I sat in math class staring out the window onto the school lawn. The weekend had been rough. Solitary. Filled with a lot of sleeping and multiple hangover cures. Roy ended up pulling me back into that fucking party of Marina’s, where I ended up getting so shitfaced that I passed out on the porch. The fucking concrete porch. I woke up the next morning to Marina shaking me like a damn blender, telling me to wake up and get out before her parents got home. I drove back to my place tipsy and tired, trying my hardest to keep my bike steady on the road as I chugged back the lukewarm bottle of water still stuffed down into my pocket somehow.
Only to be met with my father at the front door.
My neck still hurt from that encounter. But as far as brushes with my father went, this one was pretty tame. Cecilia pulled him off me, which was a first. And to punish her for it, my father left a few hours later for a business trip without her. Left her behind in the house to mope around in her heels and her perfectly-manicured fingernails.
Making me feel like a stranger in my own damn childhood house.
The rest of the weekend was spent in my room. I hoarded food there like a wild animal and didn’t come out until it was time for school this morning. I skipped Monday. I didn’t like Mondays, anyway. I called in for myself, actually. Made a few retching noises. Let loose a few burps. Talked to the school nurse. And in the span of ten minutes, I had a free day from school without a phone call to my father.
Which was the last thing I needed to happen right now.
I slept all day yesterday, and as I sat there in my boring as hell math class, I wished to be sleeping again. In the comfort of my own bed with music softly playing in the background. But no. I had to be here. Because the school breathed down our throats and sent out needless phone calls to parents if we didn’t show up. Like I still wasn’t some legal-ass adult at eighteen. I mean, everything happened at eighteen. I could buy cigarettes. Doctors didn’t have to go through my parents anymore. I could schedule my own medical shit. Fill my own prescriptions. Buy fucking nose medicine over the counter with my I.D.
So why the fuck didn’t schools stop calling parents when we turned eighteen?
If the doctor couldn't do it, why could they?
Makes no damn sense.
“Mr. Clarke?”
I whipped my eyes to the front of the classroom, where Miss Abigail was staring at me from beyond her black-framed glasses.
“Yeah?”
She pursed her lips. “What’s the value of ‘x’?”
I shrugged. “Depends on how you dumped them, I guess.”
But, instead of the class laughing like they usually did, I watched them shake their heads and scowl at me. A couple of the girls from the party at Marina’s rolled their eyes before passing notes to each another. I felt like that monkey again. Only now I was failing at my job. And if I wasn’t here for entertainment and laughter, then what the fuck was I here for?
I suddenly felt out of place at school, too.
Like I had at home this past weekend.
“Very funny, Mr. Clarke. Explains why you haven’t done your homework in a week, too.”
And with that, Miss Abigail turned her attention away from me. A flippant response before paying attention to the students that were really important. The students that made teachers like her proud. The students teachers like her wanted to mentor. Wanted to remember. Wanted to mold and shape.
Just another retired circus monkey.
I felt something hot against the nape of my neck and turned around. And it didn’t shock me one bit when I found Michael mean-mugging me from behind. He’d switched his seat in class to sit behind me instead of in front of me after that schoolyard fight. Why he’d done it was beyond me, but it wasn’t something I cared about debating. Every time I saw that squirrelly little fucker, he made it a point to glare in my general direction.
Only his glares had gotten hotter with each passing day lately.
I blew him a kiss before turning around, then slumped into my seat. I let my eyes fall back out the window, gazing out at the green grass and bright blue sky as Miss Abigail’s voice faded into the background. Classes changed and I gathered up my things. I went and flopped myself down in English class and saw Allison continuously stealing looks in my general direction. I didn’t pay it any mind, though. I didn’t give a shit about Michael or her. The only person I gave a damn about was Rae.
And I couldn't even get her to look at me.
I saw her in the hallways and tried to meet her eyes, but she always turned her back to me. I tried scanning the cafeteria at lunch time, trying to catch where her and her friends would park it. I wanted to hear her voice again. Even if it was in anger, cursing me out before slapping me across the face. Yelling at me was better than the whole barrel of ‘nothing’ she was tossing my way now.
And when I saw her walk into the cafeteria, hope ignited in my chest.
I stood up from my chair as Roy rattled on about some stupid-ass nonsense. Marina nibbled at her banana, keeping the trend of her starving herself going. I stood there, listening as voices faded into the background. And as Rae’s eyes found mine, I saw her lips turn down at the sight of me.
Then she turned around and walked back out of the cafeteria.
“You good, Clint?”