“Sir Limps A Lot!” one of the girls shouted, somehow conjuring up that dreaded earlier nickname. The girl felt like stomping her pretty red head into the grass. With cleats.
“Hey, be nice,” Mr. Kane tossed over his shoulder at her in a vain attempt to look like a diplomatic teacher and not some controlling, sexist moron. He looked back to the girl. “Come on. Tell us what it is. Tell me what happened to you, tell me exactly why you can’t play the game, and I’ll let you off.”
All eyes were on her, watching her expectantly, waiting for her answer. She couldn’t tell them the truth, tell them what really happened to her. If she did, she’d shame her parents and they’d been shamed enough. No one would believe the truth anyway. No one would believe it happened because she’d been caught trying to steal from one of the Gulf Coast’s most powerful drug lords.
“I…” the girl started but couldn’t find the right excuse, the right answer that would satisfy all of them. She looked down at the ground, her cheeks heating.
“I knew it,” someone in the crowd said, “it’s probably something lame like she has one leg longer than the other.”
“Ha, lame, get it!” joked someone else.
As she stared at the grass, she could see the high noon shadow of Mr. Kane slowly shaking his head. Not believing her.
“All right, well then you’ll have to play,” he said, sounding so far away. “Or you’ll fail the class.”
She wanted to scream “you can’t do that!,” she wanted to threaten to sue him, to report him to the principal. She wanted to do all of those things and she certainly had a right to. She might even win.
But she wanted to put an end to it once and for all. Just to get it fucking over with.
She snapped her head up and glared at everyone, their faces becoming an anonymous blob in the harsh sunlight.
“You want to see? Do you want to see why I can’t play? Why I have nerve damage to my leg?” she yelled at them sharply, her voice cracking in places. Everyone, including the teacher, was stunned into an uneasy silence, as if they were afraid the girl would reveal she was some hungry, fire-breathing dragon underneath, ready to devour them all.
The girl stuck out her right leg and with one yank, she rolled up the leg of her sweatpants to the knee.
Everyone gasped. A few covered their mouths. Mr. Kane looked startled and reproached. The girl knew what her leg looked like, knew what an acid burn did when it covered an entire leg. She kept her harsh eyes on everyone else, making sure they saw it. Making sure they got it.
Finally Mr. Kane said, “That’s enough, Ellie. You’re excused. Please sit at the sidelines and observe the game.”
He turned and pushed his way through the girls, who were still staring in horror and disgust, even when the girl rolled the pant leg back down. At least now they understood why she changed in the bathroom stall, why she never wore shorts to gym class, why she wore jeans in 100-degree heat.
She had to.
“Come on, girls, either we start this game or you’re all giving me five laps around the track,” Mr. Kane barked as he began unloading the soccer balls. “Now!”
At that, they all jumped to attention and quickly left the girl to her own devices. She could hear them whispering to each other as they scattered, but the girl didn’t want to hear what they were saying.
She sighed, her breath shaking like a leaf, and carefully walked across the field and over to the sidelines. She sat down on the bench and watched.
She thought exposing the truth and getting out of class would have brought her a sense of relief. But it only brought her a sense of shame. She’d seen their faces, their reactions. The girl wasn’t the fire-breathing dragon, but she was a monster all the same.
Now
The cozy flannel bedspread was wrapped around us, our limbs entangled in its softness and each other. After Camden and I retreated into the house, wrapped in only cheap IKEA blankets, we decided to finish off the bottle of wine and raid his cupboards for something that would make up for the lost steak dinner. We settled on grilled cheese with tomato basil soup. Not exactly gourmet, but after the sex, we didn’t really care.
Nor did we bother getting dressed. When dinner was done, Camden decided he was still hungry and proceeded to go down on me in front of the freshly-made fire. The man had some serious skill with his tongue and this time, with no neighbors to worry about, I really let go, screaming out his name loudly and gripping the top of his head with each spasm.