jones closes her eyes for a moment, and I can tell that she’s already done with me.
Its case closed. I’m suspended.
“I want to take your word into account, but it’s difficult to do so, considering someone is being taken to the emergency room,” Mrs. Jones says. “I’m sorry, Kalani, but it’s out of my hands.”
“No, it isn’t,” I say, trying not to yell. “You’re the principal!”
“Actually, it is!” Mrs. Jones yells. “If I don’t take action on a situation that needs to be handled, the school board will step in, and I will probably be fired!” She explains.
I slump back in my chair and let out a deep sigh
. It’s over. There’s nothing she can or will do for me. Jazmine is the one who started all of this and I’m the one being punished for it. Mrs. Jones doesn’t say anything. Instead, she slips past her desk, walks past me, and leaves. I knew I shouldn’t have gotten involved. I knew I should have walked away. I knew I shouldn’t have let Jazmine get to me, the way she has been, all school year.
The silence of the room begins to overwhelm me, and that’s when I realize that this is my fault. Even if Jazmine started this, I’m the one who fueled it. I’m the one who gave her what she wanted.
This is my fault.
Everything is always my fault.
* * *
When my mom arrives at school, I don’t even want to look at her. Having to leave work early because your daughter suffered from a head injury is one thing. But having to leave work early because your daughter got into a fight, is an entirely different story.
My mom stares at me, her brown eyes filled with anger and disappointment.
“Let’s go,” she says, stalking out of the room. I stand from my place, and quickly follow behind her.
My mom is walking fast-like practically jogging-and I’m having a hard time keeping up with her.
“Mom, I’m sorry,” I say. “It wasn’t my fault-”
My mom whirls around, her finger pointed at me. She’s so close to me, that I’m afraid she’s going to hit me.
“I don’t want to hear anything from you!” My mom says, her voice so dark, I think she might hate me right now.
“You know I got a call from your school earlier today?” My mom says. “They said you weren’t in class a couple of days ago, but you weren’t excused from class.”
I think back to the day Lucas and I spent cleaning up the photo shopped pictures. I didn’t attend class at all that day.
“And now, I get a call from your school saying that you’re suspended for fighting?” My mom shouts, and for a moment, I think I might cry right here, in the school parking lot.
“This kind of behavior is not okay!” She yells. “I didn’t raise you to be like this! You will not do anything like this again, do you hear me?”
All I can do is nod, because I’m afraid if I speak, she might kill me.
“You’re going to spend the next five days, cleaning the entire house,” my mom begins. “You’re going to write an apology note to your principal, and to the girl that you got into a fight with. And I’m taking your car keys until further notice.”
All I can do is gasp. This is a little excessive.
“So, you don’t even want to hear my side of the story?” I ask.
“Kalani, don’t!” My mom shouts. She turns away from me, and makes her way to the car.
“Your car keys are mine!” She stretches her hand out in front of me, her fingers spread apart.
I let out a frustrated sound, then begin to dig through my bag in search of my keys. Once I find them, I slam them down into her hand, hard. I brush past my mom, and open the door to the passenger’s seat. I slam the door shut and force myself to hold it together. I realize now, that I’m beginning to hate my life.
I’m not sure when these feelings started, but I know now for certain. This life is not one worth living.
Seven
My entire left arm is taken up by the cuts of the razor blade. There’s no more room left to cut. I close my bathroom door, and turn on the shower water. This time, I’m going to be smart. I’m not going to let them hear me scream. My left arm may be taken up, but my right arm is as clear as day. I grab the razor from its cubby on the shower wall, and place it just above my wrist.
I don’t even hesitate as I push the razor hard into my skin, and slice. The pain is not as bad as the first time I cut myself, but it still hurts. I make a small sound of pain, but I don’t scream this time. I quickly move the razor higher up on my right arm, and slice again, in one swift motion. Blood begins to spill over my arm, and for a moment I think that I might have cut too deep.
I try not to focus on the blood leaking down my arm, as I begin again to climb the razor higher and higher up on my arm.
The cuts on my arm are not all the same; some of them stretch all the way across my arm, and some only take up a few centimeters. Some are long, some are short. Some are thicker, some are thinner. Some of the cuts, I notice, bleed more than others. While they may not be the same, they do have some similarities. Each cut always feels the same. Each cut always seems to consume me, to overwhelm me. And sadly, these cuts don’t seem to even compare to the pain I face every day at school, and every day at home. No, these cuts pale in comparison.
* * *
My main punishment is to clean the entire house, which wouldn’t be a problem, except for the fact that my house is massive. I start with my room, because it’s easy. My room is almost always completely clean, with the exception of an unmade bed. That’s when the struggle begins. My bedroom may be clean, but nobody else's is. Caden’s floor is completely covered with toys. I literally can’t see the floor. He has a toy box, but it’s across the room, inside his walk-in closet.
I decide to pick up toys as I make my way to the toy box. I grab as many as I can, then kick the other toys out of my way to clear a path. The toy box is inside his closet, but his closet is a completely different story. Does this kid even know how to put clothes on hangers? Apparently not. I grab a hanger from the rack in Caden’s closet and hook a shirt to it. Only 100 more shirts to go.
It takes me 27 minutes to get every single piece of clothing from Caden’s floor onto a hanger. I counted. Now I can put Caden’s toys away-which he hardly even plays with, he just refuses to put away. I start with the toys closest to me, and throw those into the toy box until it’s completely filled. Now I have to start putting toys in his second toy box (I know, two toy boxes). It takes me about the same amount of time to pick up Caden’s toys, as it did to put away all of his clothes.
Then I make his bed, and vacuum the carpet. I wipe down his desk, and close his blinds. Now I can move on (Thank God).
Amelia’s room is next. I’m not sure if I should just skip her room, and move on to Skylar’s, or if I should go in there. Amelia is doing half of her classes online, and the other half on campus. So, right now she’s in her room, doing her online classes. I decide to go in anyways, and ask if she needs anything. Usually Amelia is pretty clean, but college life has probably taken its toll by now.
“Hi, Amelia,” I say. Amelia is sitting at her desk, with her computer open in front of her. Her long blonde hair is wavy today, and she’s wearing pajamas.
“Hey,” Amelia says. She looks over her shoulder at me, then back at her computer.
“I’m just cleaning up, for Mom,” I say. I survey the room. It’s pretty clean, except for an unmade bed, and a few pieces of clothing spread out on the ground. Other than that, everything seems to be in perfect order.
Amelia just nods her head. She didn’t protest, so I guess I’ll just start cleaning her room... with her in it.
I go to her bed, pull the pillows off the bed, and set them on the floor. Then I pull the sheets up and smooth them out.
“Mom said you were cleaning as punishment,” Amelia says. I stand up from leaning over to face her. She’s completely turned around in her chair to face me.
“Why is mom making you clean the house?” Amelia asks.
“I... got suspended from school...” I say. “This is part of my punishment.”
“What did you do?” Amelia asks.
“This girl, who’s kind of been being mean to me, hit me hard,” I begin. “I guess I was just done with her always being rude to me, so I hit her back...”
“You got in a fight?” Amelia asks, a smile playing over her lips. “Well done.”
“Not really,” I say, and I can't stop myself from smiling too. “I got suspended.” I laugh a little, and Amelia laughs too.
“Well you couldn’t just let her beat you up,” Amelia says. “You had to defend yourself s
omehow, right?”
“Right,” I say. “Except everyone thinks that I started the fight, and not the other way around. So, I got suspended and the other girl got to walk away scot free.”
“You mean she didn’t get punished?” Amelia says, suddenly upset. “How is that even
fair?”
“That’s what I said,” I say. “The other girl... She literally took me to the floor. And she was about to punch me in the head, but I moved. She hit the floor instead, and I guess she had to go to the ER to see if her wrist was broken. So, everybody believed her, and not me.”
“That’s not okay,” Amelia says. “That’s her fault for hurting her wrist. She started the fight, not you!”
“I know,” I say.
“I’m sorry that happened,” Amelia says. “I don’t understand how somebody could just punish you, and not her. How could they not listen to you?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know.”
“And now mom is punishing you for being innocent,” Amelia says.
Neither of us speak, not for a long time. We just acknowledge what happened.
“Listen,” Amelia says finally. “I know I’m not around a lot anymore. I know I’ve been kind of in my own world lately, but just know that I’m always going to be on your side. I’m always going to believe you, and I’m always going to fight for you... No matter what.”
I stare at Amelia for a moment, honestly startled. This is the most she’s said to me in almost a year.
“Thank you,” I say. “It kind of feels like you’re the only one.”
Amelia stands from her place, and throws her arms around me. I stand there for a moment, frozen. Then I wrap my arms around her, and squeeze. It feels incredible to hug her again. I feel like after a long time, I’m finally getting my sister back.
“I love you, Kalani.”
“I love you too, Amelia.”
We stand there for a long time, just holding each other. I’m glad I came in here, today.
I’m glad I interrupted her studies. Because if I hadn’t, maybe I would still feel like I’m completely alone.
At least I have one person by my side.
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