Teachers Pet

40: Actions Speak Louder

        The ride to school was quiet. I sat in the back feeling like a child. My grip on the seat belt never relaxed. Dean kept clearing his throat as if he wanted to talk, but decided not to. My mother just looked out her window with a distant look that made my chest hurt. Or maybe she was just thinking about something completely normal. It was frustrating not knowing. I just wanted her to let me in. Last night had been the first time I'd seen a crack in the wall she'd been putting up. I needed to know if she was hurting or if she was moved passed all of this like she seems to be. I needed to know I wasn't alone.

       "Front parking," Dean mumbled happily. My mother snapped out of her thoughts as she looked around the almost empty parking lot. Dean parked right in front of the sidewalk leading up to the main doors. My heart sank to my stomach as I prepared myself. All night I thought of different scenarios of what to expect. It was hard to know though. If Jill lost friends just by association with me, then I can only assume those that I consider a friend or acquaintance won't talk to me either. This felt like a really bad first day of school. Everyone would be a stranger that hated me. Would no one be on my side? There had to be someone that believes me.

        "Ready?" I rolled my eyes behind my moms' back as we got out of Deans' car. I closed my door a little harshly. She looked over her shoulder at me confused. I gave her a look that she frowned at. "Do you wanna go home?" The thought made my heart quicken with hope. I wanted to say yes, but I knew I had to do this. If I didn't do it today, it would just be harder next time. There was no getting out of this.

       "No. I'm ready." I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. My mother nodded as she grabbed my hand and pulled me next to her. The feeling of being a child came back. I can't remember the last time we walked hand in hand like this. She was squeezing my hand with every step we took. Was she doing this for me or her? Either way, it was helping. Dean rushed ahead and held the doors open for us. My mother straightened her back, puffed out her chest a bit and walked with a sort of authority almost.

       She looked more than intimidating. In my opinion at least. Her hair was curled and bounced with every step she took. Her makeup covered any faint scars and exhaustion. She looked beautiful, so much it made me rethink my own choice of attire. I wore my only sweater with a tank top and distressed jeans. My hair was lifeless as it hung down my back. I know it wasn't showing, but my hand kept going to the area above my left ear.

       "Look," I heard a whisper. I didn't look to where it had come from. My heart was beating fast and hard while my stomach turned over and over. Students that came to school early stared harder than I thought they would. Everyone was watching us as we walked straight to the main office. Keeping my head down and my eyes to the floor felt safe. That feeling lasted only for a moment before I felt a hand gently touch my back. My entire body tensed up before I realized it was Dean trying to comfort me. I looked up to see him glaring at everyone who wouldn't look away. Some averted their eyes, but a few shook their head or laughed. What was so funny? What about any of this was humorous? Did I miss the punchline?

       I looked ahead to see one of the older ladies in the main office make eye contact with me. She said something to the other ladies before making her way to the door and holding it open for us. My mother nodded to her as we hurried inside. Mrs. Peters was her name. She was a heavyset woman who was in her fifties. I use to always joke around with her. She had been my favorite person in the office. She would let me hang out here when I should be in class. When too much time went by, she'd write me a tardy slip excusing my tardiness. I would just have to keep my grades up so she knew she wasn't to blame for the slack. I know she has five grandchildren that have names all starting with the letter L. I know she lives only two minutes away but is always ten minutes late. I know she is lactose intolerant but loves cheesecake. I know that her oldest daughter had cancer three years ago but beat it. I know all of her dogs' names and what breeds they are. I know when her birthday is and that she lies to the other ladies about when it is. These had been all the reasons why it had felt like someone kicked me in the stomach when I'd seen the look on her face.