With Andie and my parents at work, Matt agrees to drop me off at school. He shoves a bowl of Fruit Loops in front of me and holds out my dark green lunchbox.
"I packed your chicken wrap, chips, and a five-dollar bill for a soda," Matt announces. He plants a quick kiss on my forehead. "Now eat that cereal, come on!"
"Five bucks," I repeat. "Way to dig deep, asshole."
"Fuck you."
"No, fuck you and eat your breakfast."
"You first."
Rolling my eyes, I shove Fruit Loops inside my mouth and watch Matt comb his curly hair. He wears a brown leather coat with a green rain jacket underneath. After fixing his belt, Matt adjusts his work jeans. He stomps in and out of the living room to find his shoes.
"Jesus Christ." I hear Matt curse. "Where the fuck are they?"
I swallow a bowl of colored milk and place it across from me. "Hey, Matt."
Matt stops looking and guides my gaze to the brown boots under the table. Sighing with relief, he thanks me and grabs the shoes from under the table.
"You're finished with your cereal?" he asks me.
"Yep."
Exhaling a soothing relief, Matt shoves his feet inside his shoes. He ties his black laces into knots and then tells me to put the bowl and spoon in the sink.
"Are you pulling a double shift at the factory, today?" I ask.
Matt bobs his head. "Yeah, kiddo."
"Do you want to hang out during your lunch break?" I ask him, my brown eyes brightening. "Maybe we can go to Hamburger Mary's and-"
"I can't right now," he interrupts me. "My boss wants me in that factory at 8 o'clock sharp."
My huge smile quickly vanished.
"Oh," I mumble. "I see."
Matt disappears upstairs and comes down holding his brown knapsack stuffed with all of his junk. I can't make out the items in his bag, but I think I can spot his green rain jacket.
"Hey Kat," he calls near the door. "I almost forgot! Make sure you bring your jacket, yeah? I'm pretty sure it's going to rain today!"
"Okay!" I shout. "Good luck with your job!"
Matt blows a kiss in my direction before walking out of the door.
I wish him good luck, carry my purple backpack over my left shoulder, and rush to get to my bike.
********
So, my first day back from suspension is a living hell.
The kids look at me as if I shot Jimmy Hoffa, the teachers aren't too excited to see their sarcastic troublemaker, and I am pretty sure I forgot my rain jacket at home.
I wear a vintage denim jacket to cover my brown T-shirt with Basquiat doodles on it. My camouflage jeans are drenched. My red Chuck Taylor sneakers left behind puddles of water, but at least I covered my head with my backpack.
Encountering my locker, I turn my dial a few times until the lock falls into my hand, but just as I was about to take a few books, Gwen storms up to me.
"You told Joe that I did crack with his brother?" she hisses. "I told you not to tell anyone!"
"Yeah, well," I answer, slinging my backpack through my shoulders. That's what people do when assholes like Joe threaten their families, Gwen."
Gwen scoffs. "That is such bullshit!"
"It's the fucking truth, Gwen," I snap back. "Maybe instead of being in denial all the time, take off those rose-tinted glasses and see Joe for who he truly is."
Gwen was about to say something bitchy when our English teacher, Ms. Tanaka, stepped in. Her big, brunette hair makes the lady look like a newsroom woman. Her scarlet-red lips put Demi Moore to shame. She wears this fancy black blouse, a bold blue skirt with white spiral patterns, and brown penny loafers.
Pulling us aside from our lockers, Ms. Tanaka gives Gwen and me dark looks.
"Is everything alright between you two?" she asks us.
"Peachy." I lie.
"Yeah," Gwen answers with an eye roll. "What she said."
She bumps my shoulder and walks away to join Kiara on her way to class.
Fucking bitches.
"Katherine," Ms. Tanaka says quietly. "Can you tell me why you're soaking wet?"
"I walked into a car wash."
"Funny. Look, is there something going on between you and Gwen?"
I shake my head. "Everything's fine."
"Are you sure? Because I've never seen you two fight before. You two used to be close friends, right?"
"Nope. Anyway, I seriously need to get to class."
"Oh." Ms. Tanaka speaks quietly. "I understand. Well, don't forget about Role Model Day. It is a mandatory event in which all students need to participate."
Fucking Role Models Day. It's a so-called holiday where the Claiborne School of Arts invites idealistic boomers to motivate kids to become citizens of society. While the principal calls it a way of life, I call it an inhumane method to force people to decide on a career they want in their teens.
Usually, I am against these traditions, but since I just got back from suspension, I decided to endure an hour of this until Computer Class.
"You need to participate in the class, Kat," Ms. Tanaka reminds me for the eighth time. "So, no bathroom breaks, rooftop breaks, or stealing snacks from the cafeteria."
"Okay," I say softly.
"Please, no picking fights with everyone, okay?" Ms. Tanaka begs. "I want you to have a normal high school experience."
Yeah, and I want to marry Christian Slater, but life is full of disappointments.
Flashing Ms. Tanaka a thumbs-up, I enter her English classroom and find an empty seat in the middle of the room. But after I sit there, a snobby Asian girl behind me aggressively taps on my shoulder.
I try to ignore her, but she yanks the back of my shirt and whispers, "Hey slut, could you move? My best friend is going to sit there."
"I would," I answer sweetly. "But mandatory seating is a total bitch these days."
"There are no mandatory seating arrangements in Ms. Tanaka's classroom." the girl sneered.
"Really?" I pretend to gasp. "Holy shit! My loss."
As soon as everyone gets settled in, my English teacher, Ms. Tanaka, brings this gawky-looking man with pasty beige skin and dark brown eyes. He must've stayed up all night because he has these black rings around his eyelids.
His deep blue uniform looks big for him, yet his gray tennis sneakers pinch his feet every time he walks. But what shocks everyone is how young he is. He looks like a college student, and yet he talks fancy like a professor.
Raising his hand in the air, Joe asks the male nurse how old he is.
Ms. Tanaka gives the male nurse an apologetic look, but the guy tells her that it's no big deal. Sliding his hands inside his pockets, he adjusts his eyes at Joe and casually announces that he's twenty-seven.
"Really?" the girl behind me chortles. "You're fucking twenty-seven?"
"I know." the male nurse pretends to gasp. "Fucking shocking, right?"
Everyone laughs except Ms. Tanaka, who stands there with her mouth gaping open.
This makes me snort a little.
"This is Nicholas Whitmore," Ms. Tanaka introduces, giving the nurse a patronizing glare.
"He used to be a residential nurse at the Salem Hospital, but now he is working at OHSU, one of the greatest facilities in all of Oregon. So, let's give him a round of applause."
Nick steps in front of the classroom, earning deafening claps from the audience.
He scratches his short, black hair with his stubby nails and flashes us an awkward smile. He spends half the day talking to us about his job and prospects.
He answers the kids' questions and explains his answers thoroughly until the bell rings for the second period. I collect my stuff and follow my classmates outside the door. I reach my hand towards the knob when I feel something sticky peeling off of my back.
Confused, I turn around and see Nick holding a folded note in front of me.
"I saw someone tape this onto your back," he whispers.
I take the note, open it, and read 'Cocksucking Slut' to myself.
"Thanks," I say glumly.
Nick blinks at me. "What the hell is that note about?"
I crumble the paper into a ball and toss it into the trash can near Ms. Tanaka's desk.
"Forget about it," I tell him. "It's nothing."
"Why?"
"Ask around. You'll know sooner than you think."
Nick looks completely confused but agrees to back away.
********
After enduring five boring classes, I can't wait to eat.
I buy myself two bags of chocolate snack cake and a can of Pepsi at the cafeteria, then sit in the back where no one can see me. But sometimes I miss eating on the rooftop. It has the best view of the entire city. Plus, I can listen to music whenever I want, eat a shitload of junk food without being judged, and get ideas for a story I am working on.
As much as I enjoy chilling on the rooftops, they are still soaked from the rain.
So I am forced to eat in the cafeteria.
"Add it Up" by Violent Femmes plays in my ears as I take a bite of my chicken wrap.
A blob of salad dressing appears on the corner of my thumb, but I lick it off and munch on my chips.
Looking around the cafeteria, I notice no one is glancing in my direction. Gwen and Kiara are chatting with a group of girls; Joe is nowhere to be found; and the kids are too busy getting caught up in their melodramatic crap that they don't have time to make fun of me.
I slide another corn chip into my mouth and flip the next page with my right hand. Although the first period was shit, today doesn't seem so bad. I did most of my homework in the library; all the kids are too stressed out to make fun of me, and I think I got an A-minus on my Art History quiz.
Let's hope nothing goes wrong.
Just then, someone taps on my shoulder again. I tighten my fist and spin around to find my best friend, Ollie Fitzpatrick, rubbing his black eye with a finger.
He wears an orange, long-sleeved shirt with a black Thrasher tee over it. Baggy khakis cloak his beaten sneakers. His pink hair bounces as Ollie awkwardly sits in front of me. His greenish-brown eyes stare at my snack cakes until I push one toward him.
Of all the kids in this podunk school, Ollie is the only one I like. You see, he just moved here from North California because his mom wanted to be with her art-loving boyfriend.
Or at least that's what Ollie says.
He hates his mom's boyfriend more than moving to Portland, but Ollie tries to make the most of it.
"Hey, KitKat," he greets awkwardly.
"Fuck," I mutter. "What the hell happened to you?"
"Soccer happened," Ollie grunts, still poking his right eye.
"Dude, don't play with it. You're going to make it fucking worse."
Ollie bobs his head until I take an ice pack from my lunch box and hand it to him.
"Keep it until your eye stops swelling," I advise.
"Alright," he says quietly, bobbing his head.
He tears open his chocolate snack cake and devours it in two bites.
"So what music were you listening to?" Ollie asks me.
I swallow a sip of my Coke and smile at him.
"Violent Femmes," I tell him. "I've been listening to their album since last week, but the tape is getting worn out."
Ollie frowns. "Maybe we should go to the record shop after lunch."
Draping my hands behind my head, I gaze at the ceiling and sigh. "I want to, but I already promised my family that I would make an effort in school."
"Oh, let's do it after school then," Ollie says with a shrug. "I don't know what time it opens, but..."
"What is your stepfather doing here?" I interrupted.
Suddenly, Ollie stops eating his snack cake. He turns around to see a guy in well-dressed clothes walking towards our table. His blonde hair is combed back, revealing his structured face. His blue eyes are stiff as nails. He makes sure his brown corduroy jacket covers his arms before sitting beside his disturbed stepson.
"Hey there, bud," his stepdad greets. "How is your day at school so far?"
Ollie says nothing. He anxiously finishes his snack cake and asks me if I can come with him. I don't know if he is being serious. I mean, Ollie and I skip school all the time, but I just have this weird feeling in my gut that something seriously bad is going on between them.
If I could explain to you what it's about, I could, but it's not my story to tell. Besides, I am not an expert at understanding people's emotions.
"Why?" Ollie's stepdad asks, furrowing his eyebrows at me. "Where are you two going?"
Tucking my loose curls behind my ears, I lie and tell the guy that we are going to the convenience store to buy some supplies for a history project we are doing together.
"That's nice," Ollie's stepdad begins. "But I asked the principal if it was alright for Ollie to come home right away."
"Uh, okay," I say slowly. "Wait, what the hell is going on at home?"
"His mom is in the hospital, and, Christ, what the hell happened to your face?"
Ollie's stepdad sees the bruise on Ollie's face and forces him to look at his dark blue eyes.
"What the hell happened to your face?" Ollie's stepbrother demands. "Did the kids hurt you?"
Ollie says nothing. He shoves his stepfather away from him, gets up from his chair, and snatches the chocolate snack cake off of the table. But when Ollie tries to sit next to me, his stepdad simply grabs his arm and forces him to sit back down.
"Hey," his stepfather growls in surprise. "What the hell is the matter with you? I thought I asked you a question."
I inch myself towards my chair to confront him, but Ollie shakes his head in my direction.
"Yeah, sorry." Ollie stutters. "I just got this from soccer practice, okay?"
"Soccer practice?" Ollie's stepdad repeats. "Well, you are going to get that crap out of your hair, shape up, and you are going to get them next time."
"I don't want to do soccer practice anymore."
"The fuck you are," his stepdad mumbles, his grip tightening on Ollie's arm. "You can't let one black eye ruin your life."
Technically, it isn't just one black eye. You see, Ollie had endured a lot of broken bones ever since his stepdad signed him up for soccer practice. First, it was his leg, then his arm, and now his black eye. Ollie tries to quit, but his stepdad refuses to let him "chicken" out.
Yanking his arm away from his stepdad, Ollie grabs his snack cake and heads out of the door. I get up from my chair, grab my backpack, and finish my snack cake. I left my soda can on the table, but I didn't run back to get it because I was afraid of running into Ollie's stepdad again.
"Hey, Oliver!" he screeches. "Oliver! Where are you going?"
"Somewhere with better fucking food, that's for sure!" Ollie shouts aloud.
A couple of kids look up from their lunch trays and spot us leaving the cafeteria. Like them, I have no idea what the hell is going on with Ollie, but rather than backing out, I grab his hand. I want him to feel like he isn't alone in his fight. That he can talk to me, you know? Like any normal friend would. As we march down the hallways, I keep looking at Ollie, expecting him to tell me if he is okay.
Ollie doesn't say a word, but he squeezes my hand back until we reach outside of the school.