Five

 

Friday. It would be considered my favorite day if NOT for these reasons:

1.         I was pulling back from the world. Meaning everyone. (Why? Because I hate life, that’s why. No one leaves me alone and no one respects me in the right ways.)

2.         My life was seemingly horrible and torturous.

3.         There was a total creep-o and his nice sister living across the street from me which made me not want to go home even more.

4.         Savannah was coming. My crazy half-sister with more problems than I can count on my fingers and toes.

5.         Chris Kempt. I didn’t want to hurt him. I didn’t think we were that close to hurt anyway, but he was somewhat a friend and I didn’t want to have to be distant. But I was a master at self-preservation and nothing was going to get in the way of that.

6.         Life in general. Refer to above reasons.

I walked to my car silently, sipping my coffee and eating a stolen strawberry fig newton. My mom loved to keep them from me because she hogs them all herself. I was wearing her baby blue cashmere sweater, too, but she had given it to me anyways. I drove down the dirt road, trying to steady myself but still shaking nervously.

“Katy!” Nathan ran up to me, pushing his glasses further up onto his nose like a true nerd. He had a huge pimple on his forehead that I couldn’t keep my eyes off—for the brief seconds I even acknowledged him. “Katja?”

I turned away, walking stiffly to Mr. Goggler’s room, hoping he would just catch on and leave. Unfortunately, hoping was all I could do at this point.

“What’s wrong?” he asked in his high-pitched, Steve Irkul voice.

I just kept walking, determined to ignore. Besides, if I said anything, he would keep talking. That was the last thing I wanted.

He stopped trying to talk to me and turned back to go to his class. Thank God.

“Katy!”

Oh God… Rosie. I tried to turn away, to walk down the other direction, but I saw Chris coming that day and I just wanted to avoid him rather than have to ignore him. I liked him and I wanted to keep him, if possible, without ignoring or hurting him in any way.

“Katja?” she asked, probably noting the anxious expression on my face. “What’s up?”

I brushed passed her silently, putting my bag in my locker and grabbing the books I’d need for the day. I tucked some stray strands of hair behind my ear, making my hair even more static-ridden. This was yet another reason why I never wore it down—too much work and little beauty. Plus, it usually got in the way of my work, considering not one strand was identical in length with the other and how the curls always tickled me or my neck. Not to mention the frizz and my side-swept bangs that I tried to pin back, but normally forgot.

I started to put my hair up because it was starting to annoy me already, but I felt a hand on mine as I reached back and tied it up the first time around.

“Don’t put your hair up, it’s so pretty when it’s down,” Chris whispered, close to my ear.

I closed my eyes and fought back the urge to run or stop him. I gently put my hair back down, letting it fan out. Then I went to class silently, without looking back.

 

At lunch, after ignoring Rosie in second hour painfully, I went to sit at the table I had originally chosen on the first day of school. The one that I had gotten up from to go sit by Rosie, causing my dreaded first-day collision with a girl named Liberty Davis, who was just going to go sit at that table.

I sat down, picking at only a few pieces of gross cafeteria food (was it living?) before getting up to take my tray to be washed by whoever was on lunch duty. Liberty sat across from me, reading a book. She never looked up or said anything, but to be honest, I was glad. Liberty Davis scared the living daylight and happiness (not that I had any) out of me.

So, instead, I silently traced circles on the round, glossy tabletop. I could feel someone gazing at me, so I turned around to Chris looking at me in such a way that was indescribable. I didn’t acknowledge him, but I tried to send a pleading glance with my eyes. I just hope he understood that I was done with people. He nodded and turned back to the table, laughing at a joke made by Rosie.

I sighed. Maybe I did long for the security of sitting at Rosie’s table, but I had to stick to my new laws. Had to.

Anna was walking right passed me, glaring in such a way that made me visibly cringe. Her straight, blond hair fanned out as she walked. Tall and proud, with the best makeup job in the world, complete with lip gloss, she looked like a supermodel. She was surrounded by a few friends who didn’t have trays, but just walked silently, asking her questions.

“Hope your not wanting to be friends with that.”

I glanced back in front of me to see Liberty looking at me, her brown eyes surrounded by dark eyeliner and black eye shadow. Her lips were bright red—like Scarlett Johansen red. Her short black hair was cropped in such a way that made me think of Ashley Greene’s part in my most hated movie, Twilight.

“No. No way,” I muttered, looking over my shoulder again at Chris who was just staring off into the distance, thinking about something very important from the way his eyes seemed to be focused.

“Oh. Oh I get it. Sarah Regan.” She said the words as if they were a curse, something to be avoided at all costs. Her black spiky hair was sticking in all directions now, her dark eyes slanted.

I wanted to ask what about Rosie, but I was far too encompassed with Chris to even think the thought.

“Yep, she may welcome you at first, but it quickly gets old. Glad you turned her away before she turned on you, huh? Well, be seein’ ya.” She got up, a black blur, and briskly walked to the doors where she just left. And I mean, left the building. Not left early for class. Liberty Davis seemed to do what she wanted, when she wanted.

Was Rosie really like that? Or was Liberty trying to create a sore spot? Didn’t matter anymore, anyhow. I moved on and out.

“Princesa hermosa de la nieve,” Chris whispered, totally freaking me out. I fell backwards, sending my milk across the table (luckily not onto me). I fell back into Chris’s arms while he laughed.

“Sorry, you kind of scared me,” I muttered, trying to comb out my wild curls and ringlets.

“Did you ever take Spanish?”

I thought for a moment. Nope. Even though like half of our living population is Spanish and speaks nothing but, I hadn’t had the patience. So I went with French instead, my favorite language that’s way more prettier than Spanish.

“Nope.” Why was I not able to ignore him, like I severely vowed I would? Why did I screw up when I was around him? More importantly, why had I not cleaned up my spilled milk? Because, thank God, it had not spilled. Today must be my lucky day.

“Well then, you have no idea what I just said?” There was a faint and playful smile threatening his lips.

I shook my head. All I got was what sounded like naïve.

Chris laughed and sat down beside me, putting an arm around my shoulder.

“Was it bad?” I was a total freak about stuff like that. I hated to have people mad at me—it ate away at the back of my mind like some freaky paranoia that I couldn’t control, no matter how vainly I tried. People hated me for it, ironically.

Chris smiled in such a sexy way that I had to avert my gaze. “Of course not.” He seemed a little playful though.

I wanted to smile back, believe me I did, but I couldn’t. My expression was hardened and frozen in time, unable to pull back or push forward. After yesterday and my epiphany of realization and reality, I had to keep a poker face. But, the question was, how long before I failed and smiled back?

“See you seventh hour, beautiful.”

Was that becoming a nickname? I hoped it wasn’t. A little heartfelt, maybe? “Bye,” I whispered. I knew he could hear the desire in my voice. I just knew it. I couldn’t even fool myself. I wanted Chris and that was a hard fact. But was I willing to… Was I willing to give up ignorance for… Certain preferences? Was I wiling to forget about Aiden and (gulp) Leah, as well?

Seventh hour rolled around after Mr. Bowers’ hour lecture on the Civil War and I was ready to go home. I avoided Rosie’s pointed, unneeded glare as I took a seat in the back of the room. And guess who sat right by me?

“Katja.” Chris sat down beside me, smiling angelically before folding his arms on the desk.

“Hi,” I whispered, trying to be a ghost.

He sensed the defense and the sorrow for what I felt I must do. “What’s wrong?” His silvery eyes dropped, as if a close friend were hurt.

But I wasn’t close to anyone. I didn’t want to be hurt. I shook my head and laid down on the desk, feeling heated and flushed, my head starting to pound against my skull. It was one of those headaches. One of the ones that I couldn’t bear to stand; one that would surely send me to tears with even the slightest hint of a pin dropping; one of those.

Thank God Mr. Johnson turned out the lights and announced a movie about the stages of cell reproduction—something I had covered in eighth grade back in Minnesota. I felt a pang in my heart—Minnesota. My home; my once-safe sanctuary; the one place I knew I had always been welcome. Until now.

I felt a piece of paper being shoved up against my elbow and I took it.

Are you okay?

I tried to resist writing back, tried to get up and throw it in the trashcan, tried to ignore Chris Kempt, but I couldn’t.

IDK. I have a question. Is Rosie mean at all? I mean, like, nice at first and then…mean? Because Liberty Davis sat across from me at lunch and she caught me staringI was about to say “staring at you” but I quickly revised it. in her direction and I was just wondering.

I slipped the paper back to him, watching his expression harden a bit. Why did I do that? Why couldn’t I stop this all and just erase everything I’d ever said to him or Rosie and just live alone? I knew the answer to that question, but I couldn’t quite put it on my lips.

Well, Libby’s a little…Different, I guess. She doesn’t know what’s real anymore. I’ve known her since freshman year when I moved here and believe me, she changed dramatically. I guess I’ll just tell you the story. Rosie and Libby used to be like super best friends. I don’t really like admitting this to anyone and believe me, you’re probably the first (and it’s weird because you aren’t exactly a close friend yet, but I feel like I’ve known you forever). The girls had a fight over me of all people. They had no reason to—I wasn’t worth splitting up a friendship. Libby used to be different. She was a prep, like Rosie. But only because they had known each other for the year before when Libby first moved here. Liberty wanted to fit in with Rosie, but after fighting with her and realizing I…uh, anyway, she just turned all emo and weird. I haven’t been a good person to her since. I have my faults.

Shocker. Did Chris really have faults? It had taken him the same amount of time to write his extremely long reply as it did my short question and awkward letters written in half-cursive. His handwriting wasn’t pretty, though could you really consider it a fault of the student when it should be the teacher’s fault?

Interesting. Liberty really is not fond of Rosie. But I’m wondering. Can I tell you something? I just… I’ve had an epiphany because of something you mentioned. Not that it’s like a super big deal or anything, but you’re probably the only person on the entire earth that I can really admit this to. Ask me why because I have no idea. I guess I just kind of feel the same, you know? It’s like. Well, just write back and I’ll tell you.

Was I about to admit my feelings to Chris Kempt? Was I about to tell him everything, without even waiting for the train to crash over me? I started to slide the paper back, slowly, agonizingly. He took it and started to read… My head blurred with the possible things he could say (and my headache). He could write back his true feelings… Line with something in the category of “You’re crazy—I didn’t mean to put that! It’s been a mistake. Get away from me, freak”. He started to hand it back.

That was when the bell rang, and he took the paper back. He smiled wistfully at me and walked smoothly out the door, not even once blending in with the other bored, extremely lazy and tired students. Chris had energy and life; compared to the other students who just moped and dragged their weights through the halls, waiting for graduation and freedom to be couch potatoes all their life in their parents’ basements and attics.

 

When I got home, the door was unlocked and the window shades were open, probably letting in whatever light was left from under the gray thickness of the clouds. My cashmere sweater was starting to itch so I didn’t really care; I just wanted to retreat to my room and change.

“Ohmygosh!”

My mouth gaped and my eyes blinked rapidly. No, no, no! No…

“Kat!” Savannah squealed, hugging me. She had multiple piercings on her face now. One above her left eyebrow, two on her nose, three hanging from her lip, not to mention the bar across her lip, and another one right below the outer corner of her eye, called a Madonna Teardrop. She had dyed her hair pitch black and it was really long and sleek. She hadn’t gained any pounds, but I could see her ribs through her thin, black V-neck tee. In addition to the ribs (and this is completely unnessecary, but for the sake of imagery and projection, I must say) there were n****e rings. I could feel my lunch coming back up to greet me. She had on severely ripped black jeans that exposed more skin that covered. I was definitely scared of my half sister who decided she was too smart for college after receiving multiple fails on all of her report cards.

“Whoa, big sister alert!” she said again, hugging me.

I felt her n****e rings press against my skin and I nearly fainted. I had seen the Power Point Presentation on piercings and tattoos. Trust me, I’ve never worn earrings since that day back in eighth grade. I was nearly sick to my stomach that was lurching at every picture and every description.

“Gosh, you are so pretty! Way thinner than me!” She looked at me with admiration and I wished she wouldn’t. It made me feel really uncomfortable to be called skinny by an anorexic. But I had to be nice.

“You’re really—” I nearly choked trying to get the word out. “Pretty, too! It’s been too long, Savannah. What, about a week? Long time in sister land…” I meant for it to be sarcastic at first, but since Savannah scared the living sarcasm out of me, I decided to suck up instead. She was definitely sleeping with Kassia.

“Well, thank you. Paul says, ‘Hi’ from Bollywood. Dang, you would not believe how amazingly eye-opening it is over there! It’s completely breath-taking!” Her arms were the size of my wrists and her legs were about half the size of my double zeroes.

“I bet. Can I get you something to—drink?” I was careful not to say eat because when that subject came up, Savannah went ballistic over family prejudice and whatnot.

“Mm. I think I’m okay. How’s Phillip?” She hadn’t even been gone an entire week and she was already asking about family! Oh and she hadn’t been in Bollywood the passed week—she was staying with her other grandma, Kendra, in upper Montana. She was just crazy and maybe you’d believe me.

“He’s uh, good. At the daycare in central Vera. I’ll show you to Kassia’s room…” I said, walking down the hall.

“Well, actually, Mom left me a note to put my stuff upstairs in your room.”

“Oh.” Darn her. Darn her to heck!

“Is that a problem?” I could hear the clink of her lip ring against her teeth and the bar of her lip. Her purple contact eyes stared at me questioningly. Her eyes were originally my color (darn), but she hated the color of them because it “reminded her of eternal beauty of which she could not obtain humanly”. Like I said, crazy.

“No. No way,” I gulped, trying to hide my fears. My fears that I’d wake up and my half-sister would be dead. I’d rather it be Kassia than me—she was young, she could bounce back. Me, I’d be scarred for life.

“Good.” She smiled a metal smile. Ten bucks whoever did that horrible whack job wasn’t even smart enough to complete my sixth grade orientation sheet from a couple years back and probably didn’t wash their hands after they used to the restroom—even more GROSS!

“Uh, I have homework to do, so I’ll catch you later. Um, do you know how to work the TV?” I asked, forgetting that she had used it before at our old house in St. Paul.

“Yep, sure do! Catch ya later, Kattie!”

Oh God.

I retreated to my room, secretly locking the door (which had been unlocked?) and sitting at my desk that looked out to the woods. I lied. I didn’t have any homework. I never did. Well, except for a project in Mrs. Tate’s class, but other than that, I didn’t have to do anything.

And of course the doorbell rang.

I rushed down the stairs as quickly as possible, only ending up in a tumbling scramble that resulted in a huge gash down my leg. Bea-utiful, Katja. Way to impress and make an entrance. Not that I had anyone to impress, but it would be visible in P.E. Thank God, again, that I didn’t have anyone that knew me in that class. Sure there were always a few snickers about my size or height or hair or skin or eyes, but mostly people kept to themselves.

“It’s for you, Kattie.” I really hope Savannah didn’t scare the guest away.

It was Hanna Ferne from down the road. She looked a little discombobulated, but she looked fine otherwise. “Hey, Katja.”

I couldn’t shut the door in her face like I wanted to. She was already here and she had either walked or drove nearly half a mile down the road from her house. “Hi, Hanna. Hey, can we talk upstairs? I was just, uh, finishing up some homework.” I shot her a pleading glance while Savannah was turned around.

“Sure. Nice meeting you, Savannah,” Hanna said as we continued up to my room. Thank God I had my own First Aid Kit. I wouldn’t be able to make it through my week without it. Much less a day. I quickly wrapped gauze around my leg (my gash went from the middle of my leg up to the bottom of my knee, not to mention ripping my favorite jeans and staining them).

“Whoa, what happened, Katja?” she asked, looking at my sore.

“Fell down the stairs trying to answer the door before… Before she did.” I didn’t want to say Savannah and make it sound sisterly, but I also didn’t want to be mean and call her “it” as originally planned.

“She’s actually really polite.” Hanna looked out my window and ran a few fingers across the glass. “Katja, my parents are selling the farm.”

I didn’t feel sad if someone I hardly knew was moving, but she was nice. “I’m sorry.” But why would she feel close enough to come tell me?

“Well, I just thought that maybe we would’ve been great friends and I wanted to come by and patch that future right up. I’ll be seein’ ya Katja. You’re really nice and pretty. Bye.” She walked back down the stairs, looking back once at me with muddy brown eyes that seemed troubled.

“Wait, Hanna,” I choked out.

She stopped and came back up the stairs. “Yes?”

“You were a great friend.”