A Maple Among Elms [2017]

Chapter 7: Guilt

I go to the nurse's office before class and get my shoulder bruise cleaned up. I tell the nurse I bumped into a wall. Gabriela repairs her glasses with tape.

When I get home from school, I close the door quietly and run into the upstairs bathroom, taking out Mom's makeup bag. I cover up the bruise on my shoulder with foundation and change into a shirt that covers the bruise. I come downstairs again and slam the front door so Mom will think I just got home.

"How was school, honey?" Mom says as usual.

"It was good," I lie as usual.

"Kids nice?"

"Pretty much." Another lie.

"What about Gabriela? You haven't talked about her much since Saturday."

"Nothing happened. I've just been busy." I've lied to my mom three times in less than two minutes, not to mention covering up my bruise with her makeup.

Gabriela sends me a screenshot of a text sent to her by an unfamiliar number. Everyone hates you. You're nothing. You have no friends.

E: That's not true

G: are you sure?

E: of course!

G: :'(

E: how did she get ur # tho?

G: idk

E: CRAP

E: i dropped it after I put ur # into my phone. it's my fault im sorry

G: why does she hates me so much

E: it doesn't matter. what she says is wrong.

G: u think so?

E: duh!

G: :/

I close the phone and sigh, wishing I could have a day of peace. 

As the days go by, I spend less time with my parents and more time under my tree, watching the world go by from a distance. I've heard the saying "sticks and stones may break my bones but names can never hurt me." That's when I realize how wrong the saying is. I try to ignore Jayla, but her words hurt more than ever. The only time I feel truly free from Jayla is underneath my tree, feeling sunlight filtering through the branches.

The days slip towards winter and my tree loses its leaves. Jayla keeps tormenting us, taking advantage of my fear of telling anyone. Gabriela seems as optimistic and supportive as ever, but whenever she is alone with me or thinks no one is watching, she is lonely and miserable. I wish I could help her, but I'm not sure how.

One day Jayla tags me in a Facebook post. I know I shouldn't look, but I do. It's my yearbook photo, edited to have a mustache and angry eyebrows. The caption reads Look at this ugly cow. Does she really deserve to live? There are almost fifty likes and many comments with laughing emojis and mean replies. 

I start to cry silently. I know I should tell someone, Gabriela or my parents, but I don't want them to worry about me. I had to work this out on my own.

I walk into my house one day in mid-November to find my parents talking seriously at the kitchen table. I can tell something is wrong. "What's going on?" I say.

Papa looks at me with sympathy. "Mija, this is going to be hard for you to hear."

"What is it?" Panic makes my voice rise.

"Your tree," Mom says gently. "It's... well, it's sick."

"Sick?" I say. "What do you mean?"

"The elm trees, they are, how do you say, ganging up on the maple," says Papa. "They are taking its nutrients."

"We had a professional check it," Mom says, "and they've said it might have to be taken down."

"No!" I said forcefully. "You can't take it down!" The tree is an important part of my life. I imagine it as an external organ, a separate body just as connected to me as one of my own arms. I can't bear to let it die.

"It's not our decision, honey," Mom says gently. "It might die on its own."

"You can't let it die!" I say urgently. "It's a part of me. Please, promise you'll do whatever you can?"

"We will try, sweetheart," Papa says, "but it's nature's choice."

The health of my tree gives me yet another thing to worry about. I barely speak to my parents or teachers. The only person I speak to is Gabriela, who is in the same boat. Both of us are tripped in the halls, our hair pulled, our homework destroyed. My grades drop. I spend the afternoons after school locked in my room, crying silently.