OK?
It's all alright now. Or it's supposed to be. He's gone. Gone from this school, from my life. Then why can't I seem to go back to normal?
I'm still a celebrity. Everyone in my class thinks it's amazing or something. I don't know. I don't think getting raped is anything to be proud of. I guess I did get him in the end, but whatever. It's not like he's in jail.
I'm still not me. Something still haunts me, makes it hard for me to focus. My mind is always wandering. It's odd, my teachers all coo and say it's ok. Like that will make me feel better.
Ivy is still a good friend. Nicole and I are basically the same as we were last year, ok with each other but not friends. Rachel/Rachelle has talked to me a lot, but she always seems so nervous around me. Well her boyfriend raped me. I mean, how good could that make a person feel? Not that I blame her for being his girlfriend. She didn't know. I didn't say anything.
Mr. Freeman's room is still my refuge. Now that I've moved out of my closet I go to his room every lunch and draw/paint/etc. I'm still not a social being. I'd rather be an anti-cheerleader than a cheerleader any day.
I have to see a psychiatrist. She's ok. She doesn't talk much; I don't talk that much. It's basically silence for an hour. I like it. She thinks my mind-wandering thing is a defense mechanism. Well it certainly was last year, but why do I still use it now? It's just reflex now. It's not so bad. My own little world to get away from things. But it doesn't help with grades or anything.
He won't talk to me. He barely looks at me. When our eyes meet he gets a funny look on his face and quickly looks away. Right. Why would he want to be the friend of a loser rape victim? For some reason… I miss him.
New Year, New (Out) LookI make one last angry swipe at the now colorful canvas. Mr. Freeman looks up briefly from his new masterpiece-in-progress and smiles vaguely. He thinks emotion is good for art. Let my anger out. I'm the perfect artist. All this pent up emotion.
It's been 3 weeks since school started again. All the students still have deer-in-headlights looks. They're still in shock that summer is over. The look is starting to fade, but I figure it'll be another week before it's gone completely.
Ivy has started to spend a lot of time with me in the art room at lunch. It's nice when she's there, but sometimes I'd prefer to be alone so I can just throw myself into the paintbrushes and paper and work without having to respond to things that she says or asks. I think Mr. Freeman likes it a little better without Ivy too. With Ivy every other minute is chatter. With just me it's silent and easier to focus for both of us.
All my other classes have shifted in my schedule, but art still follows lunch so I just stay in the room for a full hour and a half. It's heaven.
Ivy has not graced us with her presence today so I'm pretty rapped up in what I'm doing. Suddenly Mr. Freeman clears his throat and I realize he's right behind me. I jump slightly. Wasn't he just at his easel a second ago?
I look down at what I've painted with him. It comes into focus. Lately I don't know what's going to come out of my art. I don't have "Tree, tree, tree" on my mind anymore, even though that's still my subject of choice. Today it appears I haven't done a tree. Or it wasn't the subject. There were tree branches around the sides of the canvas, because the picture seemed to be looking up into a full moon. Some sort of night bird could be seen a little, one wing sticking slightly into the moons bright light.
Mr. Freeman looks at it quietly, assessing my work. Finally he says, "You can do better." Then he walks back to his own project. A small lump forms in my throat. I knew he was right, so why was I upset? Maybe it was because he'd said that about everything I'd done recently.
The bell rings and the next period starts. I stay where I am. I decide to finish this picture, just because I don't like leaving things unfinished. Ivy comes in after a few minutes, smiles at me and sets up her stuff next to me. She starts talking. I'm suddenly reminded of Heather, even though Ivy doesn't talk nearly as much. I stay silent and listen for a bit. Then she stops and gets to work and I go off into my own little world again.
Mixing ChemicalsI am now in Chem. It's a miracle I think, since I flunked basically all my classes last year. They let me take summer school. I retook all my classes over the summer so I could actually pass. I was a special exception because of the "circumstances".
He isn't my lab partner again. He sits in the front of the class and ignores me. I find myself staring at his back a lot. Way more than I should. I mean, it's not like we were REALLY friends. All year he was just David Petrakis My Lab Partner. Maybe I only let myself get this way because he helped me get good grades when we had to work together. And he finished the frog for us after I fainted that one time.
My new lab partner is a girl named Molly. She's got curly blonde hair and glasses. She's short and thin, like one of those button cute movie stars (what does cute as a button actually mean?). I could picture her doing that. She'd wear contacts in the movies of course. She could probably be a model if she were taller. But she doesn't look like she'd be interested in that sort of stuff. She likes Chem. But she actually doesn't pay attention much. More often than not she's got a book hidden under the table and while we're supposed to be taking notes and I'm drawing, she's reading and making scribbles on her paper so it looks like she's working. For a brainiac not to pay attention in class… It's odd. But it's sort of cool.
Today Molly is reading a book called The Fifth Sacred Thing. It's big. It must be uncomfortable to hunch like she does when she's trying to hide that she's reading. She's actually in a lot of my classes and does this in every one of them.
I decide to ask her about this book. Since we're both not paying attention and our teacher, Mr. Garcia, is droning about something or other. She looks up in surprise when I speak. Then she smiles.
"Oh it's great! It's about the future, and how the United States is split up into good and evil. But at this point it's not really into the war and stuff, mostly people are just having a lot of sex in the good part of the United States." She has this huge grin on her face like it's the most interesting thing imaginable. I wonder why she says "United States" instead of "America" like every other person in the states.
"That sounds good." That actually does sound interesting. But I'm not much of a reader so I'm not terribly fascinated.
Molly can tell I'm not that interested but it doesn't make her any less enthusiastic about my asking in the first place. She starts telling me a little more about it and I listen. My mind doesn't even start to wander. Watching Molly talk is like being hypnotized. Somehow you find yourself wanting to agree with her. She's could probably convince the Devil to become a saint. Molly would be a good salesperson.
Suddenly a sharp voice says, "Ms. Sordino, Ms. Hunter. I'd appreciate it if you'd pay attention to me while we're in class. Thank you ever so much." Molly turns bright red and shrinks a little into her seat.
Mr. Garcia returns to whatever he was talking about. David turns a little in his seat to look back at us. Molly smiles at him sheepishly and mouths something. David grins and I feel a chill go down my spine. He glances me, then gets that funny look of his and turns around quickly.
A minute passes. Then, as if she never stopped talking, Molly starts up again, in a quieter voice. She's just so passionate about this book and all embarrassment about Mr. Garcia catching us is gone. She keeps talking until the end of class.
The bell rings and we both get up to leave. I have English next. She has P.E. I groan in sympathy. She smiles. "Yeah, I think they should ban P.E. I don't think my parents signed anything saying it was OK to torture me."
I laugh with her. It's weird, I haven't really laughed with anyone over anything in a long time. She starts heading toward David and I feel that chill again. As they walk out of the classroom she turns and waves at me. I wave a little back. David seems to ignore the exchange.
I think I might like Chem now. Just a little bit more.
Hairspray or Shoe Polish?My new English teacher, Mr. Gold is very different from Hairwoman. He likes giving us pop quizzes and does all the time. The questions are mostly asking us if we know what a verb is. Or an adjective.
He assigned us a book to read a week after we started school. He hasn't even checked to see if we've started. I think he's the kind of teacher that will forget to tell us about the test and then expect us to be ready.
And also, where at the beginning of the year Hairwoman had a huge hairstyle that probably could have filled a small closet, Mr. Gold is completely bald. He could probably blind someone if he turns his head just the right way. I've taken to calling him Bowlingball. Hey, I can come out of the depression and isolation but the nicknames are still hella fun.
Bowlingball has decided to give us another quiz. Surprise there. He passes it out and I spend most of the period staring at the first question. "How do you diagram this sentence? Billy went to the store to get some milk for his cat." I think I read somewhere that milk isn't good for cats. Too fattening or something. I wonder why Billy went to the store just for his cat. Couldn't he have added other things to his shopping list? Instead of just a carton of milk for a spoiled feline?
The period is over and I haven't answered any of the quiz's questions. I turn it in blank. Bowlingball frowns slightly and starts to say something but I dart out of there before he can ask me why I didn't diagram any of his stupid sentences. Who cares how to diagram a sentence about Billy and his damn cat? Screw them both.
The Fall of HeatherI see Heather in the hallway. I watch her thoughtfully. She looks like she's collapsed in on herself. Her hair is unwashed and tangled. Her outfit reminds me of something you would have found in my closet last year. All this because she was dumped by the Marthas?
I haven't seen her that much, but every time I have she's been alone. Staring at the floor or at a notebook. Not making eye contact with anyone. Once she accidentally bumped into me. She looked up and whispered sorry in this timid voice. Then she saw it was me and she froze. She seemed horrified. I started to say it was OK, but she fled.
She looks so lonely. I should reach out to her. Then I remember how it felt to be dumped by her. Even though I didn't like her. It made me feel horrible. I watch Heather fish through her locker a little more. Then I turn and walked the opposite way.