The student lot was busy by the time I arrived to school, and I couldn’t tell if I was being paranoid or not, but it seemed like everyone was watching me. I saw Maddon leaning against the building, waiting for me. I took a deep breath. I had been expecting this.
“Kassandra, what the hell is going on?” he demanded. “Did your mom find out?”
“Yeah, she found out,” I said, trying to control my traitorous heart that raced being near him.
“So what gives?” he asked, exasperated.
“I don’t know, Maddon, you tell me what gives. You forget to mention the fact that you’re speaking as a character witness at your father’s hearing tomorrow,” I said, raising my own voice, not caring who could hear.
“That’s what this is about? Kass, I have my reasons for that,” he said, looking hurt.
“Funny thing is I get that part. What I don’t get is why you lied to me about the drugs and violence. Did you think I would judge you? Me? Have you heard nothing I’ve said about how I used to be? I was no angel either.”
“Kassandra, what the hell are you talking a
bout?”
“Maddon, I know about the drug charge,” I said in a lower tone, not wanting anyone else to judge him. “And I know about the incident in middle school.”
“Kass, you should have come to me. I could have explained,” he said, looking more hurt than I had ever seen him. “I thought we had that kind of relationship,” he added in a voice that would have broken my heart if it wasn’t already shattered.
“So you could feed me more lies,” I whispered.
“I never lied to you. Did your sources tell you why the drug charges were dropped?” he asked.
I shook my head.
“They were dropped because the solitary joint they found in my backpack was already half smoked. I took a drug test and passed. You know why? Because I didn't smoke it. They did a DNA test on it, and guess who matched? That's right, my dad. Did your source also mention the only reason they searched my backpack that day was because my dad was too drunk to drive me the five-and-a-half miles to the middle school. I was halfway there when I stopped outside an elementary school so I could rest. A cop driving by thought I was skipping school and looked suspicious, so he hauled me in.”
The hallway began to close around me. I had prosecuted him without the facts. I wanted to throw up, scream, anything to erase the hurt that was etched across his face.
“You know what the ironic thing is? I took a beating from the old man over that joint two days before that. He couldn’t remember where he had put it when he was in one of his drunken hazes. So, I guess you could say I paid the price for that joint twice. Well, three times now, huh? As for the violence thing, I punched a kid when I saw him pounding on a friend of mine, Drake as a matter of fact. I hit him once. At first, I wanted to pulverize him, but every hit I’d ever received from my old man flashed through my head in an instant, and my rage turned to disgust. That was six years ago, Kass, and I haven’t been in a fight since. I never lied to you. If anything, I bared my soul to you because I thought I could trust you. I guess we both got betrayed,” he said, walking away from me.
I gasped out loud as the door slammed closed behind him. I wanted to call him back. Plead with him to forgive me, but the words wouldn't come out. I had prosecuted him and thrown away the key without giving him a chance.
I walked down the hall away from my first period class in a daze. I reached my destination having trouble breathing, paying no mind to the person that tried to stop me. I didn't care about knocking. I just had to get in.
“Kassandra, are you okay?” Mrs. Leighton asked.
I shook my head, sinking down in the chair as tears streamed down my face.
Mrs. Leighton walked around the desk and softly closed the door.
She sat back down behind the desk and picked up her phone. “Michelle, please hold all my calls, and have Kassandra Cole excused from first and second period,” she said before hanging up the phone. She then pushed the box of tissues toward me.
I grabbed a handful and clutched them in my hand like a lifeline. After a few minutes, I was able to calm down enough to ask her the question that had brought me here. “Why am I poison?” I finally asked.
“Why do you think you’re poison?” she asked, studying me intently.
“Because, I ruin everything I touch,” I said brokenly.
“Like what, sweetie?”
“Like my father’s and Maddon’s hearts.”
“Maddon Johnson?” she asked.
I nodded my head.