4. Try to exude Christian virtues like patience, love, and forgiveness.
5. When all else fails, use sarcasm as your defense mechanism.
I stood at the bus stop a few feet away from my fifteen-year-old brother, playing with my sweaty fingers and practicing those breathing techniques that are supposed to steady nerves. I couldn’t stand the anticipation. The looks. The laughs. The rude remarks. They were coming, and I couldn’t do a thing about it. Did I think the whole school was out to get me? Please. I’m not that self-absorbed. But I knew who the jerks were. And I knew they were waiting for me.
“You know, we could totally be going to school in a car if you hadn’t screwed it all up,” Oliver whined. “Buses are lame.”
I shrugged and rolled my eyes. Transportation was the least of my worries. I was about to walk into Bully Central, and I was trying to get mentally prepared. I wasn’t naturally tough, and I certainly didn’t have thick skin, but I knew that if I had any chance of surviving, I’d have to fake it. I kept repeating my survival rules over and over in my head, committing them to memory.
“When do you think Mom and Dad will let you drive again?” Oliver asked, kicking a pinecone.
“I don’t know. I thought they’d have at least let me drive us to school,” I said.
Just another one of my many punishments for landing in juvie. Dad took away my car and told me I wasn’t getting it back for several months. He also told me that I had to get a part-time job. I was fine with the part-time job and wanted to start one immediately. The more I was at work, the less I was at home.
The bus pulled up right on schedule, and the doors swung open with a loud creak. It was a familiar sound, one I’d become accustomed to for the past ten months. I drew in my breath and followed my brother up the steps, acknowledging the bus driver with a nod before scanning for empty seats. It was already crowded. We were the last stop on the bus route, and I realized I’d have to share a bench with someone.
I walked cautiously down the aisle, catching sight of faces that told me in no uncertain terms that I was not allowed to sit beside them. Okay. Apparently everyone on this bus was part of the jerk group. I made mental notes.
I stood in the middle of the bus until the driver yelled, “Sit down!”
I quickly slid into a bench occupied by a young girl who huffed and smashed herself against the window.
“That’s probably a good idea,” I said to her. “Bad decisions tend to be contagious.”
“Whatever,” she snapped. “Don’t talk to me.”
“All right then,” I replied, pulling my bag close to my chest and staring at the tops of my thighs for the rest of the trip.
***
“Nice.”
I pulled the orange jumpsuit from my locker and held it up, letting the arms and legs unfold with gravity. Whoever gave me the suit used stencils to spray paint a jailhouse ID number in the top left corner on the front. They even got my size right, I realized, holding the suit up to my body and testing the length of the arms and legs. I silently praised them for the effort they put into my welcome-back-to-school outfit. I didn’t want to disappoint, so I dropped my books on the floor with a loud thud and slipped into the get-up.
It felt oddly familiar and not the least bit frightening. I was a grown-up baby all over again, sporting an unflattering onesie that screamed, “Criminal!” A few students still lingered in the hallway and watched me with uncertain fascination. I bent down to retrieve my books and headed to calculus, my first class of the day.
The tardy bell rang just as I entered the room, and all eyes shifted from the teacher to the doorway where I stood scanning the space for an available seat. Two left. Both up front. I sighed and made my way to the first seat, front and center, feeling the heat creep up my neck for the first time since suiting up. I shouldn’t have put it on. I knew better.
A few girls burst into a fit of giggles, and I obliged them with a slight nod of my head. When I finally focused my attention to the front of the room, I wanted to die. Simply die right there. Melt into my orange suit and disappear for eternity.
“Midnight in a Perfect World” hovered over me with a stack of papers in his hands. His eyebrow was raised in an unnaturally high arch, and he stared at me with a mix of annoyance and amusement. I shrugged and gave him a half smile.
He sighed heavily, deciding whether to send me to the office for my little joke or leave it alone. It was obvious he knew why I was wearing the jumpsuit. I was trying to be tough. He didn’t want to embarrass me, but he also couldn’t let other students think they could pull this kind of bullshit in his class. Oh, what to do?
“Cadence, you probably wanna go change,” he suggested softly.
Oh my God! He remembered my name!
I blushed fiercely and looked down at my desk. Suddenly I felt irrationally angry and defiant. I don’t know why. I should have felt flattered that he remembered my name. But I wasn’t. I was pissed that he suggested I change. Why should I? I was only wearing a present that some nice bitches left in my locker. What was so wrong with that?
I shook my head and looked up at the teacher. “I’m okay, actually.”
Converse All Stars clenched his jaw and narrowed his eyes. He wasn’t expecting that response.
“Okay,” he said patiently. “Not really a suggestion.”
I locked eyes with him. His were a steely blue. Almost completely gray, actually. Smoky, sensual irises that could teach me everything I needed to know about math and love and beauty and sex. And how the world was created. And how gravity works. And how chemicals react. And how—
“Did you hear what I said?” he asked.
“I heard you,” I replied, distracted by my thoughts. I shook my head. “I don’t wanna change. It’s a present, see? It was left for me in my locker this morning. I wanted to wear it to show my appreciation.”