The Girl: Chapter 15
She stared at the burgundy plaster of the wall. Sometimes, when the static cloud of fear in her mind cleared enough to permit distractions, the girl liked to find shapes in the textured paint. A flame, a baseball bat, a dog's bone. Like seeking images in the clouds, though the girl had been taught the game from the stains, the burns, the dried pools of someone's bodily fluid in the tenement. On the walls, the fluid, the ceiling, the people.
The girl blinked, slowly. Picked something that resembled a four leaf clover out of the paint. The covers--so thick, so warm--were pulled up to her nose. Her head was sunken deep into the thick pillow. It made her feel shielded, almost. Hidden, at the very least.
"You'd better get up. Storm's gonna come looking for you if you miss class again."
She stiffened automatically, reflexive terror though the more logical shards of her being knew there was nothing to fear from the voice and it's owner. Not physically. The girl did not sleep in a ball anymore, cower in a corner when her roommate came within touching distance.
Surprise followed her first reaction to the words, though by that time Jubilee's interested had shifted, judging from the unstifled noises, to choosing a purse for the day She rarely addressed the girl directly, not about anything that did not concern herself.
She waited until she heard the door slam with Jubilee's own departure before moving. The bed--so difficult, still, to call it hers--was hard to leave, but she did. She pushed the blankets away, pushed herself out of the pretend-haven. Fumbled through the drawer Jubilee had reluctantly cleared out for her, removed a handful of clothes without inspection.Though her roommate's warning was dangerously possible, the girl was more alarmed by the thought of entering the classroom late. Trying to make her way between the desks and the thick air that would move like sludge down her throat...Their eyes, all eyes, on her....
She hurried.
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A stack of written tests and forms and half an hour's worth of assurances from Mrs. Grey that she was, "Not to worry one bit. These are only to help up find the perfect place for you." A statement repeated so frequently that it had the opposite effect of it's assuring intent. The girl was placed in advance History and English. Beginner level Algebra and Biology, because her love of reading had never extended toward these subjects. She did not complain, nor even really care. The same shy silence met ever question the teachers put to her, no matter the class or the relative age of the students around her. Soon the adults ceased calling on the girl altogether, and she was grateful for this mercy. Alone she picked away at the homework; her grades must have been fair enough to avoid the embarrassment of their attention.
The girl's mind spent most of its time cataloging the differences between this place, this school, and the graffiti-ed rubble of a prison the truant officer had occasionally forced her to attend. Making comparisons of things that could not, should not be compared--a broken florescent bulb to a chandelier, metal detectors and teachers who were armed for their own protection to smiling faces and calm lectures on the invention of the microscope.
She didn't understand why the better of these two filled her with more fear than the first ever had.
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He was waiting for her when the bell rang, outside the room where the silver-haired Ms Munroe was nodding and sharing her serene beam with any student who caught her eye. A soft touch on her elbow, drawing her away from the other teens--not hard, if she did not keep a bubble of space around herself they would; the residents had been told about her skin.
"C'mere, Kid."
Her roommate was throwing fascinated glances at them, twisting her torso as she followed her friends down the opposite hall. Logan interested Jubilee in a way that was beyond the scope of her comprehension. She thought Jubilee's behavior remained somewhat civil on because of the anomaly of his relationship with the girl, the burning curiosity it inspired.
She turned her head away from their avid audience, forced herself to study the faded pattern of Logan's flannel shirt, too old and soft for wrinkles. She looked at the stubble sprayed across his jaw like pepper.
The girl shifted her eyes quickly to the carpet under her feet.
"You didn't come to breakfast today." An accusation without anger, without the necessity of a reply. He kept walking, and she followed willingly. "Let's go get something in your stomach, alright darlin?"
"I'm supposed to go to biology," she said quietly.
"You're going to eat." His voice was inflexible, but not harsh. A kind stone. She offered no other protest.
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Logan was always around. Not by her side twenty-four seven, but enough to raise the eyebrows of even the most aloof of teachers and had them wondering aloud over coffee and tables far from The Wolverine's earshot.
He was there at mealtimes, waiting to lead her to the quietest, furthest spot in the cafeteria (or to the kitchen, or gardens, on her shakier days). There to take her to the library, to point at cloth-bound spines that he knew nothing of an coax her, go on, pick one, Kid. There in the more traffic jammed of hallways, his body a buffer between hers and the limbs of others. There to knock roughly on the door when she hadn't left her room all day. There to force her downstairs, to watch a football game on the couch with him. There to deter the other students--on pain of claw--from any thought of joining them.
She was less surprised than the others by the constancy of his presence.The girl had already lived with Logan for weeks, acquired more months of his attention than from anyone else who'd staggered through her life. That it would continue now, in this otherwise unforeseen and unforeseeable place where she was not being judged either too old or old enough, was something she could do nothing but accept. She didn't know the reasons for his assistance, but relied on it as unthinkingly as oxygen.
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"Catch," Bobby said. And she did, though awkwardly. Fingers that fumbled and then clasped the Snickers to her stomach to keep from dropping it altogether. The bright eyed boy smiled at her. She looked down, picked at the foil of the chocolate--a reward from Mr. Summers; everyone had scored a ninety or above on the Biology test--to avoid conversation.
Her cheeks felt warm.
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"Come the fuck on!"
Jubilee's voice cut through the roaring patter of the shower, through the insulation the door and dense curtain provided, through the illusion of privacy that the steam and heat tried to give. She could hear her nails--tiger printed; Jubilee had glued new ones on last night--clacking impatiently on the wood between them. The girl opened her eyes, squinted unhappily at the maroon tiles she faced, now blurry with steam. Jubilee had already had her turn in the bathroom.
Water pulsed down her shoulders, her arms, her breasts. Solid, hot streams wrapping her in fluid protection and obliterating whatever her flesh had accumulated over last night and yesterday.
"You can't stay in there forever. I need to do my mascara!" A biting shriek that made the girl cringe and twist the nobs until the spray became a drip, and then nothing.
She swiped hurriedly at her body with the towel, felt the quickly-cooling moisture dribble down her spine to the downy creases of lower skin. The girl stuffed herself into her underwear and jeans, the long sleeve t shirt and gloves that Ms Grey had requested she where any time she intended to leave the room. All the while, the voice outside the bathroom was chanting, "C'mon. C'mon. C'mon."
When she opened the door her roommate muttered a "Finally." and knocked past her without another word.
The girl blinked at the stacks of Cosmo magazines on the floor, a stuffed flamingo won at some carnival the students had been taken to. Her wet hair hung against her neck like dozens of limp rat tails. She wondered if there was a point where someone who clearly did not belong in a place could get used to that fact.
She wondered if she would ever reach that point.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
NOTE: Please excuse any and all ensuing awkwardness. Caffeine is a dangerous, dangerous substance. Feel free to skip over these notes at any time.
As the Toystorians say, "Howdy-howdy-howdy". Thanks to chocolate-dipped apples, the completion of my Thanksgiving shopping, and a morning where I was not awakened at 5:30 by a kitten fond of playing claw-the-mole with any limb that happened to twitch under the covers, I'm in a great mood.
This chapter is dedicated to new hot chocolate recipes, and reviewers. I say it every chance I get--not because I'm particularly fond of repetition--but because I'm always, always grateful to everyone who takes the time to shares their thoughts on these posts.
I'm really pleased with how this chapter came out(shocking, I know). Little hyper, from the overdose of coffee and the same worry you feel when you thing you've done well on a calculus exam but know that means you probably failed. I'm eager to hear what y'all think. If everything goes smoothly, I believe this story will be finished in one more chapter. Two, at the most. The next will contain quite a bit more action. So without further ramble, please read and enjoy.
.
As the Toystorians say, "Howdy-howdy-howdy". Thanks to chocolate-dipped apples, the completion of my Thanksgiving shopping, and a morning where I was not awakened at 5:30 by a kitten fond of playing claw-the-mole with any limb that happened to twitch under the covers, I'm in a great mood.
This chapter is dedicated to new hot chocolate recipes, and reviewers. I say it every chance I get--not because I'm particularly fond of repetition--but because I'm always, always grateful to everyone who takes the time to shares their thoughts on these posts.
I'm really pleased with how this chapter came out(shocking, I know). Little hyper, from the overdose of coffee and the same worry you feel when you thing you've done well on a calculus exam but know that means you probably failed. I'm eager to hear what y'all think. If everything goes smoothly, I believe this story will be finished in one more chapter. Two, at the most. The next will contain quite a bit more action. So without further ramble, please read and enjoy.
.
Chapter End Notes:
Hi!
I hope you liked the previous chunk of writing, and that you all have a wonderful Thanksgiving. Remember that any carbs consumed on this day vanish into oblivion and have absolutely no effect on your diet/waist line. Seriously, I read it in my Biology textbook. Pinky-promise.
Almost left something out--I saw on my calender that it is National Lurker Appreciation day (It is, really, go ahead and check...If under 'Monday' there is nothing but a white square, you have the wrong calender.) All beautiful lurkers, if I could just direct your mouse to the review button over there...yes, that's the one....Now click, and receive your ice cream cake and gift certificate for 100 invisible dollars. Of course, everyone else can absolutely join in the review button click-age as well. (Just because it isn't your birthday doesn't mean you can't go to the party. Those of any nationality can enjoy Marti Gras, so go on--get you some beads, girl!)
Thank you!
I hope you liked the previous chunk of writing, and that you all have a wonderful Thanksgiving. Remember that any carbs consumed on this day vanish into oblivion and have absolutely no effect on your diet/waist line. Seriously, I read it in my Biology textbook. Pinky-promise.
Almost left something out--I saw on my calender that it is National Lurker Appreciation day (It is, really, go ahead and check...If under 'Monday' there is nothing but a white square, you have the wrong calender.) All beautiful lurkers, if I could just direct your mouse to the review button over there...yes, that's the one....Now click, and receive your ice cream cake and gift certificate for 100 invisible dollars. Of course, everyone else can absolutely join in the review button click-age as well. (Just because it isn't your birthday doesn't mean you can't go to the party. Those of any nationality can enjoy Marti Gras, so go on--get you some beads, girl!)
Thank you!