“Can you tell me why you did it, Cynthia?”
Mr. Taylor leaned forward in his chair, placing his elbows on his desk and resting his whiskered chin on his knuckles. I didn’t look at him. His friendly, blue eyes relaxed me and scared me at the same time. I felt like I could tell him anything. He reminded me of Grandpa with his steel-gray hair and wrinkled cheeks. The guidance counselor’s heavy, musky aftershave was like warm hugs through Grandpa’s coat, my head not even reaching his shoulder.
But Grandpa was dead. And if I told this man about everything, Daddy would be mad.
“Why did you hit Amy, Cynthia?”
I squeezed my hands in my lap, looking at the smiling faces of his grandchildren staring at me from the wall. They looked very different from me. Blonde hair. Blue eyes. Happy and naïve. I wanted to punch them all, too. They looked like they were cared about. Like they were loved. I wanted to cry, but I didn’t want Mr. Taylor to see me.
“If you tell me the truth, you won’t be in as much trouble, Cynthia.”
Cynthia. Cynthia. Cynthia. Everything he said had my name in it. I didn’t like it. I wished he would just leave me alone. Daddy was going to be mad enough that I got in trouble. If I told Mr. Taylor my real problems, he would try to fix everything. And Daddy would know I talked.
“If you can’t give me a good reason why you hit Amy, I will have to send you to Mrs. Simpson.”
“She asked me a question, and I didn’t want to answer it.”
“What did she ask you?”
I closed my eyes, remembering Amy standing sweet and innocent in front of me.
Was that lady who picked you up yesterday your mom? You look nothing like her.
She didn’t know what was going on in my life. That my home was being invaded by a twenty-year-old girl who had nothing to do with me. Who sat on our couch all day. Ate our food. Said mean things to me. Made Daddy drive her all over the place. Made Mommy mad at Daddy.
I punched her because I didn’t want her to know. I punched her because I didn’t want to think about it. But most of all, I punched her because I never wanted her to ask me again. Daddy always told me that you could shut anyone up with a good swing.
“Cynthia? Will you please tell me what she said, and why it made you angry?”
My knees were shaking. I was really scared. I knew I was in big trouble. I couldn’t tell him. I just couldn’t tell him. Daddy would be mad. Daddy always told me to not to tell anyone about what happens at home.
“I’ll go to Mrs. Simpson’s office,” I said.
Mr. Taylor looked very confused. I rose from my seat and bolted out of the door into the cold hallway. I pretended to make my way to the principal’s office, but then I turned the corner and rushed for the side exit.
I didn’t know where I planned on going, but I knew I had to get away from the school. Daddy was going to be very mad. He would yell at me. He would yell at Mr. Taylor and Mrs. Simpson. He would take me home and yell at me some more. And Sadie would sit on the couch and laugh at me. Mommy would go sit on the porch and smoke a cigarette. There would be no one there for me. Just me and a monster.
