September Rain

  14

  -Angel

  Garfield had it right when he suggested getting rid of Mondays. That whole weekend stunk. Friday afternoon with my shrink had gotten the stink-ball going. Then Jake and his confusing visit.

  "Not yet."

  I've suffered migraines since I was five. Nothing I can do about it, but they come more often when I'm upset or worried. And Jakes' painful admission that night-"Not yet"-had me stressed to the max. The pain came on early Saturday morning, just before he left.

  I didn't do a thing for two whole days except lay in my room and writhe. Jake had felt bad, of course. He wanted to take me with him to visit his mom and little brother, Henry. There was nothing he could do for me, though. So, he went by himself and then picked up some extra shifts at work on Sunday.

  And Avery was sick with a flu or something. She'd called a few times, but I told her to stay away. The only thing that could help was silence. Austen looked in on me when Deanna was gone. He brought me water and my pills. On Sunday morning he made special brownies, but wouldn't let me have any. Deanna brought me soup, but I couldn't touch it.

  By Monday morning, I was exhausted, poking around in my bag and digging out a thin white binder labeled Language Arts. It wasn't a Language Arts class, it was AP English Literature, but I'd gotten the binder from this shelf in the office where they kept used materials for students who couldn't afford them. I opened the thin binder and started sifting for my writing assignment.

  I couldn't remember what I did with my homework. Last Thursday I'd started my essay. I completed the outline and prepared a first draft. Then, after my headache went away, I got it out again to write the final draft but could not recall anything beyond that.

  I strained to remember . . . sitting in my room, lying on my stomach. I was on the floor, my knees bent up behind me. I remember, music playing and I was stretching, trying to touch my head with my toes. Then . . . nothing.

  Did I fall asleep?

  As I sifted through papers, keeping my eyes peeled for the corner of the page-I knew I labeled it with all of the pertinent information and generally, when I started a task, I didn't stop until it was finished.

  Finally, I found the details I was looking for and grabbed the page and took the assignment up front. After placing it neatly in Mr. Harmon's basket, I headed back to my desk. Before I got there, Mr. Harmon called me back.

  "Miss Patel, is this what you intended to turn in?" He was holding up a paper by one corner.

  Trekking back, I looked at the page I'd just handed him. My name was in the corner above the beginnings of the assignment. The top half of the page looked just like it did when I spied it inside my binder. But at the bottom . . . I hadn't noticed. I assumed the essay was complete, but the bottom half of the page he held was covered in slashes of ink. Shapes that looked like someone had drawn a picture of a meadow with a little dog standing in it.

  With shame on my face, I took the assignment back and stared, figuring Austen was playing some kind of stupid joke on me. He was always doing stuff-nothing mean, just lame tricks-like he'd always horn in on my conversations with Avery, acting like I was talking to him and not her, or tell me that I already washed the dishes when I know I didn't. Or say I forgot something at the store that wasn't on the list Deanna gave me just so he could go back and get it. It was his way of trying to get more allowance to spend on his girlfriend.

  "Can I turn it in tomorrow?"

  Mr. Harmon nodded. "Yes, but its ten points a day-I'll have to dock you if you don't get it in by the end of the day."

  I returned to my seat and opened my text book to the page written on the white board and dug into the lesson, resolved to talk to Austen about messing with my school work. But first, I was going to kick the reading assignments' ass, and hopefully have time to redraft my essay.

  When the bell rang, the class collectively sighed in relief. I scrawled out the last two sentences of my essay as everyone filed out. Mr. Harmon gave my cramped hand a high-five when I set my completed assignment and essay into the basket on his desk.

  Out in the hallway I was desperate, nearly jogging as I cut a path through the flood of students. I had to pee and had been holding it too long. It'd gone away for a while, but returned with a vengeance the moment the bell rang.

  School bathrooms were the worst. They were usually filled to capacity or totally empty. Either way, they all smelled like shit and hair spray. And there was this girl, Rosa Dominguez, who'd been taking her turn messing with me that quarter. She was a senior, like me, but she had a lot of friends and she was on the Softball team. Damn jock-chick with rotten breath and horrible bleached hair that clashed with her brown skin. She had to have dyed it herself because it had a distinct orange tinge. It was ugly. Like her soul.

  Rosa had a gift for finding me at the most inconvenient times-usually when I went to the bathroom. Sometimes, in the girls' locker room, too. The locker room I understood-she was a jock-but damn if we didn't constantly end up using the same bathroom at the same time. Every freaking time. So I tried not to use any of the bathrooms in the main building and never went near the ones by the gym. That pretty much left me the English and science wings.

  When I finally made it to the end of the passageway, I hooked into the middle-section, the corridor that housed the freshmen lockers, and launched myself through the swinging door and into the first available stall.

  My nerves were tight; listening to the voices of carefree freshmen, listening for the one voice I didn't want to hear.

  There was exactly seven minutes between classes. Three probably expired before I got to my preferred toilet. As I relished the release of two diet colas, I heard the rumble of girls piling out, complaining about their hair or a boy, all sighing as they herded to class. In a rush, I buttoned, flushed, grabbed my backpack, and flung the stall door open.

  Rosa Dominguez was standing in front of the mirror. Of course. She tousled her long orange hair, smoothing the sides. Her reflection caught mine and her eyes flickered. Two girls still, lingering near the sinks, tucked their heads down and shuffled out.

  "You know I told you to stay away from my boyfriend, right?"

  My mouth dried up. Her boyfriend was in my science class. We sat at the same table, but I never talked to him. Not even during labs. But I couldn't tell her that. My lips couldn't move, suddenly stuck to my teeth.

  With a quick spin, she was suddenly facing me. "Why the hell do you keep talking to him?"

  When she stepped towards me I backed away, landing myself back inside the bathroom stall. I tried to shut the door, but she was too close. Her wide palm clamped onto my shoulder, shoving me and my back pack over the open toilet. She gripped my shirt and hauled me out.

  I covered my face right as her jetting fist smashed into my mouth. The soft skin of my lips burned against her bladed knuckles. I stumbled back and felt myself curling in, cowering away, prepping for the next blow which was usually the same as the one before by way of the other fist. I closed my eyes, wondering how I'd hide the bruises from Jake.

  The sounds were there, the smacking of flesh and bone, but I didn't feel anything. I hesitated before looking up to find Avery hovering over the orange-haired monster. Relief coursed through me. She had Rosa by the arm and was twisting it behind her back. Rosa was pleading, though she sounded furious. When Avery didn't relent, she started back on the insults.

  Avery yanked Rosas arm up further behind her back. Taunting, "Hey, isn't this your pitching arm?"

  Rosa cursed and tried to twist out of Avery's hold. Avery kicked the back of her knees in turn, forcing Rosa down and hitching her arm up high. Rosas' already pinched face winced and she squealed.

  "Don't," I whispered, quietly begging Avery not to push the confrontation. She couldn't get suspended again. Besides, Rosa was beaten and she had to know it.

  The knots in my stomach tightened as Avery looked down. I recognized the deceptive softness as she stared at the girl bent below
her. "What if I pull a little higher, Rosa? What will happen?" The girl spit a high-pitched curse as Avery wrenched her captive arm up. "Come on, only a little higher? Would another inch be enough to break your shoulder? Do you think you could still pitch after that?"

  A flurry of noise echoed around us and Avery dropped Rosas arm. We both stepped back and away as two campus supervisors rushed through the door. All they saw was Rosa lunging for me, her face twisted in rage. The guards were big and burly-fierce-as they subdued the threat.

  "You alright?" The dark eyes of one examined my face. I nodded as my tongue skimmed over my bottom lip, feeling the heat and swelling. He barely scanned Avery and came back to me. "Go to the nurse. Get an icepack for that lip." He looked back to Rosa who was no longer large and threatening but tall, teary-eyed, and complaining about her shoulder. "You're coming with me."

  Rosa was hauled out. We were alone when Avery took me by the elbow, inspecting my mouth. "You'll be fine and I'm late."

  I gave her a quick hug. "Thank you."

  "That's what I'm here for." She grinned and waltzed out the door.

  I was finally alone in the bathroom, staring at my splotchy reflection, thinking how much better my life would be once I graduated. No more Rosa or anyone like her. I'd be heading to college and maybe even my own dorm room. No more foster homes. Just Avery, Jake and me, living our lives. Together.

  I took a deep breath and let it out, washed my face and scurried out.

  On my way to class, I stopped by the vending machine near the quad across from the cafeteria where the picnic tables were huddled together and bought an icy cold soda. Rosa wouldn't be returning to the bathroom anytime soon so I figured it was safe.

  I bent to grab the can from the bin on the bottom and when I stood up my heart was racing. A chill ran through me though the open air was anything but cool. I touched my clammy forehead with numb fingers as everything familiar melted away.

  Blood seemed to rush into my ears as I stared at the empty corridor that suddenly looked unfamiliar. It was the same, but also out of place. I turned to my left expecting to see the vending machine, but it had been replaced with a sunny open area and picnic tables. The position was all wrong, so I kept turning until I found another corridor and blinked. The sky and benches, the edges of an open doorway; everything was now frayed with a static fuzz that stilted the shapes. I knew where I had been standing a moment ago. I knew what I was doing, but none of what I was seeing matched the map inside my head. Just a moment before, I was in front of the soda machine with the hallway behind me. And that had suddenly vanished.

  I was lost. I had no idea where I was.

  I closed my eyes, focusing on breathing . . . in and out.

  "It'll make sense. It'll come back. Come back. Come back."

  I counted to ten, repeating my name and address in my head, my school schedule. I'd just sat through Lit and was supposed to be in Science.

  Feeling the cold can in my hand was an assurance. I knew where I got it. If I just stayed still everything would fall back in place. I raised the cool cylinder against my swelling lip and opened my eyes. The vending machine was clear as day, right in front of me, so was the quad full of picnic tables.

  I took a steadying breath just as the bell rang and the corridor flooded with a current of students changing classes. It felt like only a few minutes had passed, but I missed an entire class.

  +++

  I met Avery in the cafeteria. I had her wait for me before she got in line so no one could complain about cutting. We talked a little as the line moved.

  "Are you hungry?" She asked.

  I shook my head and her face soured. "I'm starving," I lied, wanting that look to go away.

  "What'd you say?" The girl ahead of Avery asked as she spun.

  It was an innocent question arising from an honest mistake, but Avery never was much of a people person. "I said those jeans make your butt look huge."

  I tugged her arm back, stepping closer to girl when her face fell. I didn't know her, but that was an awful thing to say. "Just kidding. They're really cute. Where did you get them?"

  The girl swiveled back to face the front of the line that had inched ahead. I turned my disappointment back to my friend.

  "Sorry." Avery gave a look that was anything but repentant.

  I left the line and walked toward the vending machine against the back wall. I didn't need to wait in line when I wasn't hungry and have to watch Avery start fights for no reason.

  "What is wrong with you?" I asked the second she came into my peripheral vision.

  "Sorry." She actually sounded like it this time, so I looked. "I'm premenstrual, I guess."

  I had to laugh at that. It was the go-to excuse with us, but she used it way more than I did.

  We sauntered into the quad for lunch. Avery was beaming as we sat on a cement bench surrounded by cactus flowers. We shared a bag of chips and a pack of jellybeans as we talked. I didn't mention what Jake said-"Not yet"-because I was still coming to terms with what it meant and didn't feel like rehashing that whole confusing night. She'd probably say something I didn't want to hear, anyways. Avery already knew that visit triggered my headache and it was all the ammo she needed to unload on Jake.

  I didn't like it when talked to him, so sometimes I kept stuff from her, wanting to quell her urge to straighten out my life for me. I loved her devotion, but it was tiring sometimes.

  We stayed on light topics-which cheered me up-carrying on about Analogs' show and I was telling her how I still hadn't corralled my courage and asked The Foster, but regardless, it was decided. We were committed. We were going to AC's shows. Screw curfews and rule books. What was a few hundred miles for true love?

  We were both bursting, trying to hide our laughter when Avery got a mischievous glint in her eye. As I was about to ask what she was thinking she stood from the bench. Her arm drew back and sprang forward.

  I watched the yellow jellybean she threw peg an unsuspecting freshman. He was just walking by then-boom, right to the temple! It bounced down his cheek and fell into the open pocket of his backpack. He turned and glared at us.

  "That was just a practice shot." Avery looked at my empty hands and then across the quad. "Ate yours, did you?"

  "You're on a tear today, Miss Menstrual. And of course I ate them. You know jellybeans are my favorite."

  I followed her glare to the spiky hair of one Troy Bleecher. He was in our senior class. He was also kinda hot, which meant he was a snob, which also meant he had money, which meant he was a complete want-for-nothing dickhead. He was very, very popular.

  When I first came to Carlisle I didn't know a soul, except Avery of course. She moved around a lot because of her moms' job. Anyways, Mr. Popular-Troy Bleecher-asked me out on my second day of school. Jake and I weren't a thing then, so I considered the option. But Avery said he was a jerk, so I turned him down. The next day, he crept up behind me in the lunch line and paid for my food without asking, and then he asked me out again. And asked again the day after that. I wasn't used to guys talking to me, at least not ones with so much confidence, ones who were still polite after I said 'no.'

  Troy was so sure we'd have a good time together I thought maybe he was right. So, I let him take me to the movies. He was the perfect gentleman; didn't make a move to hold my hand or kiss me, save the little peck he placed on my cheek right before I got out of his car. The next day though, everyone in school was listening to Troy tell a story about how I tackled him inside his car after the movie and begged him to have sex with me.

  Avery, who hated him enough for the both of us, handed me one of her jellybeans, a misshapen green one slightly bigger than average.

  I tossed it, hard, at the mess of spiky hair half-way across the small quad. His tanned hand flew up and caught the candy. He was looking right at me. Avery started laughing, but I was suddenly sweating.

  She remained standing, yelling to him, "Oh, Troy, I didn't mean to hit
you in the chest," and blew a kiss. To me, she turned and whispered, "You throw like a girl."

  Troy was suddenly standing in front of us. His perfectly styled mess of hair sat over his big brown eyes. In between them was a crumpled brow. "Are you crazy or something?"

  Avery chuckled humorlessly. "Yes. I can comfortably say, 'you have made me crazy.' Does that make you feel better?"

  She gave me a quick look that said, stay calm. She knew I didn't do confrontation. I couldn't help it. The way Troy's shoulders were ratcheting up made me want to hide. I wondered at the veins pulsing in his neck while wishing to be somewhere else.

  Doctor Williams had told me that when I felt anxiety, I should imagine I was some place safe. So I pretended to be tucked away inside my room, back in the furthest corner of my closet-where I liked to sit and listen to my music when the world got to be too much. I could almost hear the sweet melody of Jakes' voice pouring from my boom box.

  The sun won't shine the way it used to

  My knee deep sky . . .

  All the green dreams died and I'm drawn beneath the moon

  You're mine and gone so far, too soon

  Forever I'll be down here, looking up at you,

  Beneath the knee deep sky.

  I asked Jake once, why he chose knee-deep to describe a lonely night. He'd told me, "Because people never look away from themselves until they're on their knees."

  Troy turned away, sighing deeply. Avery's middle finger flew up tall and proud, daring him to say something.

  He kept walking.

  + + +

  15

  -Avery

  I hate this place.

  The floors are filthy. The food is disgusting. And the people are even worse than the filthy rodents climbing inside the walls.

  I need to get the fuck out.

  Pacing the hall outside my cell, I wonder what Angel has been doing all day, what she has been telling them about me. What she thinks about me.

  I wish I could be in that interview room. To listen like a fly on the wall. I can do things like that: be in a room and go unnoticed. I've had years of practice. I have actually eaten and slept in places where other people could go days without noticing me. I'm just gifted at being overlooked.

  Of course, I'm under no obligation to speak to anyone, because I'm not as important as Angel. No, her opinion is the only one anyone cares about because she's the talking head and what's inside it doesn't matter.

  I'd love to sit down and tell someone what I know just to see their shit-eating faces. I'd make eye contact with sweaty Darren, first. Fuck him and his diet soda havin' ass. Then I'd move on to Tara. All she'd do is stare though. She's probably gone retarded from having her hair pulled back so tight.

  I'd look at all the suits and say, "Story time, bitches. Pay attention."

  I would have to start by admitting that I am a terrible person, but I'd also have to say that I didn't start out that way.

  In the beginning I was kinda good. Well, I was okay at being her friend at least. I mean, I did my part by being there when Angel needed me. I stood up for her. I held her hand when she cried and listened to her problems. We took the blows together. Until one day, what we were . . . slipped.

  I was still there. The blows were still coming, but Angel was gone. She didn't need me anymore. She had Jake. They'd been together about a month and were all lovey-dovey, all the time. It was a real vomit-fest for me, so I started pulling back. I waited for her to show interest, to ask after me. I was coming around less and less.

  I don't think she even noticed.

  Then, there I was, with all this time on my hands. The energy I used to expend over Angel and her issues was still there. Only there was no place to put it. Some might say I resented her and that's why I did what I did, but I think I was just bored. Or maybe I finally had time to realize I'd been starving for something, too, that I had needs, too. Only I never noticed until then.

  Noticing that . . . emptiness really fucked me up. Because afterward, after I found that unnamable, everything else in my life was crowded out. Almost like a gloomy film was suddenly coating every other part of me. I couldn't focus on anything but this newfound irrelevance that shone like a spotlight in my face.

  It was suffocating. It was a bitter tang that came on like a boulder rolling down a hillside. Constantly gaining momentum until it smacked into me full force. I'd tried running but it kept pace with me. I buried it underneath boys whose names I never caught but that rock-solid want would always rise up. Drowning myself in alcohol or getting blurred with sweet smoke never worked long, either. The dulled edges would sharpen the moment my high went away-when the waves of alcohol and THC receded, it always resurfaced.

  We were rolling alone together.

  +++

  I was in trouble and I knew it.

  I'd held the shame too close, let it gnaw at my chest. Every minute of the day, it was consuming me. I hated that feeling-of disappearing-of being eaten alive.

  I had to let it out and I was ready to use anything I could get my hands on to stop it. What ended up in my hands on one particular day was a pocket knife. It had a long, thin blade, ivory handle, and it was razor sharp.

  Sitting on my front porch, I knew that no one would come looking for me any time soon.

  I held out my arm. The tip of the blade pressed into the crease at my elbow. I kept it there against the thin skin, just long enough to appreciate the imminent sting. Anticipation had stupid tears filling my eyes. I squeezed them shut. The cuts worked like release valves on a high pressure pipe. If I twisted just enough to the left, just enough to let the hot trickle down my arm, some of the weight would hiss away.

  As I prepared to shift the slender edge, a noise from the house carried out onto the porch: my mother and her newest soon-to-be Ex were arguing again. I tucked the knife away and hopped up, aiming for the road. At the curb, I hooked right and kept going, walking along the roadside with my head down.

  It wasn't long before I heard the hum of an approaching car. I debated jumping out in front of it, but noticed that the car was not passing but slowing down. When I looked up, I saw it wasn't a car. It was a beat-up van rolling alongside me.

  The passenger window rolled down and Jake leaned over from the drivers' seat, keeping one hand on the wheel as he called out. "Hey stranger, need a ride?"

  I had no plans, so I shrugged. "Think your girlfriend will care?"

  He canted his head to one side. "I'm ninety-nine percent sure that she'd want me to pick you up."

  The van came to a stop and I hopped inside. My back sunk into the seat as we took off.

  "Where are you going?"

  "Nowhere." I examined the colored vest he wore over his green t-shirt. The hardware stores logo was sewn into the left side. "You coming from work?"

  Jake took turns glancing between me and the road. "That obvious, huh? You alright?"

  I nodded, but said nothing. He wouldn't understand. I hugged my arms together tightly, trying to squeeze the pain from my chest.

  The van came to a stop sign.

  As I stared down at my lap, Jakes hand came to rest on my knee. "Wanna talk about it?"

  A long minute passed. A horn honked from behind us and Jake sighed, slowly taking off and pulling over into the first parking lot he came across. Putting the van into park, he shut off the engine and set his hand back on my leg.

  An inch above my knee.

  My mind said to move, move, move away, but I could swear that the constant hollow in my chest shrank a little. Not much, but enough for me to notice. So I didn't move.

  "I've been told I'm a good listener."

  I set my elbow up on the windowsill. As I began to run my hand through my hair, to pull the long black strands off my sweaty neck, Jake grabbed my forearm and jerked it towards him.

  "You're bleeding. What happened?"

  His question and the shocking amount of blood that had dribbled from my elbow onto the side of
my shirt caught me off guard. Too surprised to think up a lie, I set my lips together.

  Jake cursed; smacking his hand against the glove compartment mounted in the dashboard. The small door fell open. He kept one hand firmly locked around my elbow as he reached for a plastic baggy inside the glove box. He mumbled some curses while I watched him pull out a package of tissue and clean the crusting mess from my arm. Then he squeezed a thin line of greasy ointment over the small, but deceptively deep cut I'd given myself, and then sealed it with a bandage.

  "What the hell are you doing to yourself?" He shoved the plastic baggy full of first-aid supplies back into the glove compartment and slammed it shut.

  He was pissing me off. Who the hell did he think he was, getting all self-righteous on me? I didn't ask for the damn ride or the pity.

  I was about to tell him where to shove his indignation when he closed his eyes and opened them again, suddenly holding a different expression. He didn't look mad. He looked soft. Like he was anything but angry. His forehead was crumpled, his eyebrows knit together. His bottom lip was caught between his teeth.

  The expression made me feel naked. I took my bandaged arm from him and covered myself.

  "Why?" He set his palm against my cheek and stared.

  The raw emotion that seemed to surface with that one word made me want to apologize. But I didn't. "Because I need to feel better."

  He closed his eyes again, his features relaying the feeling hidden beneath his lids. He was hurt. "What I mean is, why didn't you tell me? I thought we were friends who talked about this shit."

  "We are . . . friends." The word felt weird coming from me. I didn't care to have friends. One reason being they were always asking questions. "But I won't talk about it."

  My voice carried off when he leaned closer and took my bandaged arm in both of his hands. "Friends don't judge. They listen . . . and maybe make fun of you later on." Jake offered a fake grin, trying to lighten the mood as he continued. "But they can't do that if they don't talk to each other first."

  Jake extended my folded elbow. "Friends help each other heal." He leaned down and set his lips to the inside of my arm, kissing at the edge of the dressing.

  I tugged my arm back. "How could you help, Jake?"

  He straightened, looking me in the face. "Any way you'll let me. If you need to talk or whatever," His brow scrunched again when I fidgeted. "For whatever you need, I'm here."

  He sounded so sure and sincere. Considering the way he looked at me and his attempt to help, I decided it might be okay to be friends with Jake.

  + + +