by Kelli Kimble
My stomach twisted. Gary had been lying in wait for me, had planned to get me alone. And walking with a group of cheerleaders was supposed to deter him?
“I don’t get along with them, sir.”
“Why not?” He scratched something else on his pad.
“She just hasn’t made any friends, yet,” Daddy said. “We’re new here.”
The sheriff fixed one eye on Daddy. “She can speak for herself.”
“The other girls don’t like me. Because I took a spot on the cheerleading squad that belonged to one of their friends.” Daddy stiffened beside me. I’d never told him that.
“Mm-hmm. Okay. So, you went outside. Alone. Then what?”
“He was hiding in the dark. And when I came out, he was there. He told me my parents said he could take me for ice cream and drive me home. I politely refused. And then —”
He interrupted. “Is that what you were wearing?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Seems a might short, that skirt.”
“Her skirt follows the school dress code,” Daddy said.
“Mm. Yes. Continue.” He waved his hand impatiently as if I’d been the one to stop progress.
“He backed me up against the wall and grabbed me by the arms. Then he tried to kiss me. He was moving his hand to . . . touch me. I started fighting, kicking and scratching. He laughed. And then I don’t know what happened. It was like something in me tore open. The next thing I knew, Mr. Anu was holding my wrist so that I couldn’t hit Gary anymore.”
“And Mr. Anu’s that foreign fellow, out in the lobby?”
Sally poked her head into the office. “Mercy says the kid hasn’t come around yet, but he’s definitely got a broken jaw and cheekbone.”
The sheriff’s eyes were briefly visible from inside the wrinkle folds. “You’re telling me that this little whiff of a girl knocked out a football player, and he still isn’t awake?”
“I don’t know anything about her,” Sally said, pointing a pencil with teeth marks at me. “But Mercy says the kid is unconscious.”
The magnitude of Gary’s injuries overwhelmed me. I’d broken bones. Tears formed and began running down my face. I couldn’t do anything to stop them.
The sheriff scowled. “Don’t you start with the waterworks now, missy. You’ll not get any sympathy from me.”
“How dare you,” Daddy said. “She just told you how the boy attacked her. She was only defending herself.”
“Until I get Gary’s reckoning of events, the only one who was attacked was Gary. She doesn’t have any injuries.”
Daddy patted me on the back. “Cinnamon Bun, why don’t you go wait in the waiting room for a minute. The sheriff and I need to talk.”
The door clicked shut behind me, but it didn’t stop the belligerent tone of their voices as they argued. Mr. Anu was in the waiting area, and I sat beside him.
“I don’t understand what happened,” I said. “One second, I was fighting him, and he acted as if I were nothing more than a bothersome fly. The next, I was beating him with his helmet. How is that possible?”
He put a hand on my forearm. The anger, fear, and frustration eased out of me. I was grateful for the moment of respite.
“This is an Anubian trait. You’re nearing adulthood. Soon, you’ll come into all your Anubian traits if you so choose.”
“Traits?”
“Yes. Anubians have a reserve of strength that can be called upon in short durations. You managed to tap it with the intensity and primal nature of your reaction to Gary’s actions even though you’re too young.”
I glanced over at Sally. Mr. Anu was talking too softly for her to hear. Anyway, she was engrossed in reading a trashy romance novel.
“That seems a bit far-fetched.”
“It is the truth.”
“What were you doing there, Mr. Anu?”
His eyes flicked towards the sheriff’s door, then to Sally. “I heard your screams.”
The sheriff stalked out of his office. “You. Mr. Anu. In my office.”
Daddy came out after him. “Come on, Iris. We’re going home.”
“I know where to find you! Don’t leave town!” the sheriff called after us.
Chapter 7
The next morning, Mother phoned Mr. Anu and told him that I wasn’t feeling up to working.
Daddy came into the room and asked to speak to him before she hung up. “Anu? Clark here. I wanted to thank you for what you did last night. It was kind of you to wait with Iris and make your statement.” He paused. “If you don’t mind my asking, what was your statement?”
Mother shooed me out of the living room then.
I spent the day moving around the house without aim. I tried doing homework, reading a book, watching television, and baking cookies alongside Mother. But none of it could hold my attention for more than half an hour or so.
I circled the kitchen, nibbling one of the cookies while Mother made dinner. It was still warm, and the chocolate was gooey. Mother was getting fruit together for a gelatin mold.
“Mother, should I feel bad about what I did?”
“I really couldn’t say, dear.”
My shoulders sagged. “He tried to force himself on me.”
“Yes. And for that, he’ll rot in hell.” She smiled as she met my eyes, popping a banana slice in her mouth.
“You think?”
“I know. What I don’t know is if you should feel bad. That depends entirely on you. Do you think you acted irrationally? That you hurt him worse than he deserved?”
“I don’t know. I don’t remember it. At least, not the moment when I snapped.”
“What if you made amends? Could you apologize to him?”
I frowned and crossed my arms. “I’m not sorry that I defended myself.”
“No,” she said, looking out the window. “You’re right. Don’t apologize for that.”
As I lay in bed that night, I relived the attack over and over. Why was there that blank space? My room felt stuffy and I opened the window. A clatter in the driveway followed by a tinkling of broken glass and hushed whispers caught my attention.
“Daddy!” But he didn’t answer. He was still downstairs watching a program on television. I practically flew down the stairs. “Daddy, there’s someone outside. In the driveway.”
Mother was knitting on the sofa. She threw it aside, not even bothering to keep track of her last stitch.
“Call the sheriff,” Daddy said.
I nodded, and he went to the hall closet where he kept his shotgun. He went outside, shouting that he had a gun and that he wasn’t afraid to use it. Mother went to the door and peeked out. I picked up the phone receiver and dialed the operator.
“Operator,” an indifferent voice said.
“Please, can you connect me to the sheriff?” I asked.
“Hold, please.” There was a click and then the ringing signal. I huddled on the sofa.
Sally’s nasal voice came through the receiver. “Sheriff’s office.”
“I need the sheriff to come. Right away,” I said. “There’s a burglar outside my home.”
“Address, please?”
“45 Elm Street.”
There was a long pause. “Is this the residence of Iris Hond?”
“Yes,” I said. “I’m Iris Hond.”
Sally grunted, then there was the muffling of someone putting their hand over the receiver.
Daddy stormed back inside. “Stupid kids. Someone needs to teach them a lesson.” He stopped in his tracks when he saw me staring at him. “What’d the sheriff say? Is he coming?”
“I don’t know,” I said to Daddy. I shifted my attention back to the receiver. “Hello?” The muffling stopped.
“This is the sheriff, here. Is this Iris Hond?”
“Yes, sir. There’s someone in our side yard. I heard glass breaking.”
“Call back when someone’s inside. Goodbye.” There was a click and a dial tone.
The receiver felt
foreign in my hand. “He — he hung up.”
Daddy and Mother locked eyes. I don’t know what passed between them, but he put his shotgun away.
“Iris, go on up to bed, Cupcake. There’s nothing to worry about.”
“But I heard glass breaking. What was out there?”
Daddy rubbed his left eye with this thumb. “Iris, please just go on up to bed. There’s nothing we can do about it now, and if anyone was out there, they’re gone now.”
I did as he asked. But I closed and locked my window before I got into bed.
Chapter 8
“I have to tell you something, Cinnamon Bun. Something that might be difficult for you.”
The lightness I’d been feeling at escaping the house darkened. Daddy had insisted that I stay inside all weekend long. “What?”
“The noise you heard Saturday night. There were vandals.”
“I don’t understand,” I said.
“They broke some of Mother’s potted plants. But they also painted something on the side of the house. Something . . . hurtful.”
A lump lodged in my throat. “What does it say?”
“It doesn’t matter. It’ll be cleaned up by the time you come home from school. Okay?”
“But, Daddy.” I hated the way my voice was escalating to a whine. “Why would anyone write something on our house?”
“Because they’re narrow-minded idiots, is why. Get in the car.” He held the door open. The car was parked in the street instead of the driveway.
In the car, I tried to turn back to see the damage as we drove away, but Daddy wasn’t having it.
“Iris. Turn around.”
“But —”
“Turn around.”
“Yes, sir.”
He didn’t say anything the whole way to school. As he was easing the car into the school parking lot, he cleared his throat.
“Iris, I know what happened to you, how that boy treated you, it was unfair and wrong. And as far as I’m concerned, he got what he deserved. That boy needs a lesson in how to treat a lady.”
He slowed the car and waited for a student crossing the driveway.
“But you should know that people might blame you for what happened. You already saw it with the sheriff. He was hinting around that you’d encouraged the boy to behave as he did. And then he didn’t come when we called him for help.”
“I didn’t encourage Gary. I was only ever polite to him.”
“I know. I know. And maybe this is my fault, for having invited him to dinner and telling him it was a good idea for him to take you for ice cream. And I’m sorry.” His hands were clutching the steering wheel so hard I thought he was going to wrench it free of the steering column. “I’m so sorry, Iris. Your mother and I, we only want what’s best for you.”
“I know that, Daddy.” I touched his shoulder. “None of this is your fault.”
“Regardless of who is actually at fault, I’m afraid you’re going to bear the brunt.”
“What? Why?”
“Because he’s a local boy. A boy on the football team, a boy that they’ve grown up with. They think they know him. They think he couldn’t have done something to deserve what happened. More importantly, they don’t know you.”
“Oh.”
“The thing they painted on the house . . . whoever painted it, they think you’re to blame. I just hope that isn’t how everyone feels.”
The school building loomed beside us. My school mates were bicycling and walking along the sidewalk and disembarking from school buses. A group of girls laughed together. I envied their laughter.
Daddy stopped to let me out.
“Try to have a good day, Cinnamon Bun,” he said. He grabbed my hand and squeezed it.
“I will, Daddy,” I said.
“I asked Mr. Anu to pick you up from school today. All right?”
I nodded and got out of the car. I focused on the sidewalk and walked away from the safety of my family. A crowd of other students was flowing steadily towards the door.
“It was right here. I nearly killed myself tripping over him. There was blood everywhere.” I broke my gaze from the ground and looked up. Bertha had a crowd of girls around her, hanging on her every word. “There she is. She’s the one who did it.” Bertha pointed at me.
I lowered my gaze, tightened my grip on the strap of my school bag, and hurried past them. Their eyes felt like hot pokers, stabbing me in the back. I didn’t point out that they weren’t standing in the spot where I’d injured Gary.
I gasped as I strode over the actual spot, where the faint outline of the blood puddle hadn’t been scrubbed completely away. Who had been given that unenviable task?
I moved through the halls without incident. As I walked, people seemed to sense me coming and stepped aside. I felt like Moses parting the Red Sea. Nobody spoke to me. Most didn’t even look at me. A few gave me curious looks. The hall was eerily quiet.
Classes passed by. At lunch, I went to sit at the table in the corner next to the garbage, where nobody else ever sat. But today there were people sitting at it. I passed it by and threw my lunch into the can. I’d lost my appetite. Instead, I went to the library. It would be quiet there, and maybe I could find a spot to be alone without people gawking.
The library door was open, and I slipped inside. Technically, I was supposed to have a hall pass to be there. But I’d rarely seen Miss Cucciolo ask for a pass. I went into the stacks and tried to focus on finding a book that might take my mind off the situation. I ran my hand over the bindings. The scent of the paper and ink calmed my nerves.
“Iris. Shouldn’t you be at lunch?” Miss Cucciolo came up behind me, her voice library-soft.
“I’m afraid I don’t have much of an appetite.”
She squeezed my arm and smiled. “I understand. Is there something I can help you find?”
“I was just looking for a spot to be alone. And maybe something to read.”
“Oh.” She dropped her hand and gestured towards her office. “I’ve got a few new books that haven’t been circulated yet.” She rubbed her hands together. “You could be the first to break in the binding.” She said the word binding sing-song style.
I wanted to be alone. I liked Miss Cucciolo, though, so I nodded. “Okay.”
“Great. Come on.” I followed her to her office. It was in the corner of the library and had glass walls. Her desk was covered in newspapers and magazines, but she led me to the back wall which was dominated floor to ceiling with a shelf filled with books.
“Why are there so many in here?” I asked.
“Eh.” Miss Cucciolo shrugged. “Some of them need repairs. Some of them need to be processed. Some of them, I just don’t want on the shelves.”
I frowned. “You mean, like, book-banning?”
“No, no. Not that. It’s more like the opposite.”
She went over to the shelf and pulled a few, making a stack in one arm.
“How so?”
“Folks around here are a little funny. Maybe ‘impressionable’ is a better word. So, I’ve pulled back some books that might encourage treating others poorly.”
“Oh.” I didn’t know what to think of either statement.
She held out the stack to me. “These are some of the new ones. See anything that strikes your fancy?”
I took the top book. It was nice of her to offer them, but I wanted to retreat to a spot by myself. “This one looks good.”
“Ah. I hear that’s a good one. If you like, you can stay here and read. I’ll close the door.”
“Really?”
“Sure. You can even turn the light out if you want. There’s a lamp on the desk. Makes it cozy for reading.”
“Wow. Thanks, Miss Cucciolo.” My throat closed up. I looked around her desk, searching for a way to change the subject. A photo of her and two young men caught my eye. “Is that your boyfriend?” I pointed to the one who looked a bit older. The other looked closer to my age, and a strange spark ignited in
my chest as I looked at him.
She smiled. “Those are my brothers. I’ll leave you to it.” She left and closed the door, waving at me before she walked away.
I spent the rest of lunch pretending to read the book as I stole furtive glances at her incredibly handsome brother.
* * *
“You seem troubled, Miss Hond.” Mr. Anu and I were in his truck, stuck in the after-school clot of traffic as everyone tried to leave the parking lot at once.
“Someone came to our house Saturday night. They broke some of Mother's things, and they wrote something on our house.”
“What does it say?”
“I don’t know. Daddy wouldn’t let me see. But he says that people blame me for Gary’s injuries. He says that people . . .”
I trailed off. It had just been a silly prank, right? Suddenly I didn’t want to talk about myself anymore. “Why were you there?”
“Where?”
“On Friday. Why were you there?”
“I went to the football game. It is customary, and I wish to appear as though I belong.”
“I didn’t mean that. How did you come upon me and Gary?”
“Miss Hond. When I broach this subject, you become uncomfortable. I thought that I could ease you into the knowledge that I require you to have. But I can see that I’m going to have to fully explain myself.”
He paused as it was our turn to exit the parking lot. When traffic was clear, he moved out onto the street.
“I told you that I heard you screaming, and that is true. But I was already on my way to you when I heard your cries.”
“You were?”
“Maybe you recall me saying that my job as a god was to escort newly departed souls to the afterlife?”
I looked out the window to avoid answering. The Anubian story was starting to get old, and I hadn’t yet seen a shred of evidence that it was anything more than a delusion on his part — and hopefully, a harmless one.
“I sensed a soul preparing to depart. Gary’s soul.”
I gasped and then covered my mouth. I hadn’t meant to allow him to see my reaction.
“I’m attracted to death, like a night time insect to a porch light. I can sense a soul preparing to depart even right now in the next town over. It calls to me. Gary’s soul called to me. And when I went around the corner and saw what was happening, what you were doing, I had to stop you.”