I don't know how much longer I can take it.
I feel so melodramatic saying that, but it's true. I don't want to go to school, face those kids, and the teachers who do nothing about it, and the people who used to be my friends. Even schoolwork, now, makes me so easily overwhelmed. I hate going and having to deal with all of that. It scares the Hell out of me.
There, I said it: I'm scared to go to school. And I guess the saddest thing about that is that I'm more scared of what school will cause me to do to myself than what school will actually do to me.
I think my Dads are starting to notice the change in me (I suppose I'm really bad at not letting my thoughts leak into my actions). It's mostly Dad, though, since Papa's been on Broadway for the past 3 months, only coming home every three weeks, and that's only for a week. I miss him, but I'm glad he's busy with his work (his dream) and doesn't have to deal with me (Even though I sometimes wish his dream didn't include a Broadway musical, because the kids at school don't think it's as awesome as we do). Dad's been occupied with my brothers; the football season has started, and Dad makes sure never to miss one of August's games and Sawyer is, as per usual, always vying for Dad's attention. So, it's easy for me to kind of fade into the background. Dad still makes time to talk to me every day and ask how I am, even though I never really give him a truthful answer.
I'm home alone right now. Dad and Sawyer are at one of Auggie's football games, and I decided to stay home. Usually Dad makes me go, or 'strongly encourages', but I told him I had homework and he believed me. Really, I don't, but I didn't feel like facing the world today. I just got back from school, and I just don't think I have the energy to fake being happy any more. Believe it or not, it's a trying task, being gleeful, and I really don't want to risk facing some of those kids at the football game. They might be there, and they might say things, and then my Dad will go all Lima Heights on them and then get mad at me because I didn't tell him earlier.
That's definitely a situation I want to avoid.
I know both Dad and Papa went through the whole bullying thing when they were kids and they rose above it and were proud of who they were despite what people told them, but my situation is different. I'm not gay. I'm just a clumsy, fat, awkward, stupid girl, and I know I am all those things. I actually agree with the bullies. And I want to change them, but I don't know how. And maybe that's my problem.
When August and I were little (and Sawyer was just a tiny baby), either Dad or Papa would tell us all stories every night at bedtime. Sometimes they'd tell classic fairy tales, sometimes they'd tell made-up stories using our names, and sometimes they'd tell stories of what happened to them 'once upon a time'. No matter what the story was, how much they loved us and how we were born perfect was somehow incorporated in there. And they still tell us that, without the bedtime stories, but those words are easier to say and believe at home, where I'm safe and warm and where people love me. High school is a much different place. Rules that apply at home just don't apply in high school.
It's a real shame, but it's true.
God, I really do miss Papa. I know he was just here a week ago, and that it's best that he's off living his dream, but I still miss him. Looking at the clock, I notice that it's 5:38. Papa's show on Tuesdays ends at 5:30, so he might not be busy right now.
I pick up my cellphone, dial his number and listen to the dial tone.
Ring, ring, ring ring...
"Viola?" the panicked voice of my Papa says, so high-pitched that I'm sure all the dogs in a 3-mile radius are going to come running. His voice gets frighteningly high when he's nervous. "Is everything okay?! What's the matter? Are the boys okay? Is it your father? Oh my God, what about August? He didn't break another bone, did he?"
"Calm down, Pops," I say. "Everyone's fine. I just thought I'd call and see how you're doing."
"Oh, whew..." Papa takes a moment to collect himself. "I'm doing great, but I miss you guys. You doing okay, sweetheart? You sound kind of blue."
Shit. "No, I'm fine. How was the show tonight?"
"Usual. No offensively transparent lingerie thrown onstage tonight!"
I smile at Papa's wonderful Papa-ness. "That's always good."
"How are the boys?"
"They're good. Dad and Sawyer just left to go to August's game."
"You didn't want to go?"
"Nah, I didn't feel like it."
"I wish I was with you! We could've had a girl-night!" Papa exclaims. "We could've eaten mini-quiches and had a Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan movie marathon!"
"I'd like that," I smile. "And we could have those peanut-butter cluster things that..."
"Oh, crap," Papa interrupts me. "Andrea just walked in. Viola, I've gotta go. Have a good night, love you! Send everyone my love!"
Papa hangs up the phone, and I almost feel worse than before I called him. Almost. It would've been nice if, for once, Papa's stupid agent didn't have to 'pop in' every five minutes. I've never actually met her (though I've seen numerous pictures of her smiling flirtatiously with Papa), but I really hate her. I know August doesn't care for her either, and I have a feeling Dad is kind of jealous of how much more time Andrea gets to spend with Papa nowadays. I don't blame Dad; it must be tough being a stay-at-home father to three kids while your husband is off living your dream on Broadway.
