Paraplegic

by Troy Dearbourne

  I toss the sleeve at her face. "Serves you right. Now you know better than to mess with me!"

  She struggles to breath in between sniffing back snot. "This . . . this was my mom's. She . . ." her voice cracks from tension, "this is the last thing I have of her."

  We kind of just stay fixed in the middle of the hallway for a moment. Rhea mumbles a bunch of other things I can't really hear. I somewhat feel bad. I mean, I didn't know it was her mom's or anything. I wouldn't have done that had I known. But she deserved it. Yeah. And really, the tattered thing was already stained with food from the fight. It was practically ruined anyway.

  Rhea looks up at me with this stunned look on her face. This is the first time I notice she has blue eyes. They're swimming in tears, glassy and reflective. She stares for a bit longer before rising to her feet and dashing out the school's entrance. My eyes follow her across the school grounds until she disappears from view around the block.

  What a waste. This is not how I pictured this day going. The photoshoot is probably happening right now and I'm not there to be in it. I ponder whether or not I should just show up in these clothes. As the wretched smell of ricotta cheese wafts into my nostrils, I realize it isn't a good idea. But wait! I keep a spare outfit in my locker. McKenzie you are an absolute genius!

  Not wasting anymore time, I sprint to my locker. As I input the combination, a sick sense of dread washes over me. I think I remember using that spare outfit last week. I had a dentist appointment and I wanted to change clothes before going, but didn't wanna have to go home. I didn't think I'd need to put another outfit in there due to school ending. But . . . maybe I'm wrong? With weak hopes, I swing the locker door open; it squeaks loudly from the rusty hinges. Nothing. I did use the outfit. It's okay. Think, McKenzie. Think! You don't live far from here: five, ten minutes max. If you leave now, you can grab a change of clothes and race back here within the hour. And if the Blue Jays are anything in particular, it's late. Practice never seems to start on time, so why would the photoshoot be any different? Yes! I can still make it after all.

  Aurora shuffles over. The dejected look on her face quickly tells me something is wrong. "Guess we deserved it," she fakes a smile.

  "What do you mean we?"

  "Principle gave strict orders to help clean up the cafeteria, I'm talking magnifying glass and toothbrush kind of clean." She imitates scrubbing the floor with a toothbrush. "It"s either that or he threatened to charge us with property damage, and there's no way I can afford that." She shrugs despondently. "Guess it's time to get my Cinderella on."

  "No! You can't. Rora, that will take you all day and possibly most of the night. "You'll miss the photoshoot. You'll miss the game."

  "We'll miss, you mean."

  "Yeah, that's not happening!"

  Her forehead crinkles in confusion. "You're not going to help out?"

  "No! And I shouldn't have to. Neither should you. It wasn't our fault. It was that Rhea girl's fault. She should be the one on her hands and knees scrubbing, not us."

  Aurora turns her head towards the window, sunlight shining over half of her face. "Yeah, but she had to get to her job. I hope she makes it. Did she happen to tell you where she works?"

  "Um. No. And who cares? After tomorrow, all she'll be is a bad memory in the wind."

  "I don't know. I'd like to see her again. She seems nice."

  I shake my head in disbelief. "Whatevs. Have fun cleaning. This girl's gotta get home."

  Chapter 6

  I don't waste time getting home, though, I ponder what I will do when I get there. This car is starting to smell just as bad as I do. Father will kill me if this moldy cheese smell is permanent. I keep my body hungover the steering wheel, so I don't stain the seat with my dirty clothes. The last thing I need is to spend three hours getting this thing cleaned.

  Okay. Plan of action. I need to slip inside the house without any distractions; I don't need mother grilling me with questions as to why I'm covered with food. I'll have to park down the street; there's no way I can pull into the driveway without anyone noticing. I can use the entrance on the side of the house through the kitchen, slip upstairs to my bedroom, grab a change of clothes, sneak back down stairs, and then back to school.

  I navigate onto our street. There's a section of cart path where it cuts across the street. I have to stop in order to let a foursome of golfers drive through. They take their sweet time making it across. All the while, the digital clock on the radio stares me in the face. I can practically feel time slip through my fingers. There's this inner urge to slam my fist to the horn, but I force it back. They're old. It wouldn't make them move faster even if I did it.

  Finally, I'm moving again. As I near our house, I cruise on by for a couple hundred yards, then hike back on foot. I can't imagine father is home; he isn't usually home at this hour, and August doesn't get home from school until after three, so I only have to worry about avoiding mother.

  I feel like a robber skulking up to my own house, tiptoeing around to the side door. The lock clicks as I turn the key. I stick my head inside making sure mother isn't there waiting for me. She isn't, much to my relief. The wooden steps of the staircase creak as I ascend to my room. I've always noticed a subtle amount of creaking, but right now it seems like a million times louder. But I finally make it to my room. The first thing on the rack in my closet is a white V-neck. I don't think twice about searching for something else, yanking it off the hanger and grabbing a pair of blue jeans along with my dance shoes. My face and arms are still stained with food, but I can't take the chance of turning on the faucet - mother will hear the water running from downstairs. I'll just have to wash up when I get back to school.

  There's this sick, twisted feeling in the pit of my stomach. I'm standing at the top of the stairs, staring all the way down to the bottom, wishing I could just teleport myself down. Why do they have to squeak so loudly? There's gotta be fifteen, twenty steps at least. Wait a sec! What if I were to slide down the banister? No. There's the possibility that I might fall off the side and hit the floor, then that will really cause a scene. Stop procrastinating already. You can do this, McKenzie. You. Can. Do this!

  With each step down the stairs, I cringe, fearing mother will hear me, but force myself to continue. I don't know where she is. She does this online sales rep thing from her laptop, which she usually does from the theater room. I'll stay clear of there and hug the wall on my way back to the kitchen. My feet touchdown at the base of the stairwell. I feel like doing a victory dance, like I've just overcome a monstrosity of a challenge, or cured world hunger, or-

  "McKenzie, we need to talk." My heart plummets to my stomach as father's undeniable, stern voice slices though me. It came from his den. Why is he even here? He never gets off work this early, like, ever. Why now? Why today?

  I'm a mere arm's length from the side door. A part of me wants to pretend I didn't hear his call and slip out. I place one foot in front of the other and clasp my fingers around the brass knob.

  "Now!"

  Unwillingly, I drop my grip and shuffle into the den.

  Why does it have to be this way? I'm already late. I don't have time to chat. The girls are probably well underway with the photoshoot by now and I still have to drive back to school and get cleaned up.

  As I brush past the glass French doors, father seated in his high-back LazyBoy office chair is the first thing I see. The antique desk he's sitting behind hides the lower half of his body. His suit jacket is folded neatly in half, laying on the back of the chair. The first two buttons on his royal blue dress shirt are unbuttoned, his silvery-black chest hair protruding through, and his sleeves are rolled halfway up his forearms. He's poised as if he's about to devour a rack of babybacks. Mother is standing beside him, hands resting in front of her waist. I don't like their composer. It's rigid. I get the feeling I'm in for a lecture.

  Father leans back in his chair, it squeaks. "Do you know why I called you in here, Kenzie?"

  I
shrug, not wanting to meet his gaze. "Um. No, not really." But I did have a thought in mind.

  Could Principle Mayer have made the call that soon? It hasn't even been twenty minutes since I left school. If this is about Rhea and the catastrophic mess she caused, I'm going to be really angry. I'm late. So late. I don't need to rehash that event all over again for the nine millionth time.

  The four days worth of stubble on Father's chin twitches as his lips crinkle into a smirk. He reaches into the pull-out drawer of the desk and dangles a key in the air. "Go check the garage." He tosses the key at me; it falls into my awaiting grasp.

  My heart flutters with hope. Could it be? Is this the graduation present I've been waiting for? I dart out of the room and into the garage. The empty space in our three car garage is now filled with a fiery red Ford Mustang. I squeal with glee and repeatedly jump up and down. "Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you!"

  I spin around, practically falling into father's arms. He rips the key from my fingers. "Hey! What'd you do that for?" I gawk at him in disbelief.

  The playful smirk his face displayed moments ago is no longer there. "To teach you a lesson."

  The sick feeling in my stomach swiftly returns. "I don't understand."

  Mother speaks this time. "We just got off of the phone with the school principle . . ." I roll my eyes as soon as I hear those words.

  "Look! Before you say anything, that wasn't my fault. Okay? None of it was my fault!"

  "The principle told us you caused several thousand dollars worth of damage. And how you treated that girl," she shakes her head in disappointment. "That is not how we raised you, McKenzie."

  I slap my hands over my temples, struggling to subdue an enraged scream. "The entire school was throwing food! Why am I the one to blame? And as for that girl, she ran into me while I was holding a tray full of garbage. Then before I knew it, food was flying everywhere. That's the truth."

  Father crosses his arms over his chest. "And you think just because everyone else was doing it that, then it was okay for you to do it, too?"

  "I . . . I don't know. Okay. I wasn't thinking - just give me the keys so I can get back to school. The Blue Jays' photoshoot is going to be over soon."

  "No."

  My heart drops to my toes. "What do you mean no. That's so unfair!"

  "You're grounded until further notice, young lady." He marches back to his den and stuffs the key back inside the drawer. "The only place you'll be going is back to the school cafeteria to help clean up that mess.

  "You're kidding?" I can't believe what I'm hearing.

  "Not even a little. Promise me you'll go straight to school and clean up the cafeteria." He eyes me sternly. I feel my own gaze shy away from his.

  "Fine! I promise."

  "And don't even think about taking the Benz. It's not far, you can walk to school. And on your way you can think about how we raised you to treat other people."

  I snort at his command. "Oh! So now I have to walk to school? What if something happens to me? Huh! What if I get kidnapped."

  "You have your cell phone; you'll be fine. And when you return, we're going to talk about how you can pay me back for the property damage you caused to the school."

  I'm practically out the door before he's able to finish his sentence. "Ugh! This is the worst day EVER!" slamming it shut behind me.

  I wish I had a time machine. I would go back to the exact moment when I woke up this morning and tell myself how to avoid all those mishaps, or better yet, tell myself to avoid school altogether. Call in sick, then go all Ferris Bueller or something. Heh, at least his story had a happier ending than mine. And now father wants me to help clean up the cafeteria. That'll take hours! I guess I should settle on the realization that I'm not going to make it to the photoshoot.

  I never want to see that Rhea girl ever again.

  Maybe I can still salvage this day, or what's left of it at least. The game will start in about an hour. I'll have to work around the promise I made father. I'll think of something. It won't be the first time I've wriggled free from a promise. I'm not talking about breaking the promise altogether. Of course not. But I do know how to fulfill a promise, while making sure I come out on top.

  My forehead is a wet mess by the time I make it back to school. This has got to be one of the hottest summers ever. The rush of air conditioning feels refreshing as I step through the school's entrance. The gym is already filling up with students from both schools, along with their families. I can hear the excited chatter of the coaching staff from out here in the hallway. I hope the Hawks win tonight. If they do, it will be the only reason this day was worth enduring. It's been awhile since this school brought home a trophy. Over the last few years, the only team at Stardust High that's brought home a trophy is the lacrosse team. And really, what's the point of that game?

  The photoshoot is to be held in the school's auditorium. The drama club had reluctantly postponed their rendition of The Prince and the Popper in order for us Blue Jays to use the stage for the shoot. We're far more important than some stupid play anyhow, and it has the best lighting than anywhere else in the entire school, not to mention the different backdrops would make for nice diversity. Though, I must say, a theater performance going on at the same time as a basketball game is all so High School Musical.

  The cafeteria is between the gym and the auditorium. The only reason why I don't march on by is because I have to fulfill my promise and "help" clean up. I'm actually surprised to see how many people are cleaning when I arrive. There's at least two dozen students. I scan the area for Aurora. She's down on her knees scrubbing the floor, wearing these hideous yellow gloves that stretch all the way to her elbows. I don't want her to see me, so I squat down behind one of the still tipped over tables. There's a crumbled up napkin an arm's length away from me. I'm swift to grab it and toss it in the trash can, then quickly exit the cafeteria unnoticed.

  There. I kept my promise and cleaned up the cafeteria all in the same moment. I deserve a Good Samaritan award or something.

  Now it's time to get my cheer on!

  Chapter 7

  Mrs. Slazenger, head of drama club – emphasis on the drama part – is this crazy old bat, who always seems to have a new spin on her life story of how she came over here to the United States from Russia. I believe the last version I heard was how she managed to escape a sinking immigration ship and swim to a deserted island that was some twenty miles from the wreckage site. Supposedly, she fed on sea urchins and coconuts for nearly two years before a cargo ship sailing a few miles off the coast saw the smoke from her campfire and commissioned an immediate rescue. It's all a bit hard for me to swallow. Although, the next version I hear her tell, I halfway expect her to say she befriended a volleyball while on that island.

  As I rush through the double doors of the auditorium, I see Slazenger on stage, along with several other students setting up props for tonight's play.

  No! I missed the photoshoot! And now it's just awkward because my hurried entrance brought attention to myself; Slazenger looks my way. "Is there something you need?" Her thick Russian accent makes every word she says barely understandable.

  "Erm – I was hoping to catch the Blue Jays' photoshoot. I got held up after school, otherwise I would've been here long ago."

  "Mmm, yes. There were a bunch of loud and bothersome girls here, standing in front of camera, making weird faces with lips."

  "Do you know how long ago it ended?"

  She places a hand on her hip. "Oh, I say, ten minute ago."

  Wonderful. Just wonderful. Missed the whole thing by ten minutes. Ten minutes! If father would've let me drive back to school I could've made it. Or I could've bailed on detention. Or I could've not gone home for a change of clothes. I could have done something – something – even if it only saved me a few minutes; I could have at least made it in time for the final shoot and got in on one picture.

  I'm really starting to hate Rhea more and more.
/>   Back in the school's gym, it's getting super close to tip-off. I wrap a blue and white hair scrunchy around my blonde curls, twisting it into a ponytail. By the time I arrive at the gym, I see Xander already on the court warming up from the foul line. He pauses, arms in shooting position, and looks my way. I flash a flirty smile with a wave. He smiles back, then continues with his free throws.

  Tess hops over to me. "So what went down after the food fight? I didn't even see you at the photoshoot."

  I roll my eyes in frustration. "It was so stupid. I got sent to the principal's office."

  "What? Why you?"

  "I dunno. It was just so unfair. I wasn't even the one who started the fight. There was this girl, Rhea," I quickly scan the bleachers for her; I don't see her, "she ran into me, which caused me to spill the remnants of my lunch all over me. I went home after that to get a change of clothes, only to find my parents had revoked the graduation present they were going to give me - a sports car of all things - because they were informed by the school that I had wrecked the cafeteria.

  "Wow! Sounds like you've had a fun day, huh?"

  "You simply have no idea."

  She looks around the gym. "Where's Aurora? It's almost game time."

  "She's not coming."

  "What!" her outburst catches the attention of nearby fans. I grab her by the shoulder and usher her away from the stands.

  "She won't be here to cheer. Mayer ordered her to clean up the cafeteria, lest he slap her with a fine, one I can barely afford let alone her."