Going Under by S. Walden Page B

looked up for a second, bottom lip
quivering, then ran off crying.
    I slid down the ladder in my haste to be as
far away from the Officer Big Mac jail as possible. I sprinted for
my parents, flinging myself on my father who pulled me onto his lap
and asked me what was wrong. I cried hard into his chest, so hard
that I couldn’t breathe. A store employee saw me and went for a
paper bag. She came back and told me to breathe into it. I obeyed
because she was an adult, and I automatically trusted her.
    I looked at the adult standing over me
now.
    “Are you okay?” the nurse asked softly.
    I had no idea I was crying. “It’s all
Officer Big Mac’s fault!” I sobbed.
    One side of the nurse’s mouth quirked up. “I
hated that damn jail, too.”
    ***
    I hung around outside the gym waiting for
Cal. He was late, and I think he did it on purpose. I’m sure he
enjoyed making me wait for him. I checked my watch. Quarter after
four. I thought about leaving. I wouldn’t stay and let someone make
me feel foolish. I already felt ridiculous enough after my panic
attack earlier.
    Thankfully the only witnesses to my attack
were juniors and sophomores. The seniors were at lunch. I’m sure
the students would gossip about it, but I thought the seniors
wouldn’t care. I noticed in my first week that the seniors kept
themselves separated from the rest of the student body. Snobs,
indeed. Every now and then I saw one chatting up a freshman or
sophomore girl. Easy target, I supposed.
    Another few minutes passed, and I decided to
leave. Of course, that’s exactly when Cal appeared out of nowhere,
sauntering up to me with an easy kind of casualness that made me
instantly angry.
    “Sorry I’m late,” he said. “Something came
up.”
    “You’re lucky,” I replied. “I was just about
to leave.”
    “You were?” he asked, as though he didn’t
believe a word of it. Like he expected me to hang out in front of
the gym all night for him.
    I nodded and turned my face. I didn’t want
him to see how irritated I was. I remembered that I was trying to
woo him, not push him away.
    “Those are pretty earrings,” he said,
observing the diamond stud in my left ear.
    I grinned. I couldn’t help it. So this was
his game. Act like a jackass and then say something sweet. He could
care less about my earrings, and in that moment, my heart
constricted, my grin faded. They were my mother’s earrings. They
were her wedding earrings. She gave them to me when I turned
eighteen. They were special, and he complimented them in a cheap,
disinterested sort of way. He made me feel cheap.
    “You ready?” he asked holding up the
yearbook camera.
    I nodded and followed him into the gym. He
opened the door for me like a gentleman, leading me to the
bleachers with his hand on the small of my back. I tried to walk
faster to get away from his touch, but he kept up with me, never
taking his hand away. In fact, he kept it there once we were
settled on the first row.
    I squirmed.
    “Problem?” he asked.
    I squirmed again, and he pressed his hand
into my lower back before taking it away. I know he wanted me to
say something about it, but I wouldn’t.
    “I’ll take the first game. You take the
second,” he said, readying the camera and taking a few practice
shots.
    The girls were already on the court, running
through warm-ups. I never paid attention to volleyball at my old
school, never went to a game. I thought I’d be bored out of my
mind, but once the first game started, I found myself cheering and
whooping as hard as anyone else in the stands. It was an exciting
game, and I felt a deep-seated respect for the girls who spiked the
ball hard over the net. I wish I were that strong.
    I was barely conscious of Cal moving about
the sidelines snapping pictures, but at one point, I noticed he was
in the line of fire. Well, that was if the player spiked the ball
out of bounds. I hoped she would. I hoped it smacked him right in
the face.
    But she was too talented, and