Free Fall. // l.r.h.

Step 2: Don't Be Late

"Mr. Hemmings, you're late. Again."
I looked down to hide my smirk. Are any of us surprised?
He cleared his throat. "Before-school football workouts." Seriously? That's not even a full sentence.
Mrs. Shepard glared at him. "Well, I hope you enjoy after-school detention."
Yikes.
He groaned, slumping into his seat in front of me. "Can you believe her?" he mumbled to me.
My eyes widened. Don't. Pick. Sides. "W-what?" I felt my foot beginning to tap the pace of my quickening heartbeat.
He rolled his eyes. "Never mind, Matthews. You don't listen."
     Just because I'm quiet doesn't mean-- Did he just call me by my last name?
Luke was handed a detention slip. "Where the heck is Mr. Darson's room?"
He sure likes attention.
Mrs. Shepard sighed. "Ms. Matthews?" She looked past Luke at me. I felt my heart drop.
"Yes ma'am?" I managed.
"Once class is over, show Luke where he'll be spending his afternoon."
I nodded, averting my eyes.
"How's she supposed to show me if she can't even talk?" he muttered to himself.
I do listen.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The bell rang at the end of the day, dismissing the students. I pulled out my phone as soon as I reached my locker and began typing.

Lindsey, take the van & pick the kids up. I have to take the bus. Showing Pretty Boy the way to detention.

Luke placed his hand on the locker, close enough to my face that it made me jump. "So where is it...uh..."
"You know my name," I said, walking ahead of him.
"Harper, right?"
"Oh my God."
He rolled his eyes at me; I ignored it. We turned into the third wing of the school and I pointed at the second door on the left. "That's your class," I mumbled, beginning to walk towards the double doors that led outside.
He grabbed my arm. "Thanks, Matthews."
Butterflies. Butterflies. Butterflies.
I forced a nod and a slight smile. You're better than this, Harper. People leave. Don't get attached.
After a while, the long yellow bus with "73" pained on the side pulled to a halt in front of the school. I got in the back of the line rather than risking being trampled for a seat. I'd rather sit on the floor. And I did.
First stop. Marcus Albright, a senior in my math class. He always brings colored pencils to class.
Second stop. Zoë Monroe, a freshman scared to death of upperclassmen. She recently dyed her hair an enticing shade of rosy pink.
Third stop. Andrew and Michael Peters, one a junior and one a sophomore. They read in the back of the bus, and I heard Andrew's working on a novel.
Fourth stop. Me.
No matter how quiet I was, I do listen. I listen to the things that other people are too busy speaking to notice.
As I stepped off the bus into my winding driveway, I noticed a foreign motorcycle parked in front of our porch. My heart began leaping, doing flips and twirls inside my chest. Where's the medicine when you need it?
I slowly and quietly opened the door to our house and saw a scruffy looking man slumped into a chair in our cramped living room.
And the all too familiar feeling of anxiety set in as my brown eyes fixed upon a set of particularly dark green ones.
It's not possible. He's dead. My lips finally managed to form words. "D-Dad?"
My heart dropped as everything I thought was true was suddenly in an all-out free fall.