Part Three: Chapter Three
November 9, 1985
A cool breeze blew through the schoolyard, an extensive plain of grass, scattered with basketball and tennis courts. Kids were playing basketball, tennis, or walking through the grass and talking. Some were sitting still on the grass, chatting away, or on a bench eating lunch with their friends and talking there.
Sara was sitting on a bench, book open in front of her face, held up with one hand, cheap corn beef sandwich in the other. She was managing to read and eat at the same time underneath the sunny afternoon sky. Sara could care less. She was too absorbed in her book to notice anything else unless it disturbed her concentration.
The past month had been a very busy, miserable one. As Sara had suspected, the news of her father spread like wildfire through the school's grapevine. There was nothing she could have done to stop it from spreading. She was helpless, like a firefighter without a hose. So instead, she sat back and accepted the stares, the whispers, and the taunts. Yes, she had been taunted, and many times wished she could take a nice heavy swing at anyone who brought it up.
She hadn't heard from anybody at the Nelson home, not one person even showed up to visit. It pained her to think about it. Didn't they care? Apparently not.
Something else that was wriggling its way into an important part of Sara's life, were her phone calls to her mother. They talked regularly, every Friday night. Em made sure Sara didn't miss a call, and Sara hadn't the slightest intention to do so ever since the visit. Sara felt Laura was the only one person who understood her, even if she was a murderer. Derek, Frankie, Jill, Meg, and the twins were long gone so she needed somebody else to explain her feelings to. She had discovered a while ago that words helped heal wounds, even if sometimes it's best to keep your mouth shut about certain things.
Uncle Leroy was making few appearances around the house. At breakfast he'd be there stuffing his face, barking orders to Em and Sara. Sara wasn't home for lunch, but when she did arrive back at the house, Leroy was lazing in his large dirty armchair watching television. Then it would be time to make dinner and they'd eat together. Leroy always asked Sara how her day went, saying he 'wanted to be a good father'. However, he always ended up criticizing how Sara handled everything she told him about. Eventually she just said her days went fine.
Sara set down the book after folding over a corner to mark her place, and reached inside her lunch bag for her bag of carrot sticks. Auntie Em didn't believe in junk food so she packed health-nut snacks for Sara to eat. As Sara opened the bag to grab a stick of vegetable, she could hear and feel some breath on her neck. She sighed heavily and moved her hand over to her book, placing a hand over it in case anybody got any ideas like her first-grade classmate had, the concept of eating her carrots gone from her mind.
"What do you want Chandler?" Sara asked exasperatedly, refusing to turn around to face the dreadfully annoying teen.
"Hey there, how you doing sweet-cheeks?"
Sara turned around in her seat and glared.
"Don't call me that."
"Why not?"
"Because I'm not your 'sweet-cheeks'."
"Oh, but you could be my lovely lady. All you have to do is say yes."
Chandler was tall and thick muscled, always wearing the same school jacket wherever he went. He loved that jacket almost as much as he loved himself. He was also the best football player in the district. Sara had to admit, he was extremely handsome, and every normal teenagers crush, but he was dumb as a doorknob. He flunked tenth grade twice, and was so stuck-up he'd kill himself if he couldn't find a mirror every ten minutes.
Sara continued to glare at him.
"Come on baby! You are one of the prettiest girls in school, and the smartest! Okay, maybe a little nerdy when, you know, it comes to chemistry class, but hey! I'm open to variety."
Sara smirked.
"Something else you should know about us science geeks Chandler, we go for brains, not brawn, and you my friend are the stupidest boy in this school."
The boy stood frozen to the spot, mouth stupidly hanging open.
"Now, if you'll excuse me," Sara muttered, grabbing hold of her bag lunch and standing up. She reached for the book but Chandler's thick hand snatched it from the bench.
"Hey!" Sara exclaimed.
"You want it?"
Sara rolled her eyes.
"Just give me the book."
"Just be my girlfriend."
"No, now give me my book." She reached for the book, standing on tiptoes. Chandler was 6' 2". Sara was five inches shorter than him.
"Say you'll date me."
"No!" She jumped slightly reaching for the book. "I'm not dating a doorknob who's so stuck up he can't live without his reflection."
He narrowed his eyes and glared at her, letting his raised arm drop to his side. Sara took the opportunity, seizing the book and pulling it to herself.
"Now if you'll excuse me," Sara muttered menacingly. She turned on her heel and began walking away.
"At least my mom ain't in jail!"
Sara stopped dead in her tracks and spun back around.
"Excuse me?"
Chandler had a large smirk on his face, his perfect white teeth shining out at Sara in a supercilious way.
"At…least…my…mother…ain't…in…jail." he said, articulating every word with a hint of iniquity.
Sara stomped up to him, her fingers clenching so hard around her bag lunch she wasn't surprised if she had cracked all her carrots in half.
"First of all," she began, voice shaking in rage, "'ain't' is not a word. Second of all, my mother is none of your business."
Chandler's smirk was still eminent.
"Well, you know, I wouldn't much want to date the spawn of a murderer and a murdered anyway. You can't be much better than your mom can you?"
Sara, standing in shock of Chandler's boldness, glared the biggest death glare she had ever mustered. Chandler didn't falter. In fact, he began chanting a poem to the tune of the Lizzie Borden rhyme.
"Sara's mother took a knife and stole away her father's life."
"Shut up…" Sara mumbled, avoiding his eyes.
"Sara's like her mother see, Oh no! Watch out! She's gonna kill me!"
"That's a horrible rhyme." Sara muttered under her breath. "Completely lame,"
Instead of listening, he began again, and then again. A crowd was beginning to draw near and before Sara knew it, several of Chandler's cronies were chanting along with him.
"Sara's mother took a knife and took away her father's life."
"I said shut up." Sara mumbled again, more warningly.
"What are you going to do, kill me?" Chandler muttered in a false high voice, pretending to act scared, the crowd continuing the chant.
Sara unrelentingly glared up at him as the chanting intensified and more students began gathering. Chandler and two of his pals broke into a sort of dance and Sara felt herself shaking. Then without warning, Sara let fly a punch, hitting as hard as she possibly could. The next second, Chandler was on the ground, blood streaming from his nose, hands over it holding tightly.
Several gasps escaped the crowd and the chanting stopped. Sara stood shaking where she was. The next moment, she had snatched up her book and lunch from the ground where she had dropped them in order to hit him, and dashed up to the school building.
Sara stood in a bathroom stall, crying quietly, although the noises echoed loudly throughout the room. She had only been in here for approximately five minutes,leaning against the wall. Suddenly, the sound of the door opening reached her ears.
"Sara?" came the voice of Ms. Wither. Sara held her breath in order to keep from letting loose a sob.
"I thought I heard you in here," the woman mumbled, slightly to herself.
Sara kept silent, moving over and sitting on the toilet, bringing her long legs up off the ground.
"Sara, I know you're in here," the teacher mumbled, stepping across the room, her high-heeled shoes clicking loudly. By mistake, Sara let out a hiccup, clapping her hands over her mouth, cursing herself for doing so. She squinted her eyes shut as the teacher's footsteps stopped.
"Sara," The teacher's footsteps began again and drew to the door of Sara's stall. "Come out Sara,"
Sara reluctantly stood up and opened the bathroom stall door. Ms. Wither was standing there, her hair drawn in a tight bun as always, her thin wiry glasses on over her pointed nose.
"Did you want something?" Sara muttered. It was this teachers fault. She was the one who allowed the note's contents to be revealed, condemning Sara to this lifetime of ridicule.
"Are you all right?"
Sara huffed.
"Have I ever been all right?"
The teacher went silent.
"I'm sorry," Sara muttered. "That was rude."
Ms. Wither grinned.
"What happened?" she asked.
"Problems at lunch with this guy."
"Oh, ex-boyfriend?"
Sara scoffed.
"I've never had a boyfriend, I don't believe in love."
"Why not?"
Sara went silent.
"I just don't."
"What happened exactly?" Ms. Wither probed.
"Why do you want to know?"
"I have a right to know what happens to my students. Maybe I can help."
"I doubt it."
"Why don't we go to the classroom?" Ms. Wither muttered, standing aside for Sara to exit. Sara walked past her slowly, hands amiably in her pocket. Ms. Wither ushered her out of the bathroom and towards the class.
When they were in the classroom, Ms. Wither took a seat behind her desk, gesturing for Sara to sit in front of her. Sara did as asked, easing herself slowly into the seat.
"So what happened exactly?" Ms. Wither asked again.
Sara was quiet for a few moments before speaking.
"I was eating lunch and reading." She paused. "Then this…guy…came up behind me and started hitting on me. Totally stupid, and annoying. I told him I wasn't interested, he took my book, I got it back, then he said something about how his mom wasn't in jail." She looked around the room, anywhere but at the teacher.
"Like yours?" Ms. Wither prodded.
Sara nodded.
"Yeah, like mine."
"Then what happened?"
"He started making up this chant about it. People started joining in and I just stood there. I kind of, you know, let it happen for a little while but then I couldn't take it anymore."
"What'd you do?"
"I…uh…punched him, in the nose."
Ms. Wither smiled slightly.
"I already knew what happened, heard it from Chandler himself in the nurse's office; I just wanted your point of view."
Sara paused again, biting her lip nervously.
"I swear I've never done anything like that before, ever."
"I know,"
The room was silent.
"I'm sorry. Tell Chandler I'm sorry."
"I will Sara."
Again, everything was quiet except the tick-tock of the schoolroom clock.
"You know what Sara?" Ms. Wither exclaimed quietly.
"Hmm?"
"You're an intelligent girl. Best of your age I'd have to say."
"Thank you,"
"And you're polite, and kind, and it's a shame you have no friends."
"I have friends! Sort of…"
"You have family, somewhere else, about seventy miles away from here. You need real friends."
"They're not real family. They're a foster family."
"The point is, you need somebody here, now."
"I have my mom. I call her every week."
"You're not getting it Sara. You need somebody else. Everyone else here has friends, except for two people. You are one of them."
"Who else?" Sara asked. She had never noticed anyone else sitting alone except for herself, probably because she was always reading.
"Emma Hammond."
An awkward silence ruled the room. Emma Hammond was the quiet girl that Sara had sat by for nearly half the year. She was quiet and shy, never raising her hand in class even if she knew the answer, unlike Sara who raised her hand after all comments in class, whether she wanted to ask a question or give an answer.
"You know what else I think you should consider Sara?" Ms. Wither began again.
"What?" Sara asked.
"College. No one, out of all the students in this school, do I think is more capable of succeeding in college than you."
Sara stared at her, chin resting on her fist, which was still slightly sore from the punch. Then suddenly, the bell rang, signaling the end of lunch. Sara stood up with a quick 'See you later,' and quickly took her seat at the end of the classroom, trying to ignore the numerous stares and the wide berth people were giving her as they took their spots.
Emma sat down in her spot next to Sara, the only person who wasn't bothering to act any different around her. Sara took a deep breath, mustering up her courage, waiting for the teacher to call attention to the front of the classroom.
"Emma," she whispered finally as Ms. Wither ordered the class to copy things down from the board.
The girl looked up at her. She had short brown hair and large friendly green eyes that Sara had never noticed before.
"Do you want to come over to my house after school?"
For a fleeting second, Sara thought she saw a small grin flash across Emma's face. The girl, quite to Sara's surprise seeing as to what she herself had just done, nodded.
Sara smiled, and when she turned her face to the front of the classroom as all the other students wrote furiously, saw that Ms. Wither was smiling too.
