cuddled up with some smiling old guy, there’s vases stuffed with flowers. A tin of cookies. Box of candy. Stack of greeting cards. Like she’s the Welcome Wagon for the whole school.
“Marsh.”
I’ve got my hands on my lap and I can’t figure out why my right hand is throbbing. I look down at it—
“I know you’re upset. But fighting? Really? It’s not like you to—”
—notice the slice along my knuckle. Well, two marks really, now that I’m examining it. Nice. They’re indentations from Brad’s teeth.
“Of course, I called your parents. Your mother was extremely upset. She was ready to drive right down here. Your father too. And Mr. O’Donnell’s disturbed about this new development. The rules are very clear. Fighting equals a four-day suspension. But there are extenuating circumstances, and so we’re willing to let it slide this time. I understand that the other boy was provoking . . . Marsh. Are you listening to me?”
I try to look at her, but a freak ray of sunlight from the window glints off her glasses and I have to shut my eyes.
“Maybe we’ve been handling this the wrong way,” she says. “Maybe we’ve let you go on too long. I know you were seeing a therapist after the accident. It might be time to look into that again. Or you and I could set up regular appointments during school hours.” When I tilt my head back so she won’t catch me rolling my eyes, she clicks her tongue. “There’s no shame in talking to someone about what you’re going through.”
I stare at the ceiling. There’s a gray blotch up in the corner. Probably some kind of fungus.
“We might be able to help you work through this.”
“Yeah,” I say, like I’m considering it. Like I didn’t spend weeks slouched across a couch while some guy droned on about how I should open up, express myself, let it all out. Ha ha. Like talking about this crap is going to fix anything. But at least it got my parents to back off. Not that it mattered.Since by that time I was working on my own solution to the problem.
“We could start today.” The sunlight’s gone now, and behind her glasses, Mrs. Golden’s eyes are like slits. She leans forward, smiles. “You want to tell me what’s going on?”
Nope.
But I can see the best way out of here is to throw her a bone. “It’s sort of embarrassing,” I say, “but this girl . . . ”
Her face lights up. “A girl? This is about a girl?” I can guess what she’s thinking: Girl problems, now that’s an area she can deal with. Crazy guy walking around with bare feet, well, that’s another story.
I half listen as she lectures me. Teen relationships. Competition. Jealousy, blah blah blah. I keep fingering Brad’s teeth indentations on my knuckles. I’m not clear about why he was messing with me today. Well, okay, because he’s an ass. But that’s common knowledge. The real question is why I lost it like that. When Mrs. Golden finally sets me free, it’s still bugging me.
Missed the bus, but I don’t care. My clunky plastic shoes skim the slushy sidewalks. These aren’t the best footwear for snow. But they’re keeping my feet somewhat warm and dry. Anyway, I’m not sure if a thin space is accessible if it’s covered with snow. One more thing I don’t know the answer to.
When I reach the corner, instead of heading toward my house, I clomp off in the other direction. I’ve got a vague ideawhere I’m going, but I try to put it out of my mind. Brad’s expression when I clipped his mouth keeps flashing in my head. I don’t know why he was surprised. He was in my face. He poked me. He had to expect that I’d react to that.
Or maybe not. I haven’t been reacting to much lately. The twisted thing is that it felt good. That minute of rage, my fist against his face.
But this isn’t me. It’s not me.
My head knots up and I push my throbbing fist against it. The sky is white, just one big cloud, like a bowl flipped over the world. No sign at all of
“Marsh.”
I’ve got my hands on my lap and I can’t figure out why my right hand is throbbing. I look down at it—
“I know you’re upset. But fighting? Really? It’s not like you to—”
—notice the slice along my knuckle. Well, two marks really, now that I’m examining it. Nice. They’re indentations from Brad’s teeth.
“Of course, I called your parents. Your mother was extremely upset. She was ready to drive right down here. Your father too. And Mr. O’Donnell’s disturbed about this new development. The rules are very clear. Fighting equals a four-day suspension. But there are extenuating circumstances, and so we’re willing to let it slide this time. I understand that the other boy was provoking . . . Marsh. Are you listening to me?”
I try to look at her, but a freak ray of sunlight from the window glints off her glasses and I have to shut my eyes.
“Maybe we’ve been handling this the wrong way,” she says. “Maybe we’ve let you go on too long. I know you were seeing a therapist after the accident. It might be time to look into that again. Or you and I could set up regular appointments during school hours.” When I tilt my head back so she won’t catch me rolling my eyes, she clicks her tongue. “There’s no shame in talking to someone about what you’re going through.”
I stare at the ceiling. There’s a gray blotch up in the corner. Probably some kind of fungus.
“We might be able to help you work through this.”
“Yeah,” I say, like I’m considering it. Like I didn’t spend weeks slouched across a couch while some guy droned on about how I should open up, express myself, let it all out. Ha ha. Like talking about this crap is going to fix anything. But at least it got my parents to back off. Not that it mattered.Since by that time I was working on my own solution to the problem.
“We could start today.” The sunlight’s gone now, and behind her glasses, Mrs. Golden’s eyes are like slits. She leans forward, smiles. “You want to tell me what’s going on?”
Nope.
But I can see the best way out of here is to throw her a bone. “It’s sort of embarrassing,” I say, “but this girl . . . ”
Her face lights up. “A girl? This is about a girl?” I can guess what she’s thinking: Girl problems, now that’s an area she can deal with. Crazy guy walking around with bare feet, well, that’s another story.
I half listen as she lectures me. Teen relationships. Competition. Jealousy, blah blah blah. I keep fingering Brad’s teeth indentations on my knuckles. I’m not clear about why he was messing with me today. Well, okay, because he’s an ass. But that’s common knowledge. The real question is why I lost it like that. When Mrs. Golden finally sets me free, it’s still bugging me.
Missed the bus, but I don’t care. My clunky plastic shoes skim the slushy sidewalks. These aren’t the best footwear for snow. But they’re keeping my feet somewhat warm and dry. Anyway, I’m not sure if a thin space is accessible if it’s covered with snow. One more thing I don’t know the answer to.
When I reach the corner, instead of heading toward my house, I clomp off in the other direction. I’ve got a vague ideawhere I’m going, but I try to put it out of my mind. Brad’s expression when I clipped his mouth keeps flashing in my head. I don’t know why he was surprised. He was in my face. He poked me. He had to expect that I’d react to that.
Or maybe not. I haven’t been reacting to much lately. The twisted thing is that it felt good. That minute of rage, my fist against his face.
But this isn’t me. It’s not me.
My head knots up and I push my throbbing fist against it. The sky is white, just one big cloud, like a bowl flipped over the world. No sign at all of
Similar Books
