Mess You Made

14.

Malibu.

"Oh, so you're not pregnant?"

I stare back at Avery and it's 8:37 am as I wonder what exactly would happen if I slapped her across the face. Here's what I've considered.

Definitely, she'd fall face first to the ground because I have a beautifully heavy hand. Definitely, sent to the office. Hopefully, just a warning. Most likely, I'll end up without a diploma like my big brother, carrying on the familial curse.

Most fucking definitely - he will kick my ass.

She's popping gum in my face at eight in the morning, turned around from her seat in front of me to divulge. Sierra, actually, desperately tried to speak to me about it in the morning and I waved her off, shut her up, in my usual desperation to stay oblivious to what they've percieved me as for the past five years.

I've barely slept. Marci's teething, and its kept the whole house awake for a while now. She gets into moods where she either clings to Cristian or me, and for the past few days especially, it's been me. So it won't matter how much Cristian tries to help, she's made up her mind and I have to live with the repetitive cycle of feeling drained after work, but having to rock her to sleep until two in the morning. Feed her, except she's not eating properly either — and giving her a bath this morning's hurt my wrist. I hit it against the cabinet.

It feels like everything's non-stop. Work, or Marci, work or Marci, it's a repeat that never seems to end anymore.

So school, the people here, they all feel so fucking redundant compared to home, or the rest of my life. I'm too tired for them all, and their endless stupidity, and whether I'm pregnant.

Avery also looks down at my outfit, winces as if she's being kind, "You're breaking dress code."

I lean back in my seat then and let my tank rise higher on my midriff, let my thrifted jeans — wide leg because they're my favourite as of recent — shift a little lower on my hipbones. Wearing a thong today, too because I couldn't find usual underwear, and I like the look of the red straps on my hips, so I hope she gets a lovely nice view of that, too.

I look at her, eye to eye, "Do I look pregnant to you?"

She clears her throat. I see her want to bring me down, somehow - but she can't. Beauty is a weapon. It's an armoured, sweet defence, even though it shouldn't be. People pale in the face of it. Can't insult it how they'd like to when they feel inferior. So Avery quickly flushes at the sight of my midriff and looks away.

Mr Hendry starts teaching and this entire school, if I could burn it without consequence, I'd have a field day. I let myself lean back in my chair, feel all my hair fall down my back and feel at sweet ease, the thought of flames eating up the walls, and everyone in it, and I'd watch, very happily.

"Hi, sir."

I lift my head lazily, look at Sierra, head popped in the doorframe. In the wrong classroom. Because this isn't her class, by the way. That's not about to make much of a difference.

She's stood by the door, the class has already started, they're all watching her and we've done this so many times over the years that I cease to be surprised. Mr Hendry, smiles at her a bit tightly, nods, "Sierra." He instinctively glances over at me. I just look at him, and he swallows, seeming weary.