Careful What You Wish For

Chapter 7- Page

Grace didn't come to my house the next day.

When I saw her Monday at school, I saw why.

Her face was covered in cuts and burn marks and bruises and so were her arms and legs. She had a black eye and huge bags under her eyes.

She was clearly stoned and drunk too.

I ran over to her.

"Oh my God." I said quietly and lightly ran my thumb over the cut on her cheek.

She flinched.

"Sorry." I said.

After one of the classes I had with her, the teacher pulled her over to his desk.

"What happened?" He asked quietly, as there were still a few students in the classroom.

"Wh- what do you mean?"

"The cuts and bruises and burn marks."

"Uh- I- it was- uh- uhm-" she studdered.

"Excuse me, can everyone hurry up please and leave the class?" He said to the few students still there.

"Page can stay." Grace muttered.

"Except Page." He continued.

I slung my backpack onto my shoulder and approached the teacher's desk as everyone else left the class.

"What happened?" He asked again, louder this time.

I grabbed Grace's hand and she flinched because  there were cuts on her palm and wrist.

"C- can you tell him?" Grace asked quietly.

"Of course."

I looked at our teacher.

"They aren't just self inflicted, are they?" He asked.

"No. They're from her dad." I said quietly.

His eyes widened.

"And how long has he been doing this for?"

"Mostly it's just on my birthday every year."

"Every year?"

"Yeah."

"And you haven't told anyone besides Page?"

"Well, her dad figured it out, I think." Grace said.

"He hasn't said anything about it, though." I added.

"Does your mom hurt you too?" Our teacher asked.

"No. My dad hurts her too. Not as bad as me, but much more often."

"Have either of them...-"

"No. Never." Grace interrupted, knowing where that was going.

"You know I'm going to have to report this, right?" He asked.

"No! Please don't!"

"I have to. And maybe I can arrange for you to stay with Page."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Um, and you should probably also know that they both drink and do drugs."

"Illegal drugs?"

"Yeah. My mom mostly sticks to cocaine and my dad does some cocaine or heroin sometimes."

"Okay."

"You're 16, right?" He asked.

"17. My birthday was yesterday."

"Oh. Happy birthday."

"No. Not happy birthday. Crappy birthday."

"Oh. Right. Sorry."

"I'll report this later. You two come see me after school."

"Okay." I said.

We both turned to go to lunch.

"Oh, and Grace?" he called.

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry."