“Moooooo!” one of them huffed loudly, while the others stomped their ‘hooves’ on the stairs.
The girl’s face turned bright red, and she turned on her heel and darted in the opposite direction.
Oh, hell no…
My jaw dropped so fast that it must have hit the floor. My pulse surged from zero to sixty, and red-hot rage flooded my veins. I knew that I had to say something -- I knew that I had to put a stop to this! -- but my mind was drawing a blank.
I stood there, speechless, as I tried to form some sort of intelligible, expletive-free disciplinary statement out of the angry sludge that was surging through my head.
That span of a few silent seconds was all it took for the ringleader to glance up and lock eyes on his next target, me.
“What are you staring at?” he asked me as he rolled forward on the steps, resting the leather elbows of his Varsity jacket on his knees.
I froze. All of the rage immediately drained from my body, along with any sense of power or authority. In that split second, I wasn’t a twenty-five-year-old teacher on my way to my first period English class. In that split second, I was fifteen years old all over again...
“Hey!” he shouted impatiently. “I’m talking to you!”
He thrust himself up onto his feet and sauntered towards me, grinning menacingly.
What is wrong with you?! The voice inside my head was screaming. Say something! Do something! Speak up for yourself! You’re the teacher… you’re in control! You have the power, not him!
If the voice inside my head could speak out loud, she’d have the strength to move mountains. Unfortunately, there had always been a fatal disconnect between my brain and my tongue.
I had never been great at dealing with confrontation or speaking up for myself. When I was in high school, I had the same self-defense mechanism as a turtle, whenever I sensed danger, I would recede into my shell and hide.
As the jock stomped towards me, I found myself reverting to that same old strategy...
“Yoo-hoo,” he whistled in a condescending voice, waving his hand in front of my face. “Anybody home in there?”
“Maybe she’s deaf,” one of the minions back on the stairwell suggested.
The ringleader grinned, then he cupped his hands over his mouth and shouted straight into my face, “HEY BITCH, ARE YOU DEAF?!”
I flinched, and my entire body went tense.
You have to do something! You can’t let them get away with this!
“I know you can hear me,” the ringleader narrowed his eyes and cocked his head. “What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?”
“Meeeoowwww!” one of the minions squealed from the steps.
“You know what they say about quiet chicks, don’t you boys?” the ringleader glanced over his shoulder at his posse on the stairwell, then he rolled his head slowly back towards me. He grinned, leaning even closer, and hissed, “They’re always the loudest in bed!”
On cue, the minions on the stairwell immediately erupted into a dramatic chorus of sex sounds; moans and grunts and squeals.
Luckily their sounds were quickly drowned out by the harsh ringing sound of the first period bell, echoing through the now-empty hallways.
The ringleader backed away slowly, shooting me a wink before he spun around on his heel and disappeared down the hallway.
I was left standing on my own in the empty, silent hallway. My knees were rattling and my stomach was still spinning in circles.
I felt weak and enraged all at the same time. Part of me felt like curling up into a ball right there on the spot and crying my eyes out. Another part of me wanted to chase after the jock and drive my fist into that stupid, smug grin until his face looked like a plate of cafeteria lasagna.
I couldn’t even decide who I actually hated more, the jock, for being a menacing asshole? Or myself, for letting him get away with it?
I was already late for my first period class, but I knew that I had to pull my shit together before I faced a classroom full of students. I pushed myself into a nearby bathroom and hovered over the sinks.
Without glancing up at the mirror, I cupped my hands under the sink faucet and let my palms fill up with cool tap water. I splashed the water over my face, and the tingling chill immediately soothed the heat that had spread over my cheeks.
I patted my face dry with some crunchy brown paper towels, then I slowly glanced up at my reflection.
I half expected to see fifteen-year old Desiree Leduc staring back at me. Instead, I saw a fifteen-year old girl trapped inside a twenty-five-year-old woman’s body.
Sure, I was dressed the part, I was wearing a navy-blue blazer, crisp white chinos, and a pair of conservative gold stud earrings. My dark brown hair was pulled into a neat knot at the base of my neck. I had even completed the ‘English teacher’ ensemble with a Hartford High School lanyard around my neck.
But when I stared at my reflection, I realized that I was wearing the outfit like it was a Halloween costume. It was no wonder my Ann Taylor LOFT wardrobe hadn’t fooled anybody. Regardless of what I was wearing, I still had the vacant, lost eyes of my sad little high school self.
I’m not that girl anymore, I told myself.
My mind flashed back to the hallway, and I flinched as the jock’s cruel words replayed in my head.
“I’m not that girl anymore,” I said it out loud this time.
I graduated from this hell hole a long time ago. I grew the fuck up. I worked my ass off and got a college degree…
“I’m not that girl anymore!”
The words bounced off of the tiled walls and echoed around me. I felt a chill rattle down my spine when I heard the strength and conviction in my own voice. I slowly raised my chin and pressed my shoulders back. With the right posture, the blazer suddenly didn’t look so bad.
I smiled at my own reflection, and the eyes blinking back at me in the mirror looked a little less lost than they had before. I straightened the lapels on my blazer and took a deep breath, then I walked to my first period English class.
I managed to maintain my confident stride all the way to my classroom. Then I strolled through the door and spotted the leather Varsity jacket occupying a desk in the front row, and I felt my shoulders deflate faster than a balloon in a room full of needles.
Wooooooosh.
“Well look who it is,” the jock grinned, leaning forward in his desk.
My shoulders were already starting to recede into my blazer as my body slipped automatically into turtle-mode.
STOP! I commanded myself. I’M NOT THAT GIRL ANYMORE!
With a sudden surge of strength, I forced my shoulders back and held my head up high.
“What’s your name?” I demanded, glaring straight at him.
“Why do you wanna know?” he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Are you trying to slide into my DMs or something?”
There were a few snickers throughout the classroom, but I ignored them.
“Something like that,” I winked.
Enticed, he slid back into his metal chair and propped his feet up on top of his desk.
“Well aren’t you just full of surprises,” he grinned, weaving his hands behind his head.
“Just you wait and see...” I countered suggestively. This time there were a few wolf whistles, but again I ignored them.
Instead of taking a seat behind my desk at the front of the classroom, I slid into an empty metal desk at the edge of the classroom. I pulled my canvas work bag into my lap and discreetly slipped out my pad of detention slips.
My hands were shaking, but I forced myself to take a deep breath.
You can do this, I told myself.
Gleefully unaware of the shit sandwich I was preparing for him, the jock lounged back in his metal desk chair as he smugly spelled out his name for me,
“Cody -- that’s C-O-D-Y--”
“Uh-huh,” I nodded attentively as I neatly transcribed the name onto the first detention slip in my stack.
“L
ast name, Wyatt. W-Y-A-T-T.”
“Perfect,” I said slowly. I finished transcribing his name, then I began filling out the remainder of the form.
Some of the other students had already caught on, and I heard them whispering softly and giggling. Cody, however, remained completely oblivious.
Once I had finished, I recapped my pen and stood up from the desk. My heart was pounding in my chest, but somehow I managed to keep my composure as I strutted across the classroom and hand-delivered the detention slip to Cody.
“What the fuck is this?!”
“That is one month of after school detentions,” I grinned cheerfully. “For inappropriate conduct towards another student and a teacher.”
“Wait… you’re a teacher?!” the shit-eating smirk melted straight off his face. “How the hell was I supposed to know that?!”
“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “You shouldn’t talk to anybody like that.”
“Bu-but-- what about football?! I can’t miss an entire month of practices!”
“One month is nothing compared to the life sentence that you gave to that poor girl in the hallway today,” I felt my jaw tighten with disgust as I glared down at him. “When do you think she’ll be able to look in the mirror again without hearing the sound of you moo-ing at her? When do you think she’ll be able to be able to walk to class in peace, without glancing over her shoulder to make sure you’re not lurking behind her?”
Now it was Cody’s turn to play the turtle. He said nothing as he sulked down in his chair and folded his arms over his chest.
Content with his silence, I stepped behind my desk at the front of the classroom. I took a deep breath and pushed my shoulders back, then I glanced up at my first period students.
“Good morning,” I said. “And welcome to first period AP English. I’m your teacher, Ms. Leduc.”
I turned and wrote my name out on the white Dry Erase board, and as I did I felt a tingle of pride tug up at the corners of my lips.
It was only the first day, but this school year was already off to one hell of a start.
Desiree, 1, Everybody Else, 0
CHAPTER THREE | RORY
Gym class had just finished, and the boy’s locker room was swarming with sweaty freshmen. Jokes were being made, towels were being snapped, and laughter echoed through the cinder block walls.
The only guy who wasn’t in on the joke was me. I ignored the snickers and whispers as I weaved my way towards my locker. Then I glanced up and my heart stopped.
The door to my locker was already open, and Logan Ford was reaching inside. When he withdrew his hand, I saw that he was pinching my t-shirt between his fingers.
He held it up to his nose, then pretended to retch in disgust.
“What the fuck are you doing?!” I demanded, snatching the t-shirt away from him.
“Dude, your clothes reek!” he grimaced, waving a hand in front of his nose dramatically. “Why do you smell like nobody loves you?!”
“I don’t smell like anything,” I grunted. “And if I catch you touching my shit again, I’ll kick your ass into next week.”
They were borrowed words; my stepfather had used the same threat on me countless times. Luckily they seemed to do the trick. Logan rolled his eyes and huffed out of the locker room. The rest of the class followed, filing out one by one.
I waited until I was alone, then I lifted the t-shirt to my nose and inhaled. I immediately cringed. Somehow the stench of my mother’s house had become embedded in my clothes.
Poverty. That’s what it smelled like.
My heart thumped as I slowly raised my arm to my nose and inhaled. There it was again, the same stench, festering from my pores.
I couldn’t escape that fucking smell. It was woven into the fibers of my clothes, the layers of my skin, my hair, my fingers...
How had I not noticed it before?!
There was a janitor’s closet in the back corner of the locker room. That’s where I had found the wad of steel wool and bleach.
Eyes stained with tears, I stormed back to the communal showers. I cranked the shower taps and stood under the stream of water as it grew hotter and hotter… until it was scalding.
Then I started scrubbing.
The water boiled on my back, the steel wool scoured my skin, and the bleach burned. My arms were raw and covered in red welts, but I didn’t stop...
Logan’s words kept echoing in my head, repeating over and over, “Why do you smell like nobody loves you? Why do you smell like nobody loves you? Why do you smell like nobody loves you?”
Suddenly the loud wail of a siren pierced my eardrums, jerking me out of the memory.
I blinked open my eyes and found myself standing back in the Firehouse 56 locker room. The fire alarm was ringing, and emergency alert lights were flashing overhead.
Footsteps thundered through the tile floor as other members of the crew flooded into the room and rushed to gear up in front of their respective cubbies.
“We’ll have to finish the tour later,” Walker shouted at me over the chaos as he jumped in front of his own cubby and started pulling on his turnout pants. “It’s showtime!”
I glanced around, becoming reacquainted with my surroundings. The locker room was reduced to a chaotic fluster as the rest of the crew geared up. Besides me, there was only one other person in the room who was standing perfectly still,
Logan Ford.
His eyes were locked on me, and there was an expression on his face that I couldn’t make heads or tails of.
I knew for a fact that I smelled like Dior Fahrenheit cologne and the most expensive laundry detergent that money could buy, but I still felt the sudden urge to pull up the collar of my t-shirt and inhale… just to see if the stench of my past was still there.
What if it was still clinging to me, after all of these years? My own personal scarlet letter; proof that Rory McAlister was -- and always had been -- just a poor, pathetic bastard.
“Let’s go, McAlister!” Walker said suddenly, snapping me out of my thoughts as he pushed me towards the door. “I know it’s your first day, but that doesn’t mean we’re leaving you behind.”
“Huh?”
“You heard me!” he gave me a final shove through the door, and Logan slipped out of view. “What better way to get acquainted with your new crew, than to ride-along and watch them in action?”
I had to scoff at that. I had barely spent an hour at Firehouse 56, but I was already way more acquainted with the crew than I wanted to be…
***
It was just supposed to be a ride-along. Walker made that very clear, I was supposed to just watch from the sidelines; spectate without getting involved.
But there was something Walker Wright didn’t know about me, I’m not a ‘watch from the sidelines’ kinda guy.
I’ve never been good at keeping my mouth shut or my head down. I’ve never been one to mind my own business while shit goes up in flames around me.
As soon as I saw that overturned car wedged in the ditch on the side of the road, I knew that I wasn’t going to sit on my hands and do nothing.
I couldn’t just watch from the sidelines while the goon squad attempted to save the day… especially not when the crew consisted of guys like Duke and Logan.
The fire engine slid to a stop on the side of the road, and everyone jumbled out.
I was following behind them when I felt a hand grip onto the back of my Bauhaus t-shirt.
My eyes flicked back, and I spotted a face that I vaguely recognized from that stupid calendar. He was the month of January, but I couldn’t place his name...
“Slow your roll, sparky,” he said sternly. “Remember, you’re just here to watch and learn.”
“I served on the Boston Fire Department for six years,” I snarled, jerking his hand away. “I don’t need to take lessons from a fucking pin-up calendar model.”
His lips pressed together to make a fine line.
“If tha
t’s the attitude you’re going to have, then you might as well pack your bags now and take your ass back to Boston,” he snapped back. “That kind of bullshit doesn’t fly on this crew.”
His shoulder shoved against mine as he stomped towards the overturned car.
I let him get a few paces ahead of me, then I followed him towards the ditch.
The soft grass on the side of the road was gouged with a pair of tire tracks, marking the path the car had taken as it careened off the road and slammed into its final resting place in the ditch. The front of the car had taken the brunt of the crash; the hood was wrinkled up, and brown smoke puffed out of the engine and hung over the ditch like a dense fog.
The air got thicker with each step I took, and I had to bury my nose in the fold of my elbow to stop myself from choking on the stench of burning plastic.
The windshield and driver side window were both shattered, and millions of tiny specks of tempered glass glistened in the grassy embankment. The driver side door had crumpled like a piece of tissue paper, and a few of the crew members were trying -- in vain -- to get it open.
I knew that door wouldn’t budge. The last time I’d seen a wreck like this, it had taken six crew members and the jaws of life to pry the door open and rescue the driver trapped inside.
“Can you climb through the window?” Mr. January asked the woman in the driver’s seat. That was another mistake; the woman was clearly in shock, and the only thing she was capable of was mumbling incoherently.
Since the rest of the crew was crowded around the woman, I started to circle around to the back of the car.
I smelled it before I saw it, gasoline.
The sweet aroma was overpowering, and when I glanced down and identified the source of the smell, I felt my blood go cold. A stream of crystal clear liquid was pouring from the severed fuel line under the body of the car. The liquid pooled in the grass and formed a narrow stream as it followed the slope of the ditch.
My eyes darted between the stream of gasoline, the smoking engine, and the trapped driver.
Fuck.
This was bad. The car could blow at any second; it would only take one spark to fill the ditch with flames--
The Complete Firehouse 56 Series Page 60