Finding Hope in Texas Page 6

  Closing my computer, I made my way down the hallway to the kitchen where Mags had made tortillas with beans and rice. Ah, my first Tex-Mex encounter. What could I say, but out of all the men Mags had chased around the country, she at least never had to go after a chef. Her food was delicious with not too much grease in the meat, the beans cooked at just the right temperature, and the rice was not slushy or clumpy. Way to go Mags, I thought to myself, but didn’t say it out loud.

  “I’m sorry, I had planned on cooking this tonight, but I didn’t know you would be feeling bad.”

  “Oh, well, I’m feeling much better now. Thank you.”

  “I’m glad to hear that.”

  We sat for a few more minutes without saying anything until she tried again.

  “How do you like Jimmy Carter? Have you met any new friends yet?”

  “Mmm,” I played with the beans with my fork, “Just a girl from band. We eat lunch together.”

  “Well, that’s good,” she smiled. I could feel like she wanted to say a lot more to me, but maybe couldn’t find the words. It had to be difficult for her under these circumstances. She had never wanted children and only saw us every few years when she was out east or needed a place to crash for a while. We weren’t close and probably never would be. I know she wanted to make the best of the situation, but it had to be hard on her, too. I mean, it was her brother, sister-in-law, and her nephew that were all killed. She had to be thinking of them as well, hadn’t she? Sometimes, I just wanted to question her. Did she really love any of her family? I mean, I sat practically alone while three coffins were laid out in front of me, alone as they were placed into the cold ground. Why wasn’t she there beside me and let me be there beside her? It wasn’t the money. She could’ve flown up in a heartbeat had she wanted to. She just didn’t. She waited and waited, finally only coming up to see me when the visitors died down and I was truly alone, and talking me into going away from there, that it would be better for me to get away from so many memories. And maybe she was right; I had to get out of that house, that community, because there everything was a memory. Maybe she did care about my father in the only way she knew how: by leaving all the memories behind.

  I scooped the last of the rice in my mouth and washed it down with a Dr. Pepper, a Texas treat that had gone national. If I didn’t watch it, I’d become addicted.

  “Thank you for dinner,” I managed to say before leaving the little breakfast nook.

  “Hope, honey, can I do anything for you?” Mags asked as I hiked back to my room. Her words stopped me before I entered the hall. “I mean I just want you to feel like you can tell me anything, like you did with your mother or John. I know y’all were close, and I also know that I can’t even start to replace them. But if you would just let me in a little, I would be happy to help you in any way I can. Just don’t keep me locked out forever, okay?”

  Was this her attempt to open up to me or get me to open up to her? Was this where I was supposed to begin to cry, turn around and jump into her arms and apologize about being so obtuse to her for the last few weeks? Then was I to spill my guts about how losing my parents and my brother at such a young age was the worst thing that had ever happened? How the world wasn’t fair and how I still in some small way wished there had been a fourth coffin at the funeral that day, that the pain and suffering they went through was brief compared to what I was going to have to deal with the rest of my life? And she, she would apologize to me for being gone so long, tell me about all the mistakes she had made in life and that the only good thing that came from that drunk driver was that it brought what was left of her family back into her life. Was that how all this was supposed to work out? Like some after school special that they don’t even air on television anymore because they were so monotonous? Well, this wasn’t a TV special. This was my screwed up life, one that would bring me more tears than a sixteen-year-old should have to bear. I gritted my teeth.

  “Okay,” I murmured as I continued my march to my room. I continued with Pride and Prejudice for a while before cleaning up and going to bed.

  The next morning, Mags and I talked even less than the night before. I was probably surlier with her than I should have been, but it wasn’t her place to ask me to open up. I could be closed off if I wanted to, and I certainly wanted to around her. Besides, she could open up to me first, couldn’t she? I guess adults expected us adolescents to pick their brains for their knowledge, and had this have been Mom or Dad that would have been no problem. But how can you confide in someone whose life is probably screwed up just as bad as yours? We hardly spoke a word from breakfast to the time she dropped me off to school, for which I was running late. She was able to get a “have a good day” out before I shut the door behind me, hearing the first bell in the distance.

  The trek up to the front of Jimmy Carter seemed more ominous than usual. There were gazes from other students that I had never gotten before. Maybe it was because of the manure locker from yesterday? How could kids forget about a pile of crap within someone’s locker, even with all the drama of high school? Or the kiss and the technology-driven crucifixion of me on Facebook. It wasn’t until I reached the foyer where many more students gave me a suggestive look that my heart began to beat that much quicker. What was going on? Why was I getting this much attention just on my fourth day of school? Had I gone too far with my kiss of Brad in front of Jody? The faces and eyes gave me frightful thoughts. What was going on that they knew and I didn’t? It was when I reached the front of the crowd that I saw it and my mouth gaped open in horror. Beside the water fountain hung a large copy of my student ID picture with the words “Lil Orphan Kilpatrick” written underneath. An Annie-type wig, full of red curls had been stapled just above my head, not that I needed it with my own red hair. My heart stopped. Other students weren’t laughing as they went by, but they were staring at the poor little orphan girl. This was cruel, callous, and ruthless even. Somehow Jody learned of my past and was now using it to torment me. Tears began to fill my eyes as the word “orphan” stared me in the face.

  God, I’m an orphan. I never really looked at my parents’ death like that, but it was true. I had no mother or father anymore, just an aunt who probably wanted as little to do with me as I wanted from her. I was alone in the world, placed on the “loser’s table” with a teacher’s kid because none of my other peers wanted anything to do with me. Time away from the disaster was what I had come to Texas for, but now it was here unexpectedly, following me all the way from New York. My face reddened, but was it from embarrassment that my secret had been found out, or rage because I wanted to kill the pest that was attacking me, taking this way too far with her little poster? Slowly, I reached up and pulled it from the wall and threw the garbage in the nearby trashcan. Lizzy was running up to me down from the hallway.

  “Hope, it’s in everyone’s lockers.” She passed me a piece of paper that was the same picture used for the poster. “Flip it over,” she said reluctantly. On the back it talked about me but in the worst ways possible, lying about me being kicked out of schools in New York for being a tramp, starting fights, doing drugs, and that my parents were killed in a drive-by shooting during a cocaine deal. It was so ridiculous that had I been in a better mood, I might have laughed. It would be pretty funny to imagine my parents dropping dime bags on the street corner late at night right after a long day in court. The only thing she got correct was that my parents were dead. This was so absurd, so preposterous that only high school students would have found any truth in it. Maybe that’s what she was going for, to tarnish my reputation as being a hoodlum to the rest of the student body. I took a deep breath and looked at Lizzy.

  “Go to class. I’ll handle this.”

  “Do you want me to tell a teacher or get the administration involved? Hope, this can’t go on.”

  “It’s not, Lizzy. I’m about to end it,” putting the emphasis on the words end it. I stomped to class. The counselor had told me that I would have to be in Mr. Peet’
s first period for the remainder of the week before she switched me over to his dual credit class. That’s where I was headed, to find the little blonde haired cheerleader who wanted to go after my family.

  Rounding the corner and tracing down the hall, I saw Mr. Peet standing at his door, a smile on his face.

  “And how is my crack student this morning?” he grinned.

  “Just dandy,” I acknowledged as I floated by him. I scanned the room briefly before I saw the shining lock of hair sitting on the far side.

  “Hope, you okay?” Mr. Peet asked as I went down the back of the room, but I didn’t answer. I was seeing red and it wasn’t my hair. It was the little floozy and she was about to get what she deserved. I rounded the last desk and tapped her on the shoulder. Her hair flung around and her eyes met mine. For a second I paused. This wasn’t me. I had never thrown a punch in my life, but here I was about to give my best jab to some girl that was out to make my life tougher than it already was. But when I looked into those eyes, those cold puddles of blue, and saw the little grin on her face, it was just all too much for me. My right hand went forward. It was a cheap shot, but no cheaper than the haymaker she had given me on my second day of school. My knuckles met her face right between her top lip and nose and her head flapped back before she fell to the floor, a cascade of blonde following her.

  I stood over her, but could feel people grab my arms and hands and pull me back. “If you want to attack me, that’s fine. But if you ever go after my family again, I’ll beat the living crap out of you!” I heard a few snivels coming from the clump of hair on the floor when the teacher interrupted.

  “What is going on here?” Mr. Peet yelled at the assemblage of people. He noticed Jody on the floor and two guys holding me back. “Let her go! Kilpatrick! Office! Now!” I gave Mr. Peet the evil eye, glared back at Jody in time to see a sinister grin on her face, before storming out of the room. I had punched like a butterfly and stung like a ladybug.

  Mrs. Tremble was out doing her morning duty when the secretary told me to sit in her office. My adrenaline was gone and my anger and frustration carried with it. It had been ten minutes since the tardy bell sounded and all I could feel was a chilling bitterness sweep over my body. What was about to happen? This was where the bad students sat getting ready for their punishment, not me. I began to breathe deeply, but before I even noticed, my arms had wrapped around my stomach and I was bent over crying my heart out. God, what kind of emotional wreck had I become? Other students must have thought I was a nut, a crazy loon they had released from some penitentiary. I pulled my hands out in front of me and couldn’t stop them from shaking. They felt so cold, so useless. It was beginning to hit me that even with my plug of her mouth that Jody was winning. She was making me do things that I would have never done before, making me stoop to her level, and it felt so horrible to do so.

  “I can’t win. I just can’t win,” I announced before beginning my sobs again.

  “Actually, with a right jab like that, you might be able to win at a chick’s boxing match.” It was Mr. Peet’s voice and I leaned up to see him over my shoulder as he entered the room taking the seat next to me, handing me a box of tissues. “How are you doing, slugger?”

  I wiped my tears away as Mrs. Tremble entered and shut the door behind her.

  “Mr. Peet, leave the Miss Kilpatrick alone. She has had enough going on this morning without you tormenting her.” Mr. Peet smiled but didn’t come back with a rebuttal. “Now, Mr. Peet has said that you walked into his room and, as he put it, ‘decked Miss Silverton.’ Is that correct?” I nodded. “Well, we have a zero tolerance rule for fighting young woman, so I am afraid that I am going to recommend to the principal that you–”

  “Well, just hang on there,” interrupted Mr. Peet and turned to me. “Miss Kilpatrick, what caused you to knock the crap out of that girl, besides that she deserved it from her parents a long time ago?”

  “Mr. Peet!” the counselor looked astounded.

  “She just...” Should I really tell them the story? Wasn’t there a teenager code of conduct never to tell a teacher anything? Would I be known as the snitch, the narc? How much worse would it be for me if I told them my whole horrible story? “She’s just getting on my nerves,” I muttered.

  Mr. Peet grinned. “Sounds like a good reason to me.”

  “Now, Mr. Peet, stop it. Young lady, that’s no reason to go around hitting anyone, especially someone that works so hard and diligently for our school and the student body. She will probably have a black eye for weeks because of you.” I wanted to tell her that it would be hard to have a black eye since I hit her in the mouth but thought smarting off was probably not in my best interest. “Now, as I was saying, I think a week’s worth of suspension will probably be a good idea.”

  Suspension? I had never heard the word, at least directed at me, but before I could protest Mr. Peet interjected.

  “Hang on there, Claudia. Isn’t there some rule about first offenses or something? Besides, she’ll miss the first week of my dual-credit class if she’s suspended. How about just chunking her out in ISS for a little while, only getting out for DC history? That sounds better than suspension, don’t you think?”

  I said nothing. Why was Mr. Peet backing me up on this? Mrs. Tremble’s wheels began to turn in her head as she was trying to come up with some decision. I could tell she wasn’t used to this, maybe because Mr. Peet was making it difficult or maybe because she was not usually the one who had to make these types of decisions? Weren’t counselors all about trying to get the bad students to try to find some direction in their life? Well, her direction sucked because it landed me right into Jody’s hands.

  “All right. Six days ISS, starting today. You will be out of your regular classes until next Friday. You will go to the ISS room right after leaving this office and only allowed to come out for Mr. Peet’s class since it is college-oriented. Is that understood?”

  “Yes,” I said, gathering my belongings not even asking where I was being shuffled off to. Mrs. Tremble handed me a slip of paper and motioned me to the door. Mr. Peet started out the door quickly, but Mrs. Tremble asked him to stay after I left. I asked the secretary what ISS was and she laughed.

  “You got ISS for hitting that girl? Well, that’s not too bad. It stands for In School Suspension. You are suspended, but get to keep up with your work up sitting in a cubical all day long.” Oh, what fun this was going to be. “It’s in an outbuilding across campus. Here is your pass. I’ll call down there in five minutes to make sure you have arrived.” Did she just refer to me as one for skipping school? I’m sure after I left, she and Mrs. Tremble would place me on some sort of watch-list to make sure I didn’t corrupt the rest of the student body.

  As I began to leave, Mr. Peet came out of the counselor’s office, looking a little worse for wear. She must have given him a stern talking to about giving his honest opinion in front of students. He smiled and opened the door for me as he headed back to class and I headed toward my cubical.

  “Thank you,” I muttered.

  He looked at me. “Just doing my job, kid. Now don’t make me regret it.” He turned and walked down the hall.

  I smiled and looked at the exit door. Somewhere across campus there was a cubicle with my name on it and I only had four minutes to spare.

  Chapter Four

  Particleboard boxes are not fun. They have four corners, they are bland, and they are not good for looking at or being stored in, away from humanity. The warden, some paraprofessional working on their teaching degree with big bulgy eyes, continually monitored the actions of us inmates, reminding us frequently that we could not sleep or even lay our heads down. The only good that came from being stuck within a box was that I could do all the reading I wanted, so everyday I loaded up on the classics to stack next to myself in my cube. It was probably weird to the other convicted felons, as most of them didn’t even bring a pen in with them, and they often glared at me as if I had done something that agi
tated them. My only hope was that I wouldn’t be shanked during my school prison sentence. Mr. Peet’s dual credit class offered at least some release from the box. It was a MWF class allowing those in the class TH an extra study hall for their college classes. This week was just introduction to the course, and since I was the only new student in the class, it was time not well spent. He started his lecture and discussions on the Gilded Age on Wednesday and would resume on Friday. Mark Twain hit the nail on the head when he described that time period. My problems were considerably smaller than all those poor Europeans arriving at Ellis Island, not having a dime to their name and not being able to speak a lick of English. Lick? Yes, that had to be another Texas Freudian-slip of the dialect running into my system.

  Mags received the counselor’s phone call and gave me a stern talking on the Thursday I punched Jody in the face, revoking my computer and television privileges until I got out of ISS, but neither of them were too hard to do without. At school, I was hoping my six days would pass with ease, and it mostly did until the next Thursday, my last day in solitary confinement, when Brad strolled into the ISS room with a grin on his face. My face flushed immediately. The last time I had seen him, I sat right in his lap and laid a big kiss on his awaiting lips, not because I had any feelings toward him, even though he was attractive, but just to get under the skin of the girl that had her heart set on destroying me. Now he meandered over to the open cubicle next to me and plopped down into the wooden chair, making a scene of himself, leaning back so that everyone would catch his rebellious, uncaring attitude. I leaned forward burying my face in Bronte, hoping he wouldn’t try to talk to me about our last encounter. That hope died after a few minutes.

  “Psst. Hey, new girl, uh, Hope,” he whispered.