“I’m just saying, when my uncle died last year, my aunt got some medication so she wouldn’t be all like doom and gloom or whatever,” Lacey said in a matter-of-fact tone. “Sooo, Jim’s been a total dick this week,” she added, shifting gears. “I’m thinking it’s time to kick him to the curb. His whole self-absorbed thing is way annoying. I mean seriously, there’s more to life than constantly worrying about some Ivy League school you want to go to, right?"
I looked at her in shock, wondering if she was serious. Here I was pouring my guts out and she wants to talk about freaking Jim? How could she be so superficial at a time like this?
Lacey seemed oblivious to my shock as she continued to rant more about Jim and then about some sophomore that tried to sit in the spot I normally inhabited at school during lunch, like I would give a crap about that right now. I found myself shutting down listening to her meaningless tirade. My hurt cloaked me like a blanket as the harsh reality that I had no one I could lean on came crashing down on me.
Lacey stayed for an hour until it was obvious my sullen attitude was grating on her nerves. She flounced down the stairs to the front door and out to her waiting red convertible. The glimpse of her car as she swung the door closed behind her only added to my anguish. Just a week and a half ago I was convinced I deserved a car like that. As the engine purred to life, I was reminded of the hateful words I had thrown at my dad on that last awful day. I pitched a fit because I was sick of driving the sensible car my parents had bought me for my sixteenth birthday, feeling I deserved something hot and sporty like some of my friends drove.
“It’s not like you don’t make enough money,” I pouted as my dad drove me to school.
“Kassandra, it’s not the money. It’s your safety,” he answered for the hundredth time, sighing at my tone.
“Whatever, you’re just trying to make me a social leper,” I grumbled, shooting a glare back at Megan in her car seat. She swung her dangling feet, making them lightly kick the back of my seat with each forward motion. “Stop kicking my seat, Megan,” I said, taking my frustration out on her. I felt a small twinge of guilt when her pretty blue eyes had filled with unshed tears.
“Try not to kick her seat, okay, Peanut?” My dad had said, looking at her in the rearview mirror. “Take it easy, okay?” he said, looking at me disappointedly.
“Whatever, take her side.”
“We’re not trying to ruin your social life, Kassandra. We just don’t feel like you’re living up to your full potential,” he answered, ignoring my comment.
“Oh right, you just don’t like my friends.”
“Your friends are fine, but…What the heck is that guy’s problem?” he said looking in the rearview mirror.
I pulled myself from the painful memories, but I couldn't erase them from running like a slide show in my head. I was absolutely horrible that day, climbing out of the car and slamming the door behind me without saying goodbye.
Aunt Linda was waiting for me when I returned from the funeral and did not look pleased.
“Where have you been?” she asked, taking in my white button-down shirt and my only pair of slacks.
I debated ignoring her. By her tone it was obvious she already knew the answer to her question.
“I went to the funeral.”
“Why? Why would you do that? Haven’t we already done enough harm to that family?”
“No one saw me,” I lied, heading down the hall to my new room.
“Well, I hope not. Can you imagine the repercussions if the media caught wind of it?” she asked, following me down the hall.
“I know,” I said, aggravated at having my stupid actions shoved back in my face. I couldn’t explain to her why I felt the need to go. How I was dying to know if Kassandra was really as strong as she had seemed when we saw her on the news.
I closed my bedroom door firmly in my aunt’s face and sank onto the floral comforter that covered my new bed. When Aunt Linda took me in she told me to change the room however I wanted, to make it my own, but it felt wrong to reap the benefits of my father’s actions. So, I left all my possessions behind when I vacated the house I had shared with my father, taking only my clothes and the one framed picture we had of my mother. Leaving my stuff behind seemed like a small price to pay in light of what my dad had done to the Cole family.
I yanked off my formal duds and changed into a pair of ratty jeans and my favorite t-shirt proclaiming that I would rather be a zombie killer than zombie bait. I leaned back against the padded headboard and pulled out one of my only possessions, my iPod. I had been tempted to leave that behind too, but got the shakes thinking about leaving behind my only means of escape.
The music blared through my ear-buds as I finally allowed myself the luxury to think about Kassandra. It was morbid to think about how she had looked at her own father’s funeral, but I couldn’t help remembering how her hair shined in the sunlight or how creamy her skin looked. Even when she had looked at me like she wanted to kill me, I couldn't control the pull I felt for her. I wanted to erase her sadness, but I knew that would never happen since her unhappiness was my fault.
Two weeks after my father’s funeral, Mrs. Leighton, my counselor from school called, inquiring about my return. I tried to hand off the phone to my mom so she could speak with her, but she shook her head and headed to her room. I sighed at her retreating backside and told Mrs. Leighton my mom was in the shower, but that I would be returning back to school in a couple of days.
“Make sure you come in and see me,” she said in a sweet voice.
“I will,” I lied, hanging up the phone. Mrs. Leighton oozed niceness, but the thought of opening up to her made me cringe. After my disastrous afternoon with Lacey, I had quickly come to realize that no one could possibly understand where I was coming from.
I headed down the hallway so I could discuss my return to school with my mom.
“Mom?” I asked, lightly pushing the door open when she didn’t respond to my knock.
“Hmmm?” she asked from her side of the bed where she was curled up.