Shattered Pieces

Chapter Four

Home or Hell?
Can you tell?

It had been a week since Harris walked back into my life. Also the week after an uproar of gossip regarding my 'relationship ' with Harris. Apparently an attention seeking, gossipers had eavesdropped on our little bicker. It had swept through our school like wildfire.
Rumours circulated around, ridiculous and cliché. The worst rumour being that I had had an affair with him and he was ticked to know about Thomas' role in my life. But other rumours which were floating around were much too close to the truth than I'd prefer. Someone was convinced that we were childhood friend who had a scaldingly bad falling out when he went to the United States. A wallflower, Melissa Parks, had even managed to start a rumour in which we were described as having had a bully-bullied relationship and that I'd confronted him that day in a moment of weakness brought on by his appearance. Among other more laughable things.
This situation was certainly more appealing on movie screens or in a book. Real life was more stressful. I'd caught myself multiple times doubling over and hyperventilating behind closed doors where no one could see me.
My relationship with Thomas was slowly deteriorating. At first, he reassured me that he believed me, determined to stay in our relationship. But then, he caved into the gossip and pressure from his so-called friends. He started accusing me of sleeping around, of being unfaithful. We weren't on speaking terms after his jealousy ridden outburst. You would like to think someone you've known for two years to be more understanding.
"Hey, you okay?" Danielle piped up from my right. "You're not eating."
I stared at the tray in front of me. The food certainly looked appetising: two diagonally cut toast with butter, a breakfast sausage, a hearty helping of baked beans and a cup of Earl Grey tea. My stomach stayed silent, empty but not wanting a fill.
"I'm not hungry, I already ate earlier," I lied through my teeth. I pushed the tray to Teresa and Ajax, who were opposite me.
Ajax waited no time to devour a slice of toast and inhale the tea. Teresa hit him as he stole the piece on sausage she picked up.
  I picked up a book from my left. My handwriting was scrawled within the pages. Picking up my pen, I wrote more into the mix, words flowing in a steady stream.
  "Alessa, where's your little American dream boy?"
  Sharmina Monroe dropped her tray on the table, sending my pen scattering. I slammed the book closed, gripping the black felt cover tightly.
  "What do you want?" Teresa was by my side in a flash.
Sharmina stumbled back as Teresa's hand flew out in a rough shove. She collided with another girl flanking her. Her thicker frame propelled both to the floor.
She wasn't very tall, well below average. Her head barely reached my nose and certainly no match for Teresa's five-foot-seven frame. She was the terror of all those unfortunate to become the subject of scandalous gossips. I suppose bullies do come in all shapes and sizes.
"How dare you!" She grew red in the face, pushing herself off the ground.
  "Bugger off, tart. You're not wanted here," Teresa took an intimidating step closer to Sharmina. She took a step back but didn't leave. "You heard me. Leave."
  Feigning indifference, Sharmina rolled her eyes and leave. "Whatever."
  "You shouldn't have done that Teresa. Suppose someone ratted this to Principal York. You could get in trouble for assaulting another student," I chastise.
  She rolled her eyes in disregard. "I was provoked. It was in self defence."

  The day went on without much hiccup. Lessons were attended and teachers were listened to. And soon enough, it was time to leave for home.
  I sat at the back off the bus with my earphone plugged in and blasting music.
  I was dropped off at the stop a few blocks away from my house.
  "Ya sure ya don want me ta drop ya off  closer to ya house, Allie," Molly asked, her New York accent thick. She was the usual bus driver. At 60 years old, she was quite the woman. Always with her signature sass and sarcasm, she was loud and fun to be around. Her dark skin was wrinkling in some places and her silver streaked hair was in a full out Afro.
  "No thank, Miss Molly," I pushed against the small wave of panic bubbling up my throat like bile.
  I stepped on the grumbling vehicle, careful to only grip the rails by my fingertips lightly.
  "Alrighty there, then. See ya t'morrow, Allie." The door closed as she pulled the lever. Waving, she pulled off the curb.
  "Bye."
  A few houses down from by house, my phone rang. The jingle far too loud and sharp. The name 'Aaron McCarthy' floated on the screen. My finger hovered on the IGNORE button, but I decided against it.
"Hello," I chirped in a false happy tone.
"Where are you, you little fanny?" His hoarse voice grated my ears through the earpiece. "You better be walking you arse off the bus right now or there'll be hell to pay for you."
I winced at the threat in his voice. "I just got off, I'll be through the gates in a few. My apologies, sir, I got a little held up at school." A lie, I was dallying and taking the smallest steps possible.
"No excuses," he growled. "Hurry up, we have guests." The line beeped as he hung up.
The walk to my house was hurried. He was never in a good mood whenever visitors were over. I could only pray it was not my grandparents. They always left his mood in shambles every time they visited. And a bad mood never benefited me much.
As I neared the gates, I see an unfamiliar car parked outside. A sleek red Ford Mustang. A pricy piece of metal and leather on wheels.
I passed the car and garden to the front door at the edge of the Italian-tiled foyer. I took of my flats and poised my hand over the knob.
Muffled voices echoed from inside. Harsh yells emanated followed by a softer, soothing tone.
Bracing myself, I pushed open the mahogany door and stepped in.
"Dad, I'm home."