The principal looked at John, and then at me disbelievingly. Like she almost couldn't believe what was before her very own eyes. Like she couldn't believe the exact reason we were in her office at that very moment. "Okay, so let me get this straight," Mrs. White said, examining Johns cheek (that was partially covered by his blonde hair, so she couldn't exactly see the full effect) warily before looking back to me once more, like she was alone in a jungle and I was a jaguar she had just spotted. "He said something to you, and you scratched him across the face?" I forced back a chuckle and looked down at my hands that were settled in my lap. "Basically." "What provoked this?"
John looked up from his own lap, a sheepish and guilty look on his obviously pained face. "I called her unwanted because her dad left her family." I angrily looked up and spit "Yeah, and your scratches are well deserved too. I'm happy they bled." Mrs. White slammed the table with her hand, shutting us both up. Anger and disappointment etched into her features, and all I could feel is no regret. John got what he deserved, and I was about to make no apologies. He needed to be put in his place, and if me scratching his face was what it took, then I would've done it earlier. "John, I expected this from you, but Valencia, I have seen you act out, but not this badly." The old woman took off her glasses and put them on the table, shaking her head and probably thinking about what to do with us. I had the urge to cross my fingers for John to get suspension, but decided against it.
"John, you'll be getting detention for three days. Saying things like that will not be tolerated at my school. That was inappropriate and rude and inconsiderate to Valencia's feelings." John nodded his head, pretending to accept his mistake and his paying the price for it, but I knew that once he got out of school that day, he would go back to being an inconsiderate jerk that's only obsessed with himself and seeing how many girls he can kiss. "Okay, Mrs. White. I apologize." "You shouldn't say that to me, you should tell it to Valencia; that's the one you hurt the most." Tensely, John turned his head towards me the moment I turned mine to his. The words seemed forced, almost like he desperately doesn't want to admit that he got in trouble and has to pay for it. "I'm sorry for hurting your feelings, Valencia." I snorted and shot back with "And I'm sorry my nails weren't longer." Mrs. White slammed her hand on the table and told me to stop being rude.
Eventually, she told John to go back to his sixth hour, and he happily obliged, only pausing at the door to allow me to see the effects of what I had truly done to his left cheek; four medium-sized, shallow gashes lined his pale, striking features. I remember causing them – the way I stood up in the middle of doing classwork and took a swipe at him, and then the way miniscule drips of blood ran down his face. I also remember the way every single person in class instantly silenced when they heard him scream at me, and the way the math teacher Mr. Graham screeched at us to go to the front office.
When John had left through the office door and it clicked shut, my focus shifted back to the white-haired, baggy skinned principal, who glared at me with severe disapproval. I could've cowered. But I was not as wimpy as to do so; I was known as one of the strongest girls, both mentally and physically. "So, do I go as well, or…?" I brightly quipped, faked obliviousness and innocence wrapped around my vocalizations. Mrs. White only glanced down at her glasses, and with a shaky, pale hand, lifted them up and perched them on the bridge of her nose. "Valencia, while I will never tolerate what you did to John's face again – and god, you are so lucky his family isn't going to take action – I will let you off just this once. Because what John said to you wasn't right, and you probably felt it justified to attack him. To be honest, at your age, I think I probably would have done that too. I was a rambunctious child." Mrs. White took a moment to chuckle and reminisce before turning back to seriousness.
"But Valencia, do you need to talk to somebody? Because if you want, I could call your sixth and seventh hours and tell them you'll be in my office and we could talk about how you feel. I used to be a counselor, you know." I crossed my thin legs and relaxed in the chair, bony fingers entwining lackadaisically together. "You know, I've been waiting for that question for thirteen years. I've always thought it over, wondering why my dad didn't stay. But all that wondering won't fix my problems, Mrs. White." Mrs. White looked confused for a moment and stared at me curiously, obviously wondering what I was getting at. "And you know what? Me talking to you right now, telling you my sob-story about how my mother and father knew each other for a month and then he suddenly left, leaving her to raise me, isn't going to bring my dad back. It isn't going to answer the question of why he didn't stay. It isn't going to answer why he didn't want me."
I snatched my black and white zebra stripe bag from the left of the chair, swung it onto my shoulder and stormed out into the hall, where Mrs. White was right on my tail, asking me where I thought I was going. "Home," I shot back at her with venomous iciness in my voice. "I am not going to deal with any of this today, okay?" I continued on my way, but Mrs. White didn't pursue me. She probably thought I was going to go to the bathroom to cry. Well, then she doesn't know me, I thought with an extra ounce of snark.
As I turned the corner to go into the bathroom, my bony, spindly fingers dived for my pocket and I pulled out my slightly crappy phone, pushed the speed dial number '7' and shoved it up to my ear. Absent mindedly, I twirled a piece of midnight hair around a spindly pale finger.
The little white phone shouted a song into my ear, and after a few moments of the song, I heard my mother answer nervously. She knew I would never call during school unless I got in trouble. "Hey, Mom?" "Yes, hon?" I pushed the bathroom door open, stepping inside and hearing my echo. As I went checking the stalls for anybody in there, I said "Do you think you could pick me up from school early?" "Oh, you don't want to stay the rest of the day?" "No. I will not be scrutinized by everybody today. I have had enough of it." My mother sighed, almost like she felt sorry for me. She had nothing to be sorry about. It's my stupid father's fault he decided my mother wasn't good enough. "I'm sorry about what that boy said. That wasn't right." Mom sighed. I could almost hear the tears rising up behind her eyes. Her voice sounded shaky and almost like it was about to crack. "Okay. I'll be at school in fifteen minutes." "Love you, mom." I clicked the red button ending the call and slipped it into the front pocket my skinny jeans once more. The only sound in the bathroom after that were my combat boots against the tiles as I paced, wondering how else I could possibly ruin John Fray's face.
When my mom arrived at school, she didn't exactly seem to look disappointed. She just seemed very unnaturally calm, like it was something she could just casually say she has to do all the time. Like me running my nails across a guys face is a totally acceptable occurrence. After she signed the sign out paper with her elegant calligraphy, we left the building, and I could almost feel the eyes stabbing into my back as the front desk ladies stared after me. Thank god it was Friday.
On the way out to the car, I asked her why she didn't seem all that disappointed in me. I expected her to be angry, and this, what she was expressing right now, wasn't exactly what you would call angry. "Well, Val, it's not like you could control it. I mean, what that boy said to you wasn't right at all, but I think you shouldn't have scratched him." I nodded. I heard that a hundred times today, so the words were almost meaningless to me at that moment. "But you know I have anger management issues. They know it too." Mother nodded, running a hand through her long, silky black hair that was identical to mine, except she always opted to keep hers short and not put it up in braids or anything, while I opted to keep it to the middle of my back and French braid it every day.
"And I know it's frustrating to have something thrown in your face all the time. I mean, it's not your fault for your father, or your dyslexia, or your anger management issues or your ADHD. And I want you to know that you shouldn't feel bad for being you." I nodded and smiled, looking up at my mom with my slightly crooked teeth. "Thanks, Mom."
When we finally got ourselves to the blue Subaru, my Mom started joyfully talking, like she wasn't sitting with her delinquent daughter. "Okay, so your step-father already got something to eat when he was at work – you know how they have those Subway days – so, do you want to go get something to eat before we go home?" "Is it bad I want Subway?" Mother snorted and rolled her eyes, swinging herself into the drivers seat as I swung myself into the passengers.
And from there on out, the story gets even stranger.