I watch my friends as they joke and moan about spending time with their families or going on trips for spring break. Mine will be spent with just my mom, Mrs. Jennings and me. Mom never talks about her family. I know nothing of them. It’s as though my mom didn’t even exist, until she had me.
“Hey,” Becks shouts snapping his fingers in front of my face.
The bell has rang and I have zoned out as usual. I dump my tray quickly and scurry to the gym. Whomever had the bright idea of giving me Phys Ed after lunch needs a knock on the head with a hammer. Like I want to run suicide laps after eating that crap food. I barely have time to change into my t-shirt and shorts.
I am still trying to manage to get my dark brown shoulder length hair into some type of ponytail. No matter though, I always end up with loose strands that just won’t stay put. My sneakers squeak across the gymnasium floor as I take my spot in the lineup. Our school’s mascot, a tiger, is painted to look like he is ripping through the center of the floor. If I were a tiger right now, I’d rip out my P.E. teacher’s throat for wearing those god-awful 1988 bologna roll bangs. Very few things irritate me honestly, but there is just something about her bangs. They seriously appear as though she rolled them in a single hot roller and didn’t bother in unrolling them. Hideous.
Ms. Haggerty blows her whistle. “All right guys. Fall in line. Stretches.”
A girl from my art class moans about menstrual cramps and gets off easy, being allowed to walk laps around the gym, unlike the rest of us who have to bend and stretch like a twisted pretzel.
I am bent over touching my toes when I have that eerie feeling that someone is watching me. Peering through the gap in my legs, I see him. Kai. What’s his deal? I pretend not to notice him. When I no longer sense his presence, I safely glance to make sure he has gone.
Moments later, I am paired with Raven Scott, for sit-ups and pushups. If ever there was a poster child for everything not to do in high school, it would be her. When we were freshmen, Raven went homebound. Rumors circulated that she got knocked up by some guy she met at a college party and she put the baby up for adoption. I don’t know if any of that is true though.
I think her and Kai have an off and on relationship, which leads me to question her decision making even more. That’s probably who he was staring at, not me. I feel like an idiot. ‘Paranoid much Francis,’ I say under my breath. You only wish he was staring at you, I scold myself. Wait…I what? No, no. I am so close to getting out of this place without any attachments.
“So are you going to Aaron’s party this weekend with Kai?” I ask her trying to make conversation with her. I haven’t ever really talked to Raven before. I just know what Penny has relayed back to me.
“Hardly,” she snorts, and rolls her eyes as her chin hits her breasts. I continue holding her ankles in silence. Guess they are off again. She stops mid crunch and pauses to speak. “He has a thing for you.”
Confused, I wait for her to elaborate, but she doesn’t. “He who?”
She gives me this duh expression. “Kai. He’s always near you. Haven’t you ever noticed?” She looks at me as if I should already be aware of this information. I shake my head. She must be mistaken. The only thing Kai likes is giving me is an occasional stare down. And don’t I love it when he does! Stop it Katie, you are seriously thinking about Kai Cooper too much!
“I think I am one of his least favorite people,” I tell her feeling nervous about the thought of him wanting me; because I know a part of me wants him too.
“He isn’t what you think he is. He is a really good guy. People say things in this school, ya know. I know what people say about me.” She shrugs her shoulders indifferently.
I really don’t know what to say because I can’t argue with that. I know people say many things about her. We switch positions, she holds my ankles and we settle into an uncomfortable silence. I feel like I should say something but I am not sure what. I think I preferred us not talking. Now I feel obligated to find out what she meant about Kai.
The whistle blows and we are divided into two separate teams for dodge ball. After taking a beating at the hands of the biggest girl in our school, I am back in the locker room getting ready for third period. One of my favorite classes. Art. But going to art also means seeing Kai Cooper. I can’t seem to escape him today. We are finishing up our current project—Giving Thanks. The assignment was to create any form of art we wanted as long as it showed what we are most thankful for. I chose to do mine about music.
At least in here, I don’t have to worry about Kai being able to stare at me, he sits on the other side of the room up front near the window, and I sit closer to the door but at the back of the class. He would have to crane his neck pretty far to watch me in here.
I get to my station and cannot help but notice Kai hasn’t come to class yet. I don’t know why I am even looking for him. Why do I care? I never cared before did I? Or have I always watched for him and just never noticed I was doing it until today? I find myself growing more irritated with every passing second and I have forgotten what I was even painting. My music note is now just a black glob. Wonderful. I stretch the edges of my blob out in small strokes working my mistake into my design.
I get lost in touching up my painting; it isn’t until I am putting my supplies away that I notice Kai in his area doing the same. Stupid jerk, making me notice him.
Curiosity gets the best of me and once the class is empty, I nonchalantly walk to the window and sneak a peek at his painting. Interesting it’s of a guitar. I didn’t know he played. Upon further inspection, I notice a marijuana leaf painted faintly on the bottom left corner. There is the Kai I know. I roll my eyes but laugh at the same time. Mrs. Nelson will have a conniption when she sees it. By this time, I have missed half of break and start making my way to my locker so I can finish the school day out in the hell that is known as chemistry.
&nb
sp; Chapter 3
“Katie, is that you sweetheart?” My mom glances at the front door as it shuts. As if, it would be anyone else. She is inside the bathroom doing her hair. She is securing her blonde bob wig as I go to the fridge to pilfer for a snack.
I check the date on the yogurt cup as I peel the lid back and lick it. It went out of date yesterday, so it is still good. My mom has a variety of wigs. Her hair changes depending on whom she is entertaining for the evening. You would think she would schedule most of her dates while I was at school. Some she sees on their lunch break but others she sees on their way home from work before going home to their wives. Men are disgusting pigs.
I wouldn’t call my mom a streetwalker. She has been doing this for as long as I can remember. She has tried her hand at normal jobs, but they never seemed to work out other than the diner. I think she works there so she can meet more men. The men she sees are regulars. I make it my business to know where she is and when to a point in case something were to happen to her. As much as I hate what she does, she is my mother and I worry about her. I toss my yogurt cup in the trash and place my spoon in the sink.
Sinking down on the couch, I flip the TV on. We don’t get cable but we pick up a few of the local channels for free. The news is on. I don’t really like watching but I like the buffer it serves between my mother and I. Great, they are predicting a major snowstorm that has the capability of causing power outages. The news anchor goes on to talk about safety tips and ways to prepare in case of an emergency. He goes on about a weather radio. I didn’t think they even sold radios anymore.
My mom makes her way into the small living room spritzing her perfume. Not like, it does her any good, as much as she puffs on her Marlboro Reds. “You look great.” I give Nancy Francis the compliment I know she was getting ready to fish for.
“You think?” She flits her fingers through her wig trying to give it a natural tousled appearance. Next, she does her signature slow spin. My mom is beautiful. She doesn’t look forty, more like late twenties early thirties. Dressed in a red sweater, over a pair of gold shiny leggings, with black hooker boots. At least that is what I refer to them as. They remind me of the ones Julia Roberts wore in Pretty Woman. If only my mom could be so lucky as to land a billionaire. Then I wouldn’t be babysitting for the Millers this weekend. Then I could go to a party like Aaron is throwing. Not that I want to go to his party. I’m just saying, if I did want to go, I’d be able to go without worrying about the consequences of giving up a week’s worth of cash.
“Do you have choir?” She smiles at me, moving over to the record player, blasting my ‘Fleetwood Mac’ record. She knows it’s my favorite.