159
down from a challenge.
But this…this is beyond what I am. I toss the papers down again. I need to stay focused on what’s important and writing isn’t it.
HC TITLE-AUTHOR
160
Beth
GYM IS AN ABOMINATION to self-esteem. While changing out of the white ruffled shirt into the required gym attire of a pink Bullitt County High T-shirt and matching shorts, I take stock of the other girls. They gossip as they change.
Most brush their hair. Some fix their makeup.
All thin. All fit. All beautiful. Not me, though.
I’m thin enough, but I’m not pretty.
The girls who really irritate me are the ones God gave everything to: money, looks, and a C-cup chest. Gwen is the worst. The moment she enters the locker room, she strips her shirt and walks around freely in her lace bra. Her nonverbal reminder that us B-cups are inferior.
Busting out of the locker room, I relax when I see the gym is empty. Most of the school is a no-cell zone, but not the gym. I desperately need to speak to Mom. It’s been two weeks HC TITLE-AUTHOR
161
since the last time I talked to her and her last words to me were that pathetic “please…probation” in the parking lot. Trent wouldn’t permit her to say goodbye to me at the police station. God, I hate him.
I duck under the bleachers, pull the phone out of my shorts pocket, and dial Mom’s number. I’ve called several times over the last two weeks, but she’s never answered. Anytime after four she’d be at the bar. Mom told me once that you’re only an alcoholic if you drink before noon. Good thing for Mom she never wakes before three.
The phone rings once then three loud beeps answer. A calm, annoying voice states a message of doom: “Sorry, the number you
have dialed has been disconnected.”
Regret becomes a weight in my stomach.
Last month, I could pay the electricity bill with Mom’s disability check or I could pay the phone bill. The electricity company sent a disconnect notice. I thought I had more time on the phone. I picked the electricity bill.
My throat becomes thick and my eyes burn.
Crap—my mom. I messed up. Again. Imagine
that. I should have paid the phone bill. I should HC TITLE-AUTHOR
162
have found a way. I could have taken on
more hours stocking at the Dollar Store. I could have sucked up my pride and asked Noah or Isaiah for money. I could have done so many things and I didn’t. Why am I such a screwup?
I suddenly wish it was ten at night. Isaiah and I talk then—every night. Usually, it’s not for long. Just a few seconds or so. He’s not a phone talker by nature, but the first time I called he asked me to check in nightly and I do. His voice is the only thing keeping me sane.
I slip the phone into my pocket as everyone files into the gym. They chatter and laugh, oblivious to the real problems of the real world. I need to find a ride into Louisville and I need to find one fast. A sharp pain slices through my head and threatens to form into a headache when Lacy breaks away from Chris and Ryan to join me. I’m not in the mood for this—not today.
“You changed quickly,” Lacy says. “Are you okay? You look upset.”
“I’m fine.” But I itch to wipe my eyes.
Somehow, they’re wet and full, and I refuse to HC TITLE-AUTHOR
163
touch them around Lacy or anyone else. I
never cry and I’ll never let anyone believe that I’m capable of the moronic act.
“Five-minute round up!” Mr. Knox, our
health teacher, calls.
He wears a shiny whistle around his neck.
“On the bulletin board is every exercise you are required to perform in order to receive credit for this class. We will be spending three days in the gym and two in the classroom.
Some exercises you can do on your own.
Others require teamwork. You have two
opportunities to impress me, so I suggest that you use your time wisely and do not come to me for credit unless you have practiced the item to perfection.”
We stare at him in silence. Mr. Knox jerks his thumb behind him. “Get to work.”
I lag behind the others, praying that most of the exercises can be done on my own. My insides twist as I watch people pair off into twos and threes to complete their assignments.
Left alone, I sidle up to the board and sigh so heavily that the posted paper moves. Surely I can convince Mr. Knox that I am, within myself, a four-layered pyramid.
HC TITLE-AUTHOR
164
“You can work with me.”
My heart stutters at the sound of Ryan’s
voice. Damn, why do I have to find everything about this boy attractive? His voice, his face, his biceps, his abs… stop it! I cross my arms over my chest and turn to face him. “I thought we had an agreement.”
“No. You threw a hissy fit on the first day of school. That doesn’t constitute an agreement.”