Pushing Send (9 page)

“Hadley!” he calls from behind me.

“I asked you to call my mother because I’m not feeling well. Now I’m going home.”

I walk down the hallway to my locker, watching every eye turn and stare at me. Tears spill down my face. I am angry, embarrassed, in pain, and my entire body burns from the fire inside that is minutes from combusting.

As I grab my bag and turn around, my principal, the vice principal, the nurse, and the guidance counselor stand like a wall or the career pack in front of me. I slap my tears away and try to walk past them, but they don’t move. The only movement in the hall is the mass of spectators witnessing my breakdown.

“Please move.”

“You can’t just walk out of here, Miss Asher.”

“Then call my goddamn mother!”

“Get in my office, now!” the principal yells at me.

“Bite me.” I turn around and walk in the opposite direction, realizing my phone is in my gym locker.

I walk into the locker room and grab my clothes. My feet ache, my head hurts, and I feel like I am going to explode. As I walk out, I see people at both sides of the hall, blocking my escape.

I lean against the wall and slide down as I type a 911 message to my mother and then sit, waiting for her to come.

Conversation surrounds me. Everyone is whispering. Teachers and staff are trying to direct me. I close my eyes and bury my head in my knees as I wish I had saved my wish on that shooting star two nights ago to take me away now.

“Excuse me,” I hear my mother say in an urgent, yet polite manner.

“Mrs. Asher—”

“You can have my attention after I speak to my daughter.” I look up as she pushes past them. She is the Sally to my Percy and always will be.

She squats in front of me, “Talk to me, sweetheart. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Shouldn’t she know already? Isn’t she psychic?”

I look over at Lana’s smug face.

“Ignore her, sweetheart. Grace and class. We stand up and walk out of here now, just you and me,” Mom says, as she stands and holds out her hand to me.

Once I nod and take her hand, she pulls me up then bends down to grab my things.

We walk past the wall of staff, my peers behind them, and out the door.

“I love you, sweetheart. We will get through this.”

“I love you, Mom.”

~*~

I spend the next day in bed. Mom goes to work while Dad comes in to check on me every hour.

I have no idea how much time has passed when I wake up to someone pushing the hair away from my eyes.

“You feeling any better?” Dad asks.

I feel my lip quiver and tears building.

“I’ll take that as a no. I was gonna head outside. Been working on something for your mom. You wanna come out?”

“I’m tired.”

“Gotcha. Tomorrow, then?”

I nod and close my eyes.

“I love you.”

I open my eyes, and the tears I thought were dried up resurface.

“Hads?”

“Dad.”

“Always, Hads.” He wipes away my tears.

“Always, Dad,” I repeat.

He leans down and kisses my forehead. “Sleep tight.”

I fall asleep thinking about four years ago, when Dad and I would talk about things. He was always my go-to when I was stressed or worried.

“Let’s flip a coin,” he would say. “Heads, you tell ‘em off and beat ‘em up. Tails, you be you and don’t let it bother you.”

The coin always landed on tails, always.

It all came to a crashing halt when he lost his job, and Mom started working two. He stopped smiling, stopped flipping coins, got into a car accident, hurt his back, and got a DUI. Until recently, I didn’t realize he would never be able to drive for a living again, and Mom says that the physical pain has put him in a depression, one she knows he will come out of soon.

“Tails,” I whisper, hoping that now he can take the same advice he gave me.

An hour later, I open my eyes, jump out of bed, and head to the shower. I take care to wash my feet, knowing if I get an infection, there is no health insurance.

After I dress, I come downstairs and look out the back window, seeing the shed door is open. I shove my feet into my flip-flops and hobble outside, where I hear the sound of a power tool, and then it stops.

“You realize it’s not tomorrow yet, Hads?” Dad asks as he walks out.

I take a minute to look at him, really look at him. His hair is wavy and long, but it’s pulled back. His once muscled frame is lean. He doesn’t look like my dad used to, but his eyes show me he is certainly trying. They aren’t blood shot and don’t have the yellow glow to them anymore. He is still handsome.

I remember how Mom used to look at him like he was the most stunning man on the planet. Today, I see a hint of that man, and even though life is screwed right now, there is a touch of promise in a seemingly unpromising time.

“Yeah.”

He stands in front of the door, not allowing me to pass. “Gotta give me the pinky promise you won’t tell your mom what I am up to back here.”

I nod then hold my pinky out, and he hooks his around mine.

“Gotta promise that you believe me when I say, when I have enough money to buy some wood, I will make yours.”

“My bed,” I say as I try to look around him.

“Hads, promise first.”

“Fine.”

“Mom’s birthday is a week from yesterday, and I wanna have this finished. If you’re gonna be skipping school, I could use your help.” I try to look around him again. “No pass until I get a promise.”

“Fine, I promise.”

He moves away, and I walk in, moving around the very rustic log bed.

“Beautiful,” I tell him as I walk around it, running my hand over the logs.

“Needs some sanding, polyurethane, and then I need to saw out some slats to hold up the box springs.”

“She’s gonna love it.” I smile at him.

“The logs are from the woods out back here.” He has a glimmer of pride in his eyes.

“Which she’ll love even more.”

“Yeah, she will.” He nods. “She deserves much more, deserves a man who can take care of her.” He runs his hands over his head.

“She loves you, Dad.”

“Right.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “Next is yours, that sleigh thing you wanted. Just have to get the right wood.”

“Four years ago, I would have loved it.”

He takes in a deep breath, letting me know my words stung him.

“Now, I want one just like this.”

He looks up at me. “Really?”

“Yes, it’s beautiful.” I walk over to the bench and grab the sander. “Let me help.”

After an hour, Dad motions for me to follow him, so I set down the sander and walk out of the shed behind him.

“Lunch.”

“I’m not really—”

“Chocolate chip pancakes.” He looks at me.

“Now I’m hungry.”

As he makes the pancakes, I sit and watch. Dad was never a good cook. When Mom used to do palm reading parties at people’s homes, he would be in charge of dinner, and it was always chocolate chip pancakes.

“Headboard and footboard feel sanded enough for you?” he asks as he flips the first few.

“Very smooth. I think it’s perfect. What do you think?”

“I say side rails and then we saw out the slats tomorrow. Really don’t need you for that, though.”

I shake my head. “I’m not going back there.”

“Gonna have to face the music sometime, Hads.” He flips another pancake.

“Maybe the day after tomorrow. Maybe never.”

“Didn’t raise you to quit, even if you think I did. Hell, I did for a while, but I’m on the mend now, and you need to do the same.”

~*~

I hear Mom and Dad talking while I am lying on the couch, watching TV. My name, the school, Mr. Roach, and the principal’s name are mentioned, so I turn the volume down to hear that she has a meeting with them in the morning.

Great
, I think to myself.

“She doesn’t want to go back till at least Thursday, Pam. I would say that was all right.”

“She can’t miss school,” my mother tells him.

“Well, what are the other options?”

“She has to apologize first. They don’t take kindly to the fact that she didn’t show them respect.”

“From what you said, they didn’t give her a damn ounce of it, either,” Dad responds.

“She has two years and one month left in that school. She has to mend fences,” Mom says.

“Do they have to apologize, too?”

Hell yes, Dad
. I fist bump him on the inside.

“Adults don’t have to apologize,” Mom says in a huff.

“Well, then Hads doesn’t have to go back tomorrow, Pam.” I hear the softness in his voice when he says her name.

“I can’t believe this is happening. She is such a good girl.”

“Small town shit smells just as bad as big city shit.”

“Except more people seem to enjoy getting involved. My God, the shop today was crazy. One of the girls said it was because of the controversy looming over my head, says I am good for business. Can you believe it?”

I am in my room while Mom and Dad are discussing me when I hear a knock on the door. I look up and see Bee.

“Your Mom said I could come up. Hope it’s okay,” she says from the door.

I nod. “Come on in.”

She walks over and sits on the edge of my twin bed. “You okay?”

I shake my head. “But I will be.”

“What happened at school, Hadley?” she asks in sad, confused tone.

“They pushed me,” I answer simply.

“Are you cutting?”

“No!”

“Okay, I’m sorry, but everything that’s going on around you is just so—”

“Crazy? Screwed up? Unreal? I agree.”

“Why did you post that video?”

I look at her and scowl. “I didn’t.”

“You did, though.”

“I dropped my phone and ran out of the room. I found it when I was leaving the room after Pax was—”

“Is Pax the problem?”

“Why would Pax be—”

“You two are always talking. I just hope you know Pax sees someone struggle, and he comes running to their rescue. He’s a nice guy, but I think maybe you see him differently, and if that’s the reason—”

“Is that what they are all saying? Is that what everyone thinks?” I gasp. “I walked in on her making bad choices, but now I’m the villain? Now I have—”

“She’s getting crap about it, too, Hadley. She had whore written on her locker this morning.”

“I feel bad for her—I really do—but right now—”

“Hadley, maybe you should apologize,” Bee suggests.

“I have.” I stand and start to walk to my door. “And she didn’t respond. Now, I appreciate the visit, but right now, I want to be alone.”

Bee stands and makes her way to the door. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

“Okay, but do me a favor, if you were ever really my friend, tell those ass-hats at school I don’t cut. They can think I posted that all they want—”

“Everything points to you, Hadley,” she says sadly.

“Right, sure, of course, but I am not like that.
True
friends would know that. Goodbye.”

chapter six

Judged…

On Friday, my mother walks me into the principal’s office. I hear the two of them loudly and, sometimes, heatedly discussing me, the problem child.

I look up as Pax walks by the glass windows in front of the office and glances toward me. Then I quickly look down before his eyes set on mine. I hate that they all think this has everything to do with Pax Jamison. I hate that he probably thinks so, too. I hate that, for the past four months, I felt like Blue Valley could be home, but now it’s tainted—friends were not friends; I was not liked; and I am the problem student now.

Mom walks out. “Everything is fine, Hadley. If you need me, you call me. If they don’t let you, we sue them.”

“Now, Mrs. Asher, I think—” the Principal interrupts.

She looks at me. “We can home school. Say the word, Hadley, and we can—”

“I only have a few more weeks until school ends, Mom. Thank you so much. Thank you.” I hug her tightly, not caring that we’re in public or what anyone thinks, because she is the one person who believes me, knows me, and loves me—because she is my mom.