I had to remind myself the next morning that it was too cold, and I couldn't have worn the shirt anyway. Instead, I wore dark jeans and a South Pole brand vest over a long-sleeved purple shirt.
In Literature, we started to read the books we chose. Abigail was as attentive and tentative as yesterday, and I wasn't jealous today. I looked at it from a different perspective. I wondered why she took notes like that. Was she worried about her grade? What did her dad think about her notes? Most of all, why did she really have that black eye?
Then came Grammar.
"These quizzes will not go on your report cards, so don't worry if you did badly. These just test what we need to work on. I noticed that you need to work on your colons and semicolons." Mr. Paynes said as he passed back our quizzes. I got a 92%. Pretty good, I thought. Katie pouted when she saw she had a 99%.
I looked over Abigail's shoulder and saw that she had a 100%. She had her hand raised anxiously. I tapped her on the shoulder and she turned around to face me. I raised my hand in a high-five and she flinched. I had never seen anyone react that way. After a moment, Abigail high-fived me back. It was hard to tell how she was feeling behind the shades. You couldn't see her eyes at all.
After the high-five, Abigail shot her hand straight into the air again. She chewed on her lip nervously, waiting for Mr. Paynes to call on her.
"I saw that you did an excellent job, Miss Peterson. What is your question?" Mr. Paynes said.
"Can I take the test again?" Abigail said.
Take it again? Why? You got a hundred! I thought. I peeked over her shoulder and saw that she hadn't dotted an i. There was a tiny red dot on her paper where the black dot should've been.
"No. No retakes. This is just a quiz, everyone! But, Abigail, you don't need to take the test again, anyway," Mr. Paynes argued.
"Okay," Abigail responded nervously.
I confronted her about it at lunch.
"Why do you want to take the test again?" I asked her when she joined me at our table.
"My dad's gonna kill me!" she said, "I should've rechecked my i's and t's!"
"What are you talking about? I's and t's? You're dad's not going to kill you." I said. I didn't mention that he wasn't very kind to me the other day on the phone.
She looked down and shook her head. "You don't even know,"
We sat in silence while we ate. I thought about what she had said. "My dad's gonna kill me." Hmm... I thought. I was missing something. She had a huge black eye, her dad was unkind, she had bruises that were fading all over her arms and legs, and she had a broken finger for crying out loud!
Whoa! Back it up! I said to myself, A broken finger?! It was the first time that I noticed a brace on the index finger of her left hand. Something was wrong here. I could shake off a bruise, a black eye, maybe even a fracture; but a broken bone? This was going too far. Why would anyone want to hurt Abigail?
"How'd you break your finger?" I asked, working to sound casual. "It looks pretty messed up."
She looked up at me and down at her finger. She looked surprised, like this was the first time she had seen the brace. Her brow furrowed and she stared at the brace, like she was thinking of something. She lifted her head and her expression went blank. "I slammed it in a door."
How original, I thought. I didn't know anyone who had broken their finger slamming it in a door. I wondered why she was lying to me. I knew that my response would make me sound like a smart-alec, but I was going to say it anyway. "I've slammed my finger in a door, too. I didn't break my finger, though..." I trailed off, trying to make it sound more casual.
"I slammed it in a car door," she replied after a moment.
"Oh..."
I looked down at what was on my plate. I had gotten a taco and some rice. I ate a few bites of my taco, thinking.
What is she hiding? Who is doing this? Is she telling the truth? No, the excuses sound fake, but I barely know her, how can I judge? Why does she never talk about her sister or her father? Does she think she can't trust me? Why? The thoughts buzzed around in my head like angry bumblebees. I had to do something or I was going to go crazy.
"Cut the crap," I said bluntly. I didn't mean for the words to come out as harshly as they sounded. "What's really up? Why are you getting hurt so much? Are you getting in fights? With who? You can always tell an adult! You don't need to keep getting hurt!" I whispered the last few words. I didn't like the idea of Abigail in a fight. In my mind I imagined Abigail covered in blood after being mugged in an alley.
She looked down guiltily. I wondered why. "I'm...my...parents got a divorce...," she said. She took a deep breath and continued, "My dad is just having a hard time."
"What-" I began, but before I got the words out, the bell rang and she darted off to class. I sat there with my mouth open, my unanswered question on the tip of my tongue.
