Branded Steel: Steel Crew

by Fields, MJ

  I raise my hand.

  Sister Mary-Margret looks at me, and then away, as she continues on with her lesson. There is a special place in hell for people like her.

  I try to calm myself by breathing, but my mouth begins to water. I know what’s coming next.

  “Just go,” Truth whispers.

  I look at her, seeing concern in her green eyes.

  “Go.”

  I start to stand and feel dizzy.

  When I feel a hand on my back, urging me gently, I hurry out of the room.

  “Miss Steel,” Sister Mary-Margret snaps.

  “She had her hand raised; you saw it. You also know she was sick Monday, wasn’t here yesterday, and …”

  I don’t hear anything else that’s said as I push through the bathroom door across the hall from the classroom and make it into one of the stalls where I begin to dry heave.

  No, no, no, no, no. I think of Truth’s comment this morning as I hold one hand over my mouth and make a half-assed attempt to lock the bathroom stall door behind me.

  “Miss Steel!”

  The nausea, coupled with her voice, makes me throw up over and over again.

  “Are you on drugs, Miss Steel?”

  I wipe my mouth and try to catch my breath as I ask, “Are you?”

  “Are you pregnant, Miss Steel?”

  Fuck, I wish we could go back to me being on drugs.

  I peel off some toilet paper and wipe my mouth. Then I open the door and come face-to-face with her.

  “I suppose nursing wouldn’t have been a good career path to follow, but are you sure being a nun was?”

  “Miss Steel,” she scolds.

  “You’re a horrible human being.”

  “That’s enough,” she snaps, her face turning purple.

  “Well, Sister Mary-Margret”—I turn on the water to wash my hands and splash my face—“where is compassion? Where is kindness? Where, Sister Mary-Margret, is Jesus?”

  “Get yourself cleaned up and head to the office immediately.”

  I move toward her, and she steps back, probably worried about her damn shoes.

  Instead of heading to the office, I opt for the front door, trying to make it there before I completely lose it.

  I can’t be pregnant. I’m on the pill.

  I can’t be pregnant. I’m on the pill.

  I can’t be pregnant. I’m on the pill.

  I think this to myself over and over as I walk toward the door.

  “Kiki,” Truth whispers loudly from behind me.

  I can’t believe I lied to her of all people. And for what? Pride?

  That means shit now.

  Oh, God, I think as I wipe away the first fallen tear.

  I feel a hand on mine. I don’t even have to look; I know it’s Truth’s.

  “Kiki,” she whispers.

  Guilt floods me as I look at her. Her face falls, but just briefly.

  “We’ve got this, Kiki.”

  I shake my head. “I’m not—”

  “Whatever it is, we got this.”

  As Truth reaches for the door, Sister Mary-Margret and Father O’Malley stop us.

  “To the office, ladies, both of you.”

  * * *

  Sitting in the office across from Father O’Malley isn’t intimidating at all. He’s actually kind, unlike that bitch standing next to him.

  “Sister Mary-Margret is very concerned about you, Katherine. She thinks that your less than stellar grades this marking period, your illness, and your change in behavior may be indicative of some sort of personal crisis. We’re concerned. Could you explain what’s going on with you?” he asks.

  I don’t say anything, which works ninety-nine percent of the time with adults. Pisses them off, of course—you not arguing with them—but why bother? They’re still going to tell you why everything you just said was wrong and explain how they were right.

  “You know what causes a personal crisis?” Truth blurts out, completely shocking me. “Judgment. Everyone in this place is so judgmental. Hell, we can’t even get sick without being judged.” She stands up and begins to pace. “Take this morning for instance; it nearly made me physically sick to experience the blatant disrespect when I walked in with this skirt on. It’s sinful to show that much skin,” she mocks Sister Mary-Margret, turns around, and looks over her shoulder at her. “You know what’s a sin? My caboose. And I’m not talking Thomas the Train, bitch. No, no, no, I’m talking my big, thick ass.”

  “Miss Steel!” Sister Mary-Margret snaps.

  Holding back a laugh, I answer, just to fuck with her, “Yes?”

  Truth continues without pause. “God put this sinful apple on me and said, ‘This one’s to tempt every Adam on the planet’.”

  To that, I’m not able to hold back anymore, and I begin to laugh out loud.

  “This calls for suspension.”

  I stand up, step forward, and point at her. “Then you get what you’ve wanted all along.”

  I turn, take Truth’s hand, and start to walk out the door when I see Dad and Uncle Cyrus filling the doorway.

  “Shit,” I mutter.

  Truth leans into me then looks up. “Hey, Dad.”

  “The fu—”

  “What’s going on in here?” Dad cuts Uncle Cyrus off.

  “Your insolate, vile daughters are—”

  “That’s enough, Sister Mary-Margret,” Father O’Malley cuts her off. “I’ll handle it from here.”

  “But—”

  “That’s enough,” he says more sternly.

  She walks toward the door without looking at us.

  “Ladies, I’d like to speak to your fathers alone, please.”

  Truth looks at me, wide-eyed and panicked. Then she glances down at my belly and back up.

  Shit … again.

  Before I have a chance to say anything, she does. “We drank in the bathroom before class, okay? It won’t happen again. Kiki can’t handle her liquor anyway. So yeah, busted. We did it. Give us detention or something and send us back to class.”

  Have you ever heard a lion roar? I have, on television, at a zoo even. But never have I heard one that truly evoked bone-chilling fear as when Uncle Cyrus roars, “Out!”

  I’m pretty sure I pee a little.

  * * *

  Outside Father O’Malley’s door, Truth and I sit as close as we possibly can to one another, while Sister Mary-Margret paces back and forth, making it impossible for us to scheme as we listen to our fathers’ angry, muffled conversation behind the large oak wooden door.

  Half an hour later, the entire contents of our lockers are emptied and we’re carrying all our personal items out to the parking lot. Dad and Uncle Cyrus haven’t even said a word to each other, let alone to us. Nor do they carry our boxes, which is totally uncharacteristic of them.

  When the first word Dad utters is, “Keys,” in an angry snarl, I know I’m in deep shit.

  I glance at Truth, who is as white as a sheet, climbing into Uncle Cyrus’s SUV, while he’s revving the engine. I open my mouth to call after her, but she shakes her head as she shuts the door behind her.

  Not a word is said while Dad drives my car like he legit stole it, and when he follows Uncle Cyrus into a McDonald’s parking lot, I break the silence, “Why are we here?”

  He whips into a parking spot, kills the engine, and steps out, slamming the door behind him. I watch as Uncle Cyrus does the same.

  When Truth reluctantly follows suit, I take a deep breath and open my door to get out. Then Truth and I follow them inside McDonald’s.

  Dad and Cyrus walk to the counter and order coffee as Truth and I stand behind them, watching the cashiers ogle them.

  Gross.

  When Truth’s phone chimes in her bag, she pulls it out. “Justice,” she sighs out and starts to reply.

  Uncle Cyrus snatches the phone from her hand, drops it on the floor, and stomps on it with the heel of his boot.

  I turn my back as I pull my phone from my
bag and quickly tap out a text to Mom, with my location.

  Me: Mom, I need you, and Truth needs Aunt Tara. We messed up.

  I hit send before my phone gets snagged from my hand.

  I turn and look at Dad. His brow arches, and I do the same damn thing in return.

  When he looks down at my phone, he narrows his eyes then looks back at me. Then he swings his gaze to Cyrus. “She messaged Carly.”

  “Don’t give a fuck,” Cyrus sneers as he pays for their coffees. When the cashier takes his money, he leans in. “You hiring?”

  Her face turns red, and she nods.

  “Good, gonna need two applications for full-time employment.”

  Well, that answers the question that’s been dancing in my head—Truth and I have been kicked out of school.

  * * *

  Things don’t go as expected when Mom and Aunt Tara show up, or do they? I mean, as of late, I’ve set the expectations a bit high, and they’ve all been smacked down like a Wilson in a game of beach volleyball.

  If it wasn’t enough that we were kicked out of school, my senior year and her junior, we’re grounded, both our parents are arguing, and Justice is pissed at Truth and Max is avoiding me.

  And if that wasn’t bad enough, I can’t even get out of the house to buy a fucking test to see if my suspicions are true.

  My life is ruined, and now so is Truth’s, over thirty seconds with Brand Falcon.

  I hate him.

  Hate.

  Him.

  If my phone hadn’t been confiscated by Detectives Starsky and Hutch, I’d send him a message, telling him all the things I hate about him. But it was … so I can’t.

  Mom knocks on my doorjamb and leans in. “We’ll leave around seven for the office.”

  I sit up and pull my knees to my chest. “Okay. I’ll clean or—”

  “No,” she says firmly, but her eyes show immediate regret. “You’re going to work with me. You can work in the lab until we figure this out. After work, you and Truth will attend a daily meeting for your problem.”

  My problem?

  “I’m very upset with you right now, Katherine, but I love you so much—that will never change. We will get through this.”

  Oh, shit, she thinks we’re alcoholics.

  I’m really not sure that’s any worse than what I truly am.

  A pathetic little fan girl who so badly wanted the attention of the boy whose attention was always elsewhere.

  “Love you, Mom.”

  Her restraint breaks, and she hurries to my bed and hugs me. And then … then I cry, and so does she.

  * * *

  Unable to sleep, even though I’m exhausted, I tiptoe into Max’s room and very quietly take his phone from his charging pad.

  “Could just ask, you know,” he grumbles as he sits up.

  “Sorry, Max,” I reply honestly.

  “Are you?”

  I look away from his phone and nod at him then turn back to his phone and tap out a message.

  Me: This is Katy. I need a ride. No questions. Just park down the block.

  His reply is immediate.

  - K.

  I delete the message then put the phone back.

  “Love you, Max.”

  As I walk to the door, he stops me. “You’re gonna be okay, Kiki. Just no more bullshit, you feel me?”

  I nod. “I feel you.”

  Midnight Madness

  Katherine

  When I climb into Patrick’s Jeep, he shakes his head.

  “Don’t pull that on me right—”

  “You fucked up, and now the rest of us have to pay for it?”

  I start to get out, but he grabs my shirt, stopping me.

  “Nope, fuck that. You wanted a ride, Kiki, and I want answers.”

  “Maybe I don’t have answers right now!”

  “Fuck,” he huffs as he pulls me into a tight hug. “Then stow the badass and let us in. You and Truth are in deep shit. Can’t help if I don’t know what we’re facing.”

  I pull back and bat away tears. “Truth didn’t do anything.”

  He nods. “Didn’t think so. But she’s fucked as hard as you.”

  “I didn’t ask her to do—”

  “I know, Kiki, but you should have asked me.”

  “I’m asking you now, and as much as we’re all tight, I need you to let me figure it out and then deal.”

  “You’re missing the point, Kiki. You don’t have to deal with whatever the fuck this is alone.”

  I know this is partially my doing. I’ve helped create this gang, tribe, squad mentality within our circle, but sometimes you need to step out and handle your own shit before bringing it to them.

  “I need to go to the store, and then I need to get home before they find out I’m gone.”

  “How about you tell me what you need and get your ass back inside?”

  I shake my head, because hell no am I going to have Patrick pick me up a pregnancy test.

  * * *

  I insist on Patrick staying in the vehicle while I run into the twenty-four hour supercenter. He isn’t happy, but he does as I ask.

  I make a beeline to the pharmacy section and grab two double packs of pregnancy tests then hurry to grab some Twix for Patrick, all while praying no one is here that knows me.

  With only two lines at the register open at this hour, I have to wait behind a mother with a crying child who’s buying baby formula and wipes. I turn to jump to the other line, but behind me is another woman with a child whose nose is running like a sieve through the tissue she’s holding.

  I give the exhausted mother a look of compassion, and she sighs then glances at the products in my basket and gives me a small smile as she says, “It’s not always tissues and torture.”

  “They’re not for me, thank God.” I force a laugh.

  She nods and now looks at me like I’m pathetic. Normally, this would be a one-way ticket to a bird show and a tongue lashing, but I haven’t got it in me. Besides, she’s right; I am pathetic.

  I don’t leave the line; I stay sandwiched between two mothers and their sick babies, praying to the God that I’m sure isn’t really happy with me as of late, that I don’t become either one of them.

  I watch as the cashier scans my items. It’s a surreal moment, one a girl like me isn’t supposed to have. I hand her my card, and she swipes it.

  When the cashier says a word I’ve never heard directed toward me, I feel like I’m going to puke again. “Declined.”

  “Could you run it again?” I ask.

  “Sure,” she says with a tightlipped smile.

  For the first time in my life, I pay attention to the screen and read the word Declined.

  I look up at her as she arches a brow.

  “Could you hold the order? I’ll be right back with some money.” Not waiting for an answer, I hurry to the exit as fast as I can and to Patrick’s Jeep.

  I open the door. “I need money.”

  Pulling out his wallet, he tells me, “Never have cash, but I have my card.”

  “Mine was declined.” The first tear falls.

  He kills the engine and gets out. “Don’t cry, Kiki. It’s no big deal.”

  “I don’t want a card. I want cash. I don’t want you to come in. I don’t want you to see. I—”

  “I’ll close my eyes.” He grabs my hand and pulls me to the door.

  * * *

  Walking out of the store, holding the flimsy plastic bag containing pregnancy tests and Twix in one hand and Patrick’s hand with the other, I hear two girls laughing from behind. I glance over my shoulder to see them running from a security guard, who is telling them to stop. One knocks me to the side as she runs past, and the entire contents of the bag spill over the pavement in the parking lot.

  I freeze as Patrick looks up at me from where he’s crouched down, picking up the tests and putting them back in the bag.

  He stands up and hands me the bag. “Thanks for the Twix.”

 
“You bought them.” I smack more tears away.

  “Yeah, well, you thought of it.” He pulls me behind him, opens the door to the Jeep, and says, “Get in.” He doesn’t say anything else for a few minutes, which is nice.

  Right before he pulls down my street, though, he breaks the silence. “I’m picking Max up tomorrow for school. Tell me then if it’s positive and what you want to do about it.”

  I nod.

  As he pulls over a safe distance from the house, he tells me, “Whatever it is, whatever you choose, it’ll be fine.”

  I hug him then get out. “Thanks, Patrick.”

  “Anytime, Kiki.”

  I hurry down the block and cut through the tree line to get to the backyard, where I sneak in through the door that I left unlocked. I quietly close the door behind me and lock the deadbolt. Then I hear movement behind me and see a light flip on.

  “This bullshit stops now, Katherine.”

  Still facing the door, I hug the bag tightly to me. “I want Mom.”

  “That’s tough shit; you got me. She just fell asleep, crying in my arms, and then I receive a text alert that the card I put a block on was used.”

  “It’s my card,” I say in anger.

  “Might be your card, but you live under our roof; supposed to follow our rules. You’re grounded. The shit you pulled at school was bad enough, but then you take off in the middle of the night? That’s blatant disrespect.”

  “And so is cutting off my card. That’s my money, Dad—mine.”

  “Lesson learned. Don’t overpay your kids working summer gigs. Did the math; you make more than some of our mail staff. That ends now, for all of you.”

  “Well, I’ll learn my lesson elsewhere if you have your way. Thank God I look good in red and yellow. Now I’ll have plenty of time to practice the phrase, ‘Do you want fries with that?’.”

  Keeping my back to him, I start for the stairs, but he grabs me and hugs me. I make sure to keep the bag low so he doesn’t touch it.