your—”
“Call my mother and have her pick me up.”
“Miss Asher—”
“Will you please call my mother and have her pick me up now, dammit!”
“Why don’t you go and lie down in the room over there, dear. We will—”
“Hadley. Sit. Down!” Roach demands.
Instead, I turn around and walk out of the room.
“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
“Call my mother and have her pick me up.”
“Miss Asher—”
“Will you please call my mother and have her pick me up now, dammit!”
“Why don’t you go and lie down in the room over there, dear. We will—”
“Hadley. Sit. Down!” Roach demands.
Instead, I turn around and walk out of the room.
“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
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