Take Me On

“I know.”


Mrs. Collins opens a file, slips out a piece of paper and hands it to me. “This is the Evans scholarship. It’ll pay for four years of tuition for a person majoring in kinesiology.”

I sit straighter and handle the paper as if it’s gold. “A full ride?”

“Yes.” She brightens and I wait for rainbows to appear behind her and blue birds to land on her shoulder. Mrs. Collins definitely is too happy of a person or maybe I’ve been down for so long that I’ve forgotten what happiness is.

She loses a bit of the rainbow as she folds her hands on her desk and settles into her serious face. “But it’s an extremely competitive scholarship and this isn’t a simple essay and transcript situation. Students from across the nation will be sending in videos showing why they would be the best candidate.”

I scan the three pages while dread and hope battle for dominion. Oh, my God, I actually have a shot at winning this, but I’ll have to find some footage of my old fights and videotape me training West. I can show his training from beginning to end. And this is where the dread eats the hope. He’s going to need to spar, which means I will, too.

“Haley?” Mrs. Collins says. “Are you okay? You look a little pale.”

“I’m fine.” I run a hand through my hair. “Thank you for this. I can’t tell you how much this means to me.”

The smile on her face is so sincere that I relax in my chair. Maybe she’s not out to destroy me.

“Your grandfather speaks highly of you. He’s very proud of your accomplishments in his gym and at school.”

The relaxing turns to sagging. Great—guilt. One parent–teacher conference and they’re best friends for life. I pretend to read the application while she taps a pen against the desk. “When I first began social work, I was hired as a case worker in a homeless shelter.”

My eyes shoot to hers and she steadily holds my gaze. She knows. Dear God, she knows.

“It’s not easy to be without a home. It’s confusing and scary and if it’s that way for an adult, it has to be twice as terrifying for a teenager. I know you’re no longer there, but I also know things are still floating. Unfortunately, the state isn’t allowing me to take you on as a client, but because I work in this school you can talk to me anytime and my door will always be open.”

“How do you know?”

“Your parents didn’t sign up for the parent–teacher conference and then I couldn’t reach them by phone and the letter was returned, so I found your grandfather. Haley, he really does care about you.”

Care about me? I crave to crush his throat. He told her our family’s private business. Why didn’t he lie? Why didn’t he say it was a mistake? Why didn’t he tell her that we have a home?

I stand, wanting to leave, but not sure if I’m allowed. The scholarship application crackles in my hand. “Are you taking me away from my family?” The words slip out and I immediately wish I could take them back.

She shakes her head. “Regardless of what you believe, the state isn’t interested in destroying you or your family, and, from what I understand, you’re living in a safe environment. We’re here to help, Haley. I’m here to help.”

At the word safe, a bubble of hysterical laughter wells up inside me and bursts out of my mouth. The sound is definitely out of place and instead of making me feel better the laughter twists an already too-tight spring. Dizzy with the crazy emotions, I stumble for the door. Right as I touch the knob, I sober up and freeze.

Not that I’m complaining. “What do you mean you aren’t allowed to take me on?”

She leans back in her seat and the quirky set of her lips and eyes reminds me of how Jax stares at his opponent before entering the ring—as if she’s trying to figure out my next move. “My job at this school is to help those who the state believes need a little extra push in the right direction. Regardless of how I tried to convince the powers that be, you don’t fit the requirements for my program.”

I slump against the wall in relief. Oh, thank God, I can stop worrying about CPS arriving at the door and dragging me and Maggie away. “That’s good.”

“I guess,” she says. “But my gut says you need to talk to someone, and I have a sinking feeling once you walk out, I’ll never see you again.”

A twinge of guilt rocks me because every word out of her mouth is absolutely true: I do need to talk to somebody. I want to open my mouth and vomit out all that has happened, to take the darkness and give it to somebody else. I want the nastiness and decay out of my body, out of my soul, and maybe if I expelled it in words, then maybe, just maybe, the rot would be gone.