One Perfect Year at Stevenson High

Chapter 30

[Author's Note: This chapter contains the following content/trigger warning: foster system, childhood physical abuse. If you would like to skip this content, you can jump down to the *** and start reading from there. Reader discretion is advised.]

There was a feeling Catra always got in the moments just before she found herself in trouble. No matter how old she got, or how much she pretended not to care, the feeling always came back, and it was always the same. It felt like falling — like that tingling weightlessness of missing a step on the stairs just before you start to plummet. The feeling would chase away everything else until all that was left was ice in her veins and the primal, instinctual urge to run.

When she was younger, that's exactly what she did. As a small, frightened child dropped into the foster system, Catra was in trouble all the time, whether she'd done anything to deserve it or not. She quickly became familiar with the tingling feeling of the earth giving out beneath her; it preceded every blistering reprimand, each onslaught of slaps and blows. It was, in a sad way, the only bit of certainty she could rely on. The fear she felt in those moments was so visceral, so all-consuming, that she'd cry until she gave herself a headache or made herself throw up. She would spend hours cowering beneath her bed, tucked in the back of closets, or, in the case of one of the many homes she was bounced between, perched far back on top of the kitchen cabinetry where no one would think to look for her.

As she got older and colder, Catra stopped running. For a while, she froze, and took her abuse in a stoic, detached way that made her feel like she was watching a scene in a movie instead of living it first hand.

Then came the day she finally decided to fight back.

Being a very tiny eight years old didn't stop her from breaking her foster dad's nose one evening when he reached for her in a red-faced rage. She drove the heel of her palm straight into the delicate cartilage between his eyes and watched him howl as he bled. In that moment, she felt stronger than she ever had.

But still: the falling feeling had come first.

She ran away that night—not for the first time in her young life—and was picked up by the police as she wandered the darkened suburban streets. That was when she was finally moved into Madame Razz's group home.

That was when she met Adora, and her whole life changed.

Fighting back had been worth it.

That same falling feeling came on fast when Catra saw Coach Weaver lurking just off stage. Her blood turned to ice as she told Adora to leave, that she would handle it. The audience was still on their feet, and though Adora tried to argue, Catra insisted. She watched, her entire body tingling, as Adora's silhouette ran to the back of the room and out the hall doors. Only once she was sure that Adora was gone did Catra make her way off stage.

Coach Weaver wasted no time, seizing her by the elbow and directing her away from the rest of the squad the moment she was out of the audience's view. Catra took a deep breath, wiped all emotion from her face, and readied herself for what she knew was coming.

She can't hurt you, she mentally reminded her frantically racing heart. She's a teacher — she's not allowed to hurt you.

Not physically, anyway.

But apparently the day wasn't finished surprising Catra. If she thought Adora turning up backstage was an unexpected twist—and, given that Catra had done the same thing to her, it shouldn't have been—it didn't compare to what Coach Weaver had in store for her.

***

Catra stayed in the quiet hallway on the other side of the performance hall long after Coach Weaver stalked away. She still felt like she was falling, her body braced in anticipation of something bad that was yet to come. It was hard to say how long she'd been standing there when she felt someone watching her.