Authors: Mandy Mikulencak
I walked through the halls of Durango High, my head down to avoid the intense stares that greeted me. The not-so-subtle glances had less to do with my scar and more to do with Cody and Nick's fight. It's not every day that the captain of the lacrosse team hits a blind guy, and the news spread more quickly than if it'd been blared over the PA system.
I made it to English in record time so I could get seated before anyone else arrived. The last thing I wanted to do today was make an entrance.
“Why, hello, Arlie.” Mrs. Sires didn't turn from the chalkboard to greet me, giving credence to the notion that teachers really did have eyes in the back of their heads. “You're early.”
I sat down in my usual seat on the far side of the room next to the bank of windows. From that angle, my scar wasn't visible to the students who sat to my right.
“Just wanted to review my notes,” I said.
“Uh-huh.”
I sensed she didn't quite believe me, but was thankful she didn't ask the real reason I chose her classroom to hide out.
I had my nose in my Shakespeare anthology when I heard a familiar tap, tap, tap.
Cody
. Or rather, Cody's cane. I tried deep breathing to calm myself, but then decided my exhales were too loud.
“Ah, Mr. Jenkins. Another student eager for English class to start. Miss Betts beat you by two minutes.”
Cody couldn't see the smile that spread over Mrs. Sires's face, but I bet he could feel the blush rising in his.
“Oh ⦠Arlie. Hey.”
“Hey,” I said.
He moved toward me, or rather the sound of my voice, and sat in a desk adjacent to mine even though he'd always sat in the back of the room before. My throat tightened, the same sensation I'd had when I almost choked on Mo's retelling of Cody's fight. We each coughed nervously before he finally spoke.
“You've been doing great at choral practice. Are you glad you joined?”
“I guess.”
Damn it, Arlie, what are you doing?
I pulled my hair over my cheek, wishing I could hide altogether.
“Well, this town turns out big time for the community concert. It's pretty cool. We'll start working on those numbers soon.”
He fidgeted with his Braille notetaker, an assistive device that combined a computer, text recognition software, email, MP3 player, and more in a sleek rectangle the size of an iPad but thicker. Some time ago, he'd demonstrated its features to the choral groupâand even recorded our practice for playback.
“I guess that cost as much as a new car,” I said.
“Well, my parents won't be buying me a car for graduation. And since this thing doesn't run on gas, I'm saving them money in the long run.”
I winced at my own insensitivity. “I'm ⦠I didn't mean ⦠I just think it's cool that technology allows you to go to a regular school,” I said.
“Yeah, me too. I hate feeling different.”
Short of a face transplant, there was no device, no technology, no amount of money that could help me assimilate into this student body. I wanted to tell him I understood. Yet my brain and mouth refused to work together to express something we had in common.
His gaze fell just below my shoulder. If he were sighted, I'd punch him for staring at my boob. Instead, I stared at his swollen lip. My hand lifted as if it intended to touch the bruised area. I pulled it back quickly and pinned it beneath my thigh.
“Does it hurt? Your lip, I mean.”
“Not much. I hear Nick's in worse shape.” Cody ran his tongue over the injury before a smile tugged at his lips.
“Well, you sure gave the school something to talk about today,” I blurted out.
“At least until the next blind guy does something stupid, right?”
My heart sank.
Stupid?
Did he regret confronting Nick? Maybe punching him was a reaction against all bullies and not in my defense at all. Maybe I was the stupid one to believe that one simple act meant he felt something for me.
“Class is going to start in a bit. You might want to get to your regular seat.” I turned back to my book, not seeing a damn word on the page.
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see he was staring at my lips this time, his gaze as direct as someone who could see. “Yeah, sure. See you at practice.”
I longed to run, to hide, to close the door to my seven-by-seven-foot room back at Frank's trailer. I felt more on display than I'd ever felt in my life. I was just barely aware of Mrs. Sires's voice and the bustling of students preparing for class to start. I had the strange sensation that Cody was staring at me from the back of the room. He'd never know if I turned around and looked at him. Yet I sat frozen. I didn't hear another word Mrs. Sires said. I opened my notebook and started on the next day's homework assignment.
“Lipstick and mascara. Nice.” Mo lay next to me on the cool grass near the baseball fields at lunch. “Did Cody notice?”
Mo might have been joking, but I was the dummy who'd put on makeup for a blind guy, a guy I had totally shut down and told to go sit in the back of the room instead of beside me.
“Yeah, well, it didn't go so well with Cody in English.”
“What'd you do now?”
“Why do you say it like that?”
Mo raised her eyebrows. It was no secret that I could say the wrong thing when I felt cornered. Case in point: my flub-up with Frank last night.
“He made a crack that getting in the fight was stupid,” I said.
“The fight may have been stupid, but that doesn't mean sticking up for you was stupid, or that he regretted it.” Mo held my hand and we squinted up at the cloudless blue sky. Her long hair pooled about her head like a golden halo. She tethered me to this world, ensuring I didn't float away or disappear. I loved that she was never embarrassed to touch me.
“I wish you'd never told me,” I said.
“Oh, like you wouldn't have heard about it at school. Don't make this about me,” Mo said. “You're so afraid of people caring about you that you try to scare them off first. You're just damn lucky I didn't fall for that bullshit.”
My lip trembled. “I don't know what to do.”
“When you get to choral practice today, tell Cody âthank you,'” Mo said. “Don't try to say anything else. Just let him know his busted lip was worth it.”
I nodded. “Yeah. I can do that.”
At least I had two more hours to find the courage it'd take.
“And what about Frank?” I asked. “Any advice there?”
“Same thing,” Mo said. “Keep it simple. Say you're sorry and stop. Anything more than that and you might screw up.”
Choral practice drew a motley crew of students who weren't on the swim, tennis, track, or other sports teams that met each afternoon. Some were part of established cliques during the school day. At practice, though, all hierarchies disappeared. Each of us mattered equally and no one was singled out for his or her differences. Not even me.
I'd started looking forward to practice. We all laughed when harmonies didn't work out and high-fived when they did. Each time we met, I got a little bolder about expressing my opinions and not worrying when someone disagreed with me.
After last bell, many students gravitated to the convenience store across the street from the school for snacks or a Coke before practice, and sometimes I joined them. Most days, though, I preferred to get to the practice room as quickly as possible. It was the most peaceful part of the whole school day.
Today, I had a good reason to arrive early. Mo thought it'd be easy for me to thank Cody for sticking up for me, but I was freaking out and wanted time to collect my thoughts. No matter how much I practiced what to say, it all sounded stupid or inadequate. All I could think about was how I'd blown the conversation with him earlier in English.
As I neared the room, I was disappointed to hear someone had already arrived first. A female was singing a solo version of “The Blue Bird.” Our choral group had practiced it several times for the upcoming community concert. Stopping outside the door to listen more closely, I recognized that voice. It was my own. I pushed open the door with my shoulder, accidentally dropping my backpack.
The practice room was empty except for Cody.
“Who's there?” He reached over and clicked a key on his laptop. The music stopped abruptly. He stood and stared in my direction. “I said, who's there?”
He'd recorded my voice. I grabbed my pack and ran from the room and down the hall.
My lungs burned as I sprinted past the other students who were heading to the practice room. Rounding the corner, I slammed into Brittany, knocking an iced latte down her shirt.
“You stupid bitch.” She swiped at her soaked tee.
Other students had stopped and were now staring.
“Sorry. Didn't see you,” I said, moving past her.
She grabbed my elbow and whipped me around. I jerked my arm back.
“Don't touch me,” I hissed.
“Don't you see you're not wanted here? You should have died in that fire. That way we wouldn't have to look at you.”
One of the students who'd stopped to gawk told Brittany to knock it off, and then two more chimed in. I didn't hear their exact words as I escaped through the door.
CHAPTER 11
SEVEN YEARS AGOâBURNED
Rosa said my stepfather, Lloyd, and his friends were bad men and I should be careful, especially when Mom wasn't around. That's why Rosa let me stay in her apartment most afternoons while she watched her stories on television.
Today she spoke to herself in Spanish and made the sign of the cross. Her face told me she was mad, but I could tell she wasn't mad at me. She quit talking for a second and leaned in to smell my hair. Then she started up again, pulling me down the hall and into the bathroom. She ran the water in the tub and motioned for me to put my head under the faucet.
I smelled fruit and flowers as she rubbed my hair into a thick pile of bubbles. I laughed, and then she laughed too. She never called me Arlie, but instead
cariña
and
mija
âher special names for me.
I wished Rosa was my mother or grandmother, but I never said so out loud. I just pretended Mom and Lloyd were moving away and asked Rosa if she would take care of me. Then they kissed me good-bye and never came back.
Rosa and I sat on the edge of the tub as she pulled at my tangles. She said I had beautiful black hair, like Snow White.
“Your hair ⦠It smelled of death,
mija,”
she said. “Now, you smell good, yes?”
I nodded even though I didn't know what death smelled like. My wet hair soaked the top of my T-shirt, but that felt good on such a hot day. Rosa didn't have air-conditioning so she kept her front and back doors open to let a breeze pass.
“It's so hot in our place,” I said. “Lloyd covered all the windows with newspaper. I can't even see outside.”
Rosa talked to herself in Spanish again, but the words seemed heavy and sad, not fast and angry.
“Your mama must take you away,
cariña,”
she said softly. “A mother should not put her child in danger.”
Rosa's words made my tummy hurt. “But I would miss you,” I said.
“SÃ
, I would miss you too. But better to be safe.”
Rosa stooped to wipe up the water that had dripped on the bathroom floor. I took the towel from her so I could help.
“Arlie, where in the hell are you?”
Oh no. Lloyd. Goose bumps covered my arms and I almost couldn't breathe. I wanted to hide in the tub and pull the plastic curtain around me. Rosa put a finger to her lips, then left me in the bathroom alone.
She shouted at Lloyd in the living room. “I will call police if you hurt this little girl. I know what you're doing in that apartment. I can smell it. Everyone in the apartments can smell it.”
“Old woman, you better mind your own business. Or I'll make you sorry you didn't.”
“I not afraid,
señor.”
A loud crack reached all the way to my ears. Rosa cried out. I ran from the bathroom and straight at Lloyd, pushing him. Rosa slumped on the floor crying, but I wasn't afraid of him.
“Stop it! Don't you hurt her!”
I screamed when he grabbed my wet hair. It was slick and almost impossible to grip, so he wrapped it around his hand like a rope and pulled me across the courtyard. I was crying hard by the time we reached our apartment. Once we were in, we both started coughing. The smell burned my nose and throat. My tongue tasted funny and I gagged.
Lloyd turned me loose and ran into the kitchen.
It really wasn't our kitchen anymore. Now it was like some science lab that I wasn't allowed to go in. Two of his friends worked there almost every day, their faces hidden by little blue masks.
He was angrier with those men than he'd been with Rosa. He used bad words and threw things:
crash, clang, bang
. They shouted back in Spanish. I should have gone back to Rosa's, but instead I took a few steps toward the kitchen door, covering my mouth and nose with the front of my wet shirt.
“Where's Mom?” I asked, but no one answered.
“Where's Mom?” I asked louder. “I want Mom.”
Lloyd flew from the kitchen and shoved me to the living-room floor. “Shut the hell up!”
Before I could stand on my own, Rosa grabbed me from behind and held me like a baby against her chest. She pinned both my arms beneath hers and turned for the front door. I cried that I wanted my mom. I cried that my throat hurt. I cried when a blast of white-hot fire pushed us out the door.
CHAPTER 12
At the start of April, I began seeing Jane only once a week. Supposedly, I'd made it past some imaginary point of crisis that Mom's death could've triggered. Still, social services wanted to be sure I had all the support someone in my “situation” might need.
Mo couldn't meet me after today's session because of a dentist appointment. I'd grown so accustomed to our routine of going to the bookstore on Friday afternoons that I headed there by myself.