I feel my forehead for a fever. The heat swimming in my belly shouldn’t be warranted. From the asshole or the unsettling attention from my teacher. All wrong. All are causing me to squeeze my eyes closed. My life was just uprooted. Old memories are throwing me off balance. My mind and body are unstable. Anyone with a dick and blazing eyes is a trigger.
“Is this what you want, sweet girl? For me to touch you?”
“Stop. . . stop. . . stop. . .” I mutter to myself, wiping my hands down my face. I can’t do this again. Allow the darkness in me to take over and do anything to feed its hunger. The sound of the bell rings and I push off the wall and go to wash my hands. “Pull it together,” I scold myself as I stare at my reflection in the mirror…
The bathroom doors open, and a rush of girls walk in—my cue to get the hell out of here. I exit, immediately halting when my name is called. A wave of panic comes over me at the sound of his voice.
“Miss Mitchell?”
I turn to face Mr. Gibson. “Uh…yeah, that’s me.”
“Can I have a word with you in my office?”
I hesitate. My eyes scan the hallway, worried people are watching us. Someone will get the wrong idea. You’re a whore, just like your mom said you are. Everyone knows what you did. “Did I do something wrong?” He misinterpreted my reaction toward him and he’s going to tell on me.
“Of course not. This way, please.” Reluctantly, I follow him down the hall, passing the asshole, his eyes filled with loathing. I can’t help but raise my hand and flip him off. Prick. I know it’s immature, but it’s my way of masking my nerves. When we get to Mr. Gibson’s office, he instructs me to take a seat and shuts the door. My body tenses at the sound of the click.
“Is it okay if I call you Catalina?”
I shrug my shoulders. “Sure.” I hate the way my name sounds on his tongue. A feeling of unease crawls across my skin. I cross my arms over my chest and try to calm myself and focus. I won’t deny that he’s handsome. Full lips. A steely gaze. His dark hair flawlessly in place. A light gray dress shirt hugs his toned upper body. But that’s not who I am now. I’m better. I’ve learned my lesson.
“I know you’re new.” I blink away my thoughts as he begins to speak. “I took it upon myself to review your transcripts from your prior school.”
“Then you should know I can’t miss class, so unless I did something wrong, I need to get to English.”
“It’s not a problem. I’ll send you with a note. Your grades in physics were slipping. With this being your last semester, you need at least a ninety percent in this class to graduate with a college-applicable GPA. Do you have college plans?”
I shift in my seat, too embarrassed to admit I have no plans for college. If I were honest, my dad has been counting down the days ’til I turn eighteen and he isn’t financially responsible for me anymore.
“Okay,” he says, staring at me as he takes in my silence. “Catalina—”
“It’s just Cat. Only my parents call me by my full name.”
“Okay, Cat. I take a lot of interest in my students and their future. As a senior, it’s your last chance to show what you can accomplish. I think there’s more to you than meets the eye.” You’re nothing but a whore. “I can see you’re uncomfortable, but I want you to know I’m only here to help.”
I cross and uncross my legs. A strand of hair comes loose, and I tuck it behind my ear. “I’m sure you do, but you’re wasting your time on me. I don’t have the grades to get into college.”
He shuffles my transcripts, pulling out a sheet of paper. “Not true. Grades-wise, you’re an average student. And colleges nowadays aren’t just looking for grades. They want to see what you participate in outside of the classroom—community services, charities, school events. Stuff like that can go a long way on a college application.”
I sit forward, slowly gaining interest. “I have one semester before graduation. How much can I possibly do to make a difference? Doesn’t seem like enough time to solve world hunger.”
Mr. Gibson laughs and sits back in his chair. “Never say never. As I said, I take an interest in all my students. I’ll help you with this class and gather up a list of local community projects you can participate in. I know the school has a bunch of fairs on their roster towards the end of the year you can volunteer at. All I ask is you apply yourself. I know a promising young woman when I see one. Don’t discount yourself, okay?”
I’m not even sure what to say. How to respond. No one has ever invested time in me. My eyes narrow. My mood shifts from hopeful to skeptical. No one’s ever cared about me. This isn’t any different. Standing, I throw my backpack over my shoulder. “I’m not a pet project. You don’t need to go out of your way. If you’re feeling charitable, go donate to an organization or something.” I open the door and look over my shoulder. “I’m already a lost cause. But thanks.”
The rest of the day goes by in a mindless haze. I run into old acquaintances and cringe at the questions of where I’ve been and why I’m back. Lie after lie falls so easily off my lips, by the end of the day, I don’t even remember why I’m back.
At the last bell, everybody hustles out of school, seeming to feel the same way about high school as I do. As much as I try to avoid another awkward confrontation with Mr. Gibson, it’s impossible. I’m forced to walk past his classroom to leave the building. I steal a glance across the hall and find him searching me out. His smile is subtle, but there is something strange in the way he looks at me. His eyes are dark pools of intent. My body shivers with apprehension. This has to be all in my head. But is it? He may want to help me, but he wants to figure me out more. Too bad I’m a mystery he’ll never solve.
I hurry outside, sliding on my winter coat and gazing around as everyone gets into cars or on busses. I refuse to ride the bus again. I reach for my phone to call Mom but hesitate. I probably have a better chance of Elvis resurrecting and driving me home. Shoving my phone back into my pocket, I snuggle deeper into my jacket and prepare for a cold walk home.
“What, does the stray not have a ride?”
I turn toward the growly voice, rolling my eyes at his look of disdain. “Oh, look, it’s the asshole. No need for concern here. Just waiting on my boyfriend. Maybe you can stick around so he can kick your ass.” I turn my attention back to my phone, dismissing the dickhole.
“Boyfriend, ha! I’m going to assume he’s as fake as the reason you’re back here. What was it again? Stole a car? Forced into rehab? Escaped a mental institution? Sick mom? Abducted by aliens and inseminated with their spawns?”
“Fuck you. You don’t know anything about me.”
He pulls keys out of his pocket and twirls them around his index finger. “I know you’re going to freeze your ass off waiting for your boyfriend. Have fun on your walk to whatever hole you’re living in.” He turns and trudges down the school stairs, disappearing into the crowd.
God, why is he such a dick? Clearly, I’m not the only one who wasn’t loved enough as a child. A chill skates across my face and I pull my hat over my head, but it does nothing to relieve the shiver that runs through me. Knowing my only option, I shove my backpack strap farther up my shoulder, tuck my chin into the inside of my jacket, and head down the stairs for my long, cold trek home.