Wickeston High School — Junior Year
Pops had been dead for two weeks and it still didn’t feel real. The old man should be out of my damn head by now. He should have been the last person in my thoughts. But he was still there. I’d wake up in the morning thinking I heard him shouting for me. Thinking I heard the door slam.
But all that was left of him was ashes. They sat in a plastic bag in a cardboard box on the tiny table in my trailer. Half of me wanted to just chuck them in a dumpster. The other half thought that I should do shit properly, honor Mama’s wishes and go back home to lay him to rest.
But fuck him. He never let me rest when he was alive; why should he rest anywhere at all once he was dead?
I wasn’t sad the old man was dead, but it certainly complicated things. He had no life insurance, he hadn’t left me with savings to cover his final expenses. I’d been working as many hours as I could at the tire shop but minimum wage didn’t cover the bills.
They’d already been piling up, even before his heart attack. Now, I didn’t even bother to open the envelopes. They sat on the dirty kitchen table, some stamped with FINAL NOTICE on the front.
I didn’t need electricity. I could get away with water from the hose in the trailer park. But I couldn’t get away with not having food, and funds for that were running dangerously low. Vincent kept showing up with casseroles and “leftovers” from his mom, things he insisted she was sending because it was “extra” but I knew better. They were putting themselves out, trying to take care of me when they already had too many people under their roof. Four of their own children, plus another on the way. And Jason had been staying with them more often lately as the fights with his parents grew worse.
The Volkovs would have taken all of us in without hesitation. They would have found a way. But I wasn’t going to take advantage of that family’s generosity; I needed to find my own way out of this shit.
It was getting harder and harder to keep trying. Why did everything have to be such a fucking struggle? Just a constant, unending stress. From the moment I woke up to the second I managed to fall into a fitful sleep. I spent most of my waking hours trying to distract myself, but distractions didn’t do much good when you were hungry, cold, or desperate.
So that was why I was at this damn high school even after classes had ended. I wasn’t entirely sure what the occasion was. It was some kind of open house, it seemed, with parents wandering around the gymnasium picking at plates of catered sandwiches and making small talk with teachers. The only students who’d bothered to come were the exact sorts I went out of my way to avoid: preppy, overly-involved, stuck-up fucks with silver spoons in their mouths. They had nothing better to do than come here and schmooze with teachers, thinking it would somehow get them ahead in life.
I doubted any of these people even knew my dad was dead. I hadn’t exactly made a big deal out of it; I’d been trying to figure out how to get emancipated even before his death. The most involvement my dad ever had with my schooling was calling to complain that I was only allowed to work a certain amount of hours outside school.
I was already attracting attention by being here, so I tried to keep my head down and blend in. Unlike me, there were plenty of other people here very eager to have all the attention on them.
Like Jessica Martin and her mother. The two of them could have been twins, although separated by about twenty years. They both wore tight blue dresses, although Mama Martin’s had a deeply plunging neckline that showed off a very expensive pair of tits. As annoying as Jessica was, I had to hand it to her: she always managed to look like she was about to attend some fancy party. I couldn’t understand where she got the energy to bother.
Although, I guess when you’re not stressing about survival, you get to spend your energy on ridiculous shit like sparkly bags and matching shoes with your mom.
The two of them were cozying up to Mr. Kotham, our English teacher, and of course the old creep was thrilled at the attention. Most of the teachers at this school I disliked, but it was nothing personal. But with Kotham, that shit was personal. He was always hovering over the young women in class, touching their shoulders, offering private tutoring. Real pervert behavior.
Jessica was one of his favorites to dote on. Funnily enough, Jason said she was still failing his class. Maybe that was why Mrs. Martin was making those bedroom eyes at him, utterly ignoring the fact that he kept touching her daughter’s waist. Holding her hand. Embracing her.
It was going to make me fucking sick. Turning my attention away from them, I focused on loading as many sandwiches and cold cuts onto my plate as I could get away with. Mama Martin’s laughter kept cutting sharply through the murmur of conversation, loud and shrill as if she wanted to show off what a good time she was having.
It had only taken one glance at Jessica’s face to know she didn’t share her mother’s enthusiasm.
Slipping out the door, I released a sigh of relief the moment it clicked shut behind me. Finally, some peace and quiet. My plan was to eat what I’d already gathered, and then smuggle as many leftovers home as I could.
The grass was damp as I sat down, but I didn’t mind. Eating under a clear night sky, surrounded by the sound of crickets really wasn’t too bad. But hungry as I was, something had put a cramp in my stomach. A feeling of unease, of anger, still lingered inside me.
What kind of mother wouldn’t protect her daughter from a creep like Kotham? How could she stand there happily while her daughter plastered a fake smile on her face and tried to endure the attention she so clearly didn’t want?
Whatever. Jessica and her weird family dynamic wasn’t my business.
Reaching into my jacket, I pulled out the half-smoked cigarette I’d been carefully burning through over the past few hours. My stock of cigarettes was running out and I didn’t have the money to buy more. Jason would loan me the money; I just hated asking.
These catered cold cuts were fantastic though. Jesus Christ. They’d be lucky if I didn’t run back in there and take the whole damn tray.
While I was in the midst of stuffing my face, the door burst open beside me and I nearly choked on thinly-sliced salami.
Jessica didn’t see me at first, sitting in the shadows against the building. She traipsed out onto the grass, her breathing heavy, her lower lip clenched between her teeth. Staying silent, I waited and watched. She paced, wobbling slightly with her heels in the grass. She tightly folded her arms, sucked in her breath and held it…
Tears rolled down her cheeks. Just a few, and the rest of her expression didn’t change. She let them fall and then hurriedly wiped her face, clearing her throat. She seemed to be composing herself to go back inside when she turned and finally spotted me.
“Holy shit! What are you doing out here?” Her eyes were wide, and she stepped back several paces. Like I was a wild animal that might fly at her.
“Jesus Christ, girl,” I muttered. “Get a grip. I’m doing the same damn thing out here as you are.”
Her stance immediately shifted to the offensive. Her hands balled into fists, her lip curling into a familiar sneer. “And what exactly is that?”
Holding up my food, I took a massive bite before I said, “Just tryin’ to get some peace an’ quiet!”
She stood there for a moment watching me. Then, slowly, she walked over to the wall and slid down to sit a couple yards away from me. She unzipped her purse, pulled out a small flash, and quickly sipped from it.
The gap between us was rather comically wide, but it was still the closest I’d been to her in a while. We usually kept our distance from each other. Our personalities clashed a little too violently to do otherwise.
Maybe it was just the atmosphere, but Jess was different out here. Quieter. She didn’t carry her head like she was looking down on the world.
She held out the flask, leaning toward me. “It’s vodka and soda.”
I winced, but free liquor was free liquor. It tasted like carbonated rubbing alcohol with a squeeze of lime, and it burned immediately going down. At least it was strong.
There wasn’t much left of my cigarette, but since she’d offered her drink… “You smoke?”
She shook her head. “No. It’s gross.”
“You’re right. It is gross.”
She took the flask as I passed it back, taking another sip. She pulled up her legs, sighing at the tightness of her dress and shifting around uncomfortably.
“Why do you dress like that if it’s so damn uncomfortable?” I said.
“Why do you still smoke cigarettes when you know it’s gross?” she snapped.
“Because I’m a gross person,” I said, taking another bite of my food. Quite frankly, I was enjoying this. She was quicker than I’d expected. “I do gross things.”
She scoffed, rolling her eyes, and I laughed. “What? Are you going to deny it?” She looked over at me, narrowing her eyes, but she didn’t say a word. She averted her gaze again, and I shook my head in disbelief. “Damn, you’re pleading the Fifth? Unbelievable.”
She kept her eyes straight ahead, but I swore I could detect the little hint of a smile on her lips. I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen her smile at me before, and although it wasn’t quite there, it was close enough for me.
I didn’t even like this chick and it still made me feel a little better.
“So what exactly are you doing here?” she said. When I held up my plate in answer, she laughed softly and said, “Don’t your parents feed you?”
“Considering my Pops is dead and Mama can barely feed herself, no, they don’t.”
Her face blanched. “Oh, fuck. I, uh —”
“Don’t start whimpering over me. I’ve been waiting for my old man to die for years, it was about damn time. Just a little inconvenient. I’m not sure if you know this, but that papery green stuff that buys food don’t exactly grow on trees.”
She fell silent. A microscope jab of regret made me sigh, but I didn’t have a damn thing to be sorry for. Jessica lived in her own little world and I wasn’t about to sugarcoat real life for the sake of her feelings. But her gaze had become distant, and for some damn reason, it made me want to keep talking.
“You’re here with your mama? You two coordinate your outfits on purpose?”
She winced. “No, we didn’t.” She was silent for so long, I thought she’d leave it at that. But then she said, “She wanted to talk to Mr. Kotham about an extra credit project for me. I just have so much on my schedule, I can’t always keep up with his assignments.”
She’d tried to sound nonchalant. It didn’t work. As she got to her feet, it was obvious that she was freezing her happy expression into place. She couldn’t let herself slip up for even a second.
I was suddenly so blindingly enraged I completely lost my appetite.
“I guess I’ll see you around,” she said, giving me a breezy wave of her fingers as she walked back inside. But I couldn’t manage a word in response.
Putting my remaining food away in the plastic baggies I brought, I returned to my car. As I pulled out of the parking lot, I made a mental note of where Kotham’s vehicle was parked. It was perfect, really: he’d parked all the way at the back of the lot, where almost no one else did, because he was so paranoid about his precious old Cadillac.
He’d taken good care of that car. It was pristine.
For now.
I parked around the block and walked back, cutting through a drainage ditch and across a field so I wouldn’t have to make my way along the sidewalk. Already, some of the other cars in the parking lot had departed. It was getting late and was dark enough for the street lights to pop on.
Crouching down behind the bushes, I pulled on the ski mask I’d brought from the car. Was it suspicious as hell that I kept a mask in my car? Yeah. But obviously it came in useful.
After taking a careful look around, I popped open the switchblade from my pocket and approached the Cadillac. It was a baby blue ‘59 DeVille, and I couldn’t resist caressing my hand over its curves.
Then I jabbed the blade into the front tire, satisfaction melting through me at the hiss of air streaming out. I did the same to the other tires before I dragged the knife up and down the sides, carving up that perfect paint. Then I took a seat on the curb along the passenger side of the car, and waited.
After about twenty minutes, footsteps approached.
Mr. Kotham didn’t notice the damage at first, nor did he notice me as I crept up behind him. He was too busy fumbling with his keys, jabbing them awkwardly at his door handle. He must have forgotten his glasses tonight.
All the better for me.
Grabbing him from behind, I wrapped my belt around his neck and twisted it taut, until it was biting into his skin. He immediately began to choke, flailing against me. But he was clumsy, weak. He didn’t stand a chance.
“I’m not going to kill you tonight, Kotham,” I said, keeping my voice as low and rough as I could to disguise it. “But if I ever see you touch Jessica Martin again, I will. I’ll fucking murder you and bury your body in the woods.”
He coughed and choked, and I loosened the belt enough for him to suck in a tiny breath. “Kyle?” he wheezed. Even better that he thought I was Jessica’s boyfriend; he’d be far less likely to report this if he thought the school’s golden boy was justifiably behind it.
“Now I suggest you start looking for another job,” I snarled. “Because in a few days’ time, everyone at this school is going to have proof you’re a creep.” It was an empty threat, but he didn’t know that. He stiffened up, and that told me he had plenty to hide. “I hope you sleep like shit, pervert.”
I tightened the belt again, enough to choke him out. His body went limp, and he slumped to the pavement, unconscious. It gave me the time I needed to slip away again, back to my car.
I never told anyone about that night. But Kotham quit the next day.
