by Morgan Rice
“That’s not good enough. It may be acceptable to be late to class wherever you are from, but it’s certainly not acceptable here.”
“Unacceptable,” Caitlin said, and immediately regretted it.
An awkward silence covered the room.
“Excuse me?” the teacher asked, slowly.
“You said ‘not acceptable.’ You meant ‘unacceptable.’”
“OH—SHIT!” exclaimed a noisy boy from the back of the room, and the entire class erupted into laughter.
The teacher’s face turned bright red.
“You little brat. Report to the Principal’s office right now!”
The teacher marched over and opened the door beside Caitlin. She stood inches away, close enough so that Caitlin could smell her cheap perfume. “Out of my classroom!”
Normally Caitlin would have slinked quietly out of the room—in fact, she would have never corrected a teacher to begin with. But something had shifted within her, something she didn’t entirely understand, and she felt a defiance rising. She didn’t feel that she had to show respect to anyone. And she no longer felt afraid.
Instead, Caitlin stood where she was, ignoring the teacher, and slowly scanned the classroom, looking for Jonah. The room was packed, and she looked row to row. No sign of him.
“Ms. Paine! Did you not hear what I said!?”
Caitlin looked defiantly back. Then she turned and slowly walked out of the room.
She could feel the door slam behind her, and then heard the muffled clamor in the room, followed by, “Quiet down, class!”
Caitlin continued down the empty hallway, wandering, not really sure where she was going.
She heard footsteps. In the distance, a security guard appeared. He walked right for her.
“Pass!” he barked at her, still a good twenty feet away.
“What?” she answered.
He got closer.
“Where’s your hall pass? You’re supposed to hold it out visibly at all times.”
“What pass?”
He stopped and examined her. He was an ugly, mean-looking man, with a huge mole on his forehead.
“You can’t walk the halls without a signed pass. You know that. Where is it?”
“I didn’t know—”
He picked up his CB radio, and said into it, “Hall pass violation in wing 14. I’m bringing her to detention now.”
“Detention?” Caitlin asked, confused. “What are you—”
He grabbed her roughly by the arm and yanked her down the hall.
“Not another word out of you!” he snapped.
Caitlin didn’t like the feel of his fingers digging into her arm, leading her as if she were a child. She could feel the heat rising through her body. She felt the Rage coming on. She didn’t quite know how, or why, but she knew. And she knew that, in moments, she wouldn’t be able to control her anger—or her use of force.
She had to stop it before it was too late. She used every ounce of her will to make it stop. But as long as his fingers were on her, it would just not go away.
She flung her arm quickly, before the full power took over her, and watched as his hand went flying off of her, and as he stumbled several feet back.
He stared back at her, shocked that a girl her size could throw him several feet across the hall with just a slight jerk of her arm. He wavered between outrage and fear. She could see him debating whether to attack her or back off. He lowered his hand to his belt, on which hung a large can of pepper spray.
“Lay your hands on me again, young lady,” he said in a cold rage, “and I will mace you.”
“Then don’t put your hands on me,” she answered defiantly. She was shocked at the sound of her own voice. It had changed. It was deeper, more primal.
He slowly removed his hand from the spray. He gave in.
“Walk in front of me,” he said. “Down the hall and up those stairs.”
*
The security guard left her at the crowded entrance to the Principal’s office, and as he did, his radio went off, and he hurried off to another location. Before he did, he turned to her.
“Don’t let me see you in these hallways again,” he snapped.
Caitlin turned and saw fifteen kids, all ages, sitting, standing, all apparently waiting to see the principal. They all seemed like misfits. They were being processed, one student at a time. A guard stood watch, but lackadaisically, nodding off as he stood.
Caitlin didn’t feel like waiting half the day, and she certainly didn’t feel like meeting the Principal. She shouldn’t have been late to school, that’s true, but she didn’t deserve this. She’d had enough.
The hallway door opened and a security guard dragged in three more kids, fighting and shoving. Mayhem ensued in the small waiting area, which was completely packed. Then the bell rang, and beyond the glass doors, she could see the hallways filling up. It was now mayhem inside and out.
Caitlin saw her chance. As the door opened again, she ducked past another kid and slipped out into the hall.
She looked quickly over her shoulder, but didn’t see anyone notice. She quickly cut across the thick crowd of kids, making it to the other side, then around the corner. She checked again: still no one coming.
She was safe. Even if the guards noticed her absence—which she doubted, since she was never even processed—she was already too far away to catch. She hurried even faster down the hall, putting more distance between them, and headed towards the cafeteria. She had to find Jonah. She had to know if he was all right.
The cafeteria was packed, and she quickly walked up and down the aisles, looking for him. Nothing. She walked a second time, slowly scanning every table, and still couldn’t find him.
She regretted not going back to him, not checking on his wounds, not calling an ambulance. She wondered if he had been really hurt. Maybe he was in the hospital. Maybe he wouldn’t even come back to school.
Depressed, she grabbed a tray of food and found a table with a clear view of the door. She sat there, hardly eating, and watched every kid who came in, hoping for a sign of him each time the door swung open.
But he never came.
The bell rang, and the cafeteria emptied out. Still, she sat there waiting.
Nothing.
*
The final bell of the school day rang, and Caitlin stood before her assigned locker. She looked down at the combination printed in the piece of paper in her hand, turned the knob and pulled. It didn’t work. She looked down and tried the combination again. This time, it opened.
She stared at the empty, metal locker. The inside door was lined with graffiti. Otherwise, it was completely bare. Depressing. She thought of all her other schools, of how she would rush to find her locker, to open it, to memorize the combination, and to line the door with pictures of boys from magazines. It was her way of gaining a little bit of control, of making herself at home, of finding her one spot in the school, of making something familiar.
But somewhere along the line, a few schools ago, she became less enthusiastic. She began to wonder what the point was in even bothering, since it was only a matter of time until she had to move again. She became slower and slower to decorate her locker.
This time, she wouldn’t even bother. She closed the door with a bang.
“Caitlin?”
She jumped.
Standing there, a foot away, stood Jonah.
He wore large sunglasses. She could see that the skin beneath them was swollen.
She was shocked to see him standing there. And thrilled. In fact, she was surprised at how thrilled she was. A warm, nervous feeling centered in her stomach. She felt her throat go dry.
There was so much she wanted to ask him: if he got home OK, if he saw those bullies again, if he saw her there…. But somehow, the words couldn’t get themselves from her brain to her mouth.
“Hey,” was all she managed to say.
He stood there, staring. He looked unsure how to begin.
“I missed you in class today,” she said, and immediately regretted her choice of words.
Stupid. You should have said, “I didn’t see you in class.” “Miss” sounds desperate.
“I came in late,” he said.
“Me, too,” she said.
He shifted, looking uncomfortable. She noticed his viola was not at his side. So it was real. It wasn’t all just a bad dream.
“Are you OK?” she asked.
She gestured at his glasses.
He reached up and slowly took them off.
His face was purple and swollen. There were cuts and bandages on his forehead and beside his eye.
“I’ve been better,” he said. He seemed embarrassed.
“Oh my god,” she said, feeling terrible at the sight. She knew she should at least feel good about having helped him, about sparing him more damage. But instead she felt bad for not being there sooner, for not coming back for him. But after…it had happened, it had all been a blur. She couldn’t really remember how she’d even gotten home. “I’m so sorry.”
“Did you hear how it happened?” he asked.
He looked at her intently, with his bright green eyes, and she felt he was testing her. As if he was trying to get her to admit that she was there.
Had he seen her? He couldn’t have. He was out cold. Or was he? Did he maybe see what happened afterwards? Should she admit that she had been there?
On the one hand, she was dying to tell him how she had helped him, to win his approval, and his gratitude. On the other, there was no way she could explain what she did without seeming like either a liar or some kind of freak.
No, she concluded internally. You can’t tell him. You can’t.
“No,” she lied. “I don’t really know anyone here, remember?”
He paused.
“I got jumped,” he said. “Walking home from school.”
“I’m so sorry,” she said again. She sounded like an idiot, repeating the same stupid phrase, but she didn’t want to say anything that would give too much away.
“Yeah, my Dad’s pretty pissed,” he continued. “They got my viola.”
“That sucks,” she said. “Will he get you a new one?”
Jonah shook his head slowly. “He said no. He can’t afford it. And that I should have been more careful with it.”
Concern crossed Caitlin’s face. “But I thought you said that was your ticket out?”
He shrugged.
“What will you do?” she asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Maybe the cops will find it,” she said. She remembered, of course, that it was broken, but she thought that by saying this, it would help prove to him that she didn’t know.
He looked her over carefully, as if trying to judge if she were lying.
Finally, he said, “They smashed it.” He paused. “Some people just feel the need to destroy other peoples’ stuff, I guess.”
“Oh my god,” she said, trying her best not to reveal anything, “that’s horrible.”
“My Dad’s pissed at me that I didn’t fight back….But that’s not who I am.”
“What jerks. Maybe the cops will catch them,” she said.
A small grin passed Jonah’s face. “That’s the weird thing. They already got theirs.”
“What do you mean?” she asked, trying to sound convincing.
“I found these guys down the alley, right after. They were beat down worse than me. Not even moving.” His grin widened. “Someone got to them. I guess there is a God.”
“That’s so strange,” she said.
“Maybe I have a guardian angel,” he said, looking her over closely.
“Maybe,” she answered.
He stared at her for a long time, as if waiting for her to volunteer something, to hint at something. But she didn’t.
“And there was something even stranger than all that,” he said, finally.
He reached down and pulled something out of his backpack, and held it out.
“I found this.”
She stared down in shock. It was her journal.
She felt her cheeks redden as she took it, both delighted to have it back and horrified that he had this piece of evidence that she was there. He must know for sure now that she was lying.
“It has your name in it. It is yours, right?”
She nodded, surveying it. It was all there. She had forgotten about it.
“There were some loose pages. I gathered them all up and put them back in. I hope I got them all,” he said.
“You did,” she said softly, touched, embarrassed.
“I followed the trail of pages, and the funny thing is….they lead me down the alley.”
She continued to look down at the book, refusing to make eye contact.
“How do you suppose your journal got there?” he asked.
She looked him in the eye, doing her best to keep a straight face.
“I was walking home last night, and I lost it somewhere. Maybe they found it.”
He studied her.
Finally, he said, “Maybe.”
They stood there, in silence.
“The weirdest thing of all,” he continued, “is that, before I went completely unconscious, I could have sworn I saw you there, standing over me, yelling at those guys to leave me alone….Isn’t that crazy?”
He studied her, and she looked him back, straight in the eye.
“I’d have to be pretty crazy to do a thing like that,” she said. Despite herself, a small smile started at the corner of her mouth.
He paused, then broke into a wide grin.
“Yes,” he answered, “you would.”
Chapter Four
Caitlin was on cloud nine as she walked home from school, clutching her journal. She hadn’t been this happy in she didn’t know when. Jonah’s words replayed in her head.
“There’s this concert tonight. At Carnegie Hall. I’ve got two free tickets. They’re the worst seats in the house, but the vocalist is supposed to be amazing.”
“Are you asking me out?” she’d said, smiling.
He’d smiled back.
“If you don’t mind going with this lump of bruises,” he’d said, smiling back. “After all, it is Friday night.”
She practically skipped home, unable to contain her excitement. She didn’t know anything about classical music—she’d never even really listened to it before—but she didn’t care. She’d go anywhere with him.
Carnegie Hall. He said the dress was fancy. What would she wear? She checked her watch. She wouldn’t have much time to change if she was going to meet him at that café before the concert. She doubled her pace.
Before she knew it, she was home, and even the dreariness of her building didn’t bring her down. She bounded up the five flights of stairs and hardly even felt it as she walked into her new apartment.
Her Mom’s scream came right away: “You fucking bitch!”
Caitlin ducked just in time, as her Mom threw a book right at her face. It went flying past her, and smashed into the wall.
Before Caitlin could speak, her Mom charged—fingernails out, aiming right for her face.
Caitlin reached up and caught her wrists just in time. She tangled with her, going back and forth.
Caitlin could feel her newfound power surging through her veins, and she felt that she could throw her Mom across the room without even trying. But she willed herself to control it, and she shoved her off, but only hard enough to send her onto the couch.
Her Mom, on the couch, suddenly broke into tears. She sat there, sobbing.
“It’s your fault!” she screamed between her sobs.
“What’s wrong with you?” Caitlin screamed back, completely off guard, having no idea what was going on. Even for her Mom, this was crazy behavior.
“Sam.”
Her Mom held out a piece of notebook paper.
Caitlin’s heart pounded as she took it, a feeling of dread washing over her. Whatever it w
as, she knew it couldn’t be good.
“He’s gone!”
Caitlin scanned the handwritten note. She couldn’t really concentrate as she read, only picking out fragments—running away…don’t want to be here…back with my friends…don’t try to find me.
Her hands were shaking. Sam had done it. He’d really left. And he didn’t even wait for her. Didn’t even wait to say goodbye.
“It’s because of you!” her Mom spat.
A part of Caitlin couldn’t believe it. She ran through the apartment, opened Sam’s door, half expecting to find him there.
But the room was empty. Immaculate. Not a single thing left. Sam had never kept his room that clean. It was true. He was really gone.
Caitlin felt the bile rise up in her throat. She couldn’t help feeling that this time her Mom was right, that it was her fault. Sam had asked her. And she had said, “Just go.”
Just go. Why did she have to say that? She planned on apologizing, on taking it back, the next morning, but he was already gone when she woke up. She was going to talk to him when she got home today. But now it was too late.
She knew where he must have gone. There’s only one place he would go: their last town. He’d be OK. Better, probably, than he was here. He had friends there. The more it sank in, the less she worried. In fact, she was happy for him. He’d finally made it out. And she knew how to track him down.
But she’d have to deal with this later. She glanced at her watch and realized she was late. She ran into her room, quickly grabbed the nicest clothes and shoes she’d had, and threw them all in a gym bag. She’d have to go without makeup. There just wasn’t time.
“Why do you have to destroy everything you touch!?” her Mom screamed, now right behind her. “I never should have taken you in!”
Caitlin stared back, shocked.
“What are you talking about!?”
“That’s right,” her Mom continued. “I took you in. You’re not mine. You never were. You were his. You’re not my real daughter. Do you hear me!? I’d be ashamed to have you as a daughter!”
Caitlin could see the venom in her black eyes. She’d never seen her Mom in this deep of a rage. Her eyes held murder.
“Why did you have to chase away the one thing that was good in my life!?” her Mom yelled.