Infinite (Strange and Beautiful, Book 1) (25 page)

Once
inside, I slid down the nearest wall into a heap on the floor. Tegan sank down
beside me and wrapped her arms around me. At some point, I heard the bell ring,
but I couldn’t make myself move. The thought that someone might come in and
find me in a sobbing heap on the floor only crossed my mind for a minute before
it was gone. I realized I didn’t care. I was too hurt and scared and thoroughly
mortified by what had just happened to worry about someone seeing me cry.

Tegan
eventually managed to compose herself, and she grabbed my hands and looked at
them with a frown. I followed her gaze, and it was only then that I realized
they were all scratched up and bleeding. Even Tegan’s gentle touch hurt. I
hadn’t even realized it, but I must have been pounding on the inside of the
locker door.

Tegan
stood up and walked over to the sinks. She turned on the water and gathered
some paper towels and wetted them before coming back to me and proceeding to
clean my hands.

“I
think I have some band-aids in my purse,” she commented as she dug through the
bag slung across her shoulder. For once, I was glad Tegan was obsessed with
purses and that she had everything under the sun stuffed inside. She took out a
couple of band-aids and wrapped them around my fingers.

“You’ll
need to put some antibacterial ointment on them when you get home,” she
commented. “Unless you want to go to the nurse.”

“No,”
I said quickly.

Tegan
looked like she wanted to argue, but then she just sighed. “At least it’s
mostly just your right hand,” she said after a beat. I didn’t understand what
she meant until she clarified, “At least you’ll still be able to write and go
bowling; although I doubt either will be that comfortable.”

I
frowned at my hands, but I nodded vaguely to acknowledge that I understood what
she meant. For once in my life was I thankful to be the left-handed black sheep
of the family.

It
still felt so surreal. The shock hadn’t worn off yet. I couldn’t believe that it
had really happened. I’d been shoved into a locker. I thought of all those
times on television shows or in movies when they’d showed it as something
comical. I couldn’t find the humor now. It was completely horrific. My heart
was still pounding.

It
took me a moment to register Tegan’s words when she said, “You have to tell
someone about this, Silly.”

I
looked away when she spoke. Rationally, I knew she was right, but I didn’t know
who I was supposed to tell. Anyone who ever crossed Mark Moses only wound up
having something even worse happen to him or her. I didn’t doubt he would kill
me if I ratted him out, but Tegan stood her ground. She didn’t take her eyes
off of me until I finally nodded and said, “Okay.”

My
throat hurt, and my body ached. I cried until no more tears would come, but my
body still shook with fear. I knew class started some time ago, but I couldn’t
make myself move, so Tegan and I sat there silently until third block was
almost over. For the first time ever, I ditched class, and I didn’t care. I
didn’t want to go to Miss Barkley’s class either, but Tegan insisted.

Though
I was there in body, I didn’t hear a word Miss Barkley said. By some grace, she
didn’t call on me for once. After class, I went to my locker, grabbed my books
and all but ran out to Skylar’s car.

When
Skylar finally came out of her car, she threw her bag in the back seat and
started to turn on the car, but then she paused to really look at me. “What’s
wrong with you?”

I
didn’t answer. I just turned my head away.

She
tried again. “Silly?”

“Nothing,”
I muttered. I thought for one terrible minute she was going to press the issue,
but she dropped it.

At
home, I went upstairs to my room, crawled into bed and cried while wondering
how it was possible for things to change so quickly for the worse in just a
couple of hours.

So
much for not being claustrophobic, I mused sarcastically as I slipped into
unconsciousness.

Saturday,
November 17
^th
, 2006

Sickness
creeps through my veins

It
seeps into the wounds I’ve tried to hide,

Infesting
my heart and mind,

Pushing
aside the ones on which I once relied

The
pain that lie dormant has been rectified.

It cuts
to the bone,

Leaving
me split, broken, and bleeding out,

And I
have no choice but to wander about,

Looking
to the sky as I scream and shout,

Begging,
pleading for these demons to get out.

John
Mayer’s Room For Squares was one of my all-time favorite albums. I liked his
others well enough, but I’d listened to that one the most. Even though I could
take him or leave him as an individual, as a musician I really appreciated his
songs. I most often found myself relating to “My Stupid Mouth” for obvious
reasons, but after my latest run in with Mark Moses, I found myself gravitating
more toward the song “Not Myself.”

After
waking up from my nap on Friday evening because of a nightmare induced panic
attack, where I was stuck in a small black space and unable to move or breathe,
I laid in bed and listened to “Not Myself” on repeat until Luke banged on my
door.

“Turn
that pansy shit off, would you?” he demanded. “I think I can feel my balls
shriveling up a little more every time that stupid song starts over.”

I
forced myself out of bed to turn off the music. Because I’d slept through
dinner, I was hungry, but I didn’t feel like socializing. My hands and head
hurt, but, more than either of those, my heart ached. I didn’t understand why
Mark Moses had singled me out or how he could do such a horrible thing.

Sure,
I’d dared to defy him, which I’d promised myself never to do again, but what
had I really said that was so worthy of the “lesson” he decided to teach me? I
didn’t think there was anything I could have said that justified being shoved
into a locker. As hurt as I was, I was also angry. I’d never been so livid
before in my life. I hated that Mark Moses, in one afternoon, had managed take
my normally positive disposition and make me feel so absolutely hopeless. His
strength and anger were so intimidating, and the result of standing up to him
had been so humiliating and frightening; as much as I wanted to, I just
couldn’t find the bright side I needed to make myself feel less helpless.

My
knotted stomach continued to voice its hunger. Realizing that depriving myself
of food wouldn’t help matters, I tiptoed down to the kitchen and made myself a
sandwich. I only managed to swallow half of it. My throat still felt raw from
all the sobbing, so I tossed the sandwich in the garbage and downed a bottle of
water before I went back to my room where I fell back into a restless sleep.

The
hot sun, shining across my face and lighting up my bedroom, woke me the next
morning. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and rolled over to my side. I groaned and pushed my messy
hair away from my face. My night had been filled with visions of cold, tight,
dark spaces and Mark Moses’ face. I didn’t know how many times I woke up during
the night with those thoughts still in my head.

The
only relief I felt after my restless night of sleep and the sun shining in my
face came from the fact that it was Saturday morning. That meant no school,
which also meant no Mark Moses. No stolen lunch money. No lockers. I was safe.
For today, anyway.

 Saturday
also meant I had plans. I would be out with Tegan, and I’d get to see Jackson.
Everything would be okay. It would be a fun filled Mark-Moses-free evening. At
least that was what I told myself to get myself moving. The trauma from Friday
had curbed my previous exhilaration. I just figured it would take a little
while for me to work back to that level of excitement.

 My
day started off okay. It took me a few minutes to shake off the twitchiness
from a night full of bad dreams. After a glance at the clock, I realized it was
later than I thought. My stomach was mutinous with hunger. Last night’s meager
dinner apparently hadn’t been satisfactory, so after a trip to the bathroom to
relieve my bladder, brush my teeth and attempt to tame the beast that was my
hair, I went downstairs and popped a pepperoni pizza Hot Pocket into the
microwave.

Mom
was in the utility room doing laundry, and she stuck her head around the corner
to ask, “How are you feeling today?”

Last
night I’d told her I was just tired and didn’t feel like eating when she came
up to my room to tell me dinner was ready. She hadn’t acted like she believed
me. Most of the puffiness around my eyes from crying had faded by then, but she
stuck around for a few minutes to feel my forehead for a temperature and asked
me if anything was wrong.

I
knew I should have told her then about what happened at school, but I didn’t
feel like talking about it. I’d only managed to stop crying earlier because I
fell asleep, and I didn’t want to soak my pillows with more tears. More than
that, though, I just felt so stupid. Mark Moses was wrong, and he had no right,
but my shame and fear seemed to overpower my indignation.

Instead
of confiding in Mom, I’d claimed I was tired. It was when she finally left me
that I started listening to “Not Myself” on repeat.

By
the light of morning, I felt guilty about lying to Mom—even if it was, technically,
just a lie of omission, but I still didn’t feel like talking about it, so I
said, “I’m feeling better. The sleep helped.”

Mom
eyed me as I poured myself a glass of water and checked the time left on the
microwave. She looked like she wanted to press the issue, so I changed the
subject.

“If
it’s okay with you, I made plans to go bowling with a group of friends
tonight,” I said. “And Tegan invited me to stay over after.”

“That
sounds all right with me,” Mom agreed. I was somewhat surprised she didn’t ask
her typical question: are you sure it’s okay with the Tylers if you say over?
She also didn’t tell me to “check with your father first,” either. I was
thankful on both accounts, though, because I just wanted to take my Hot Pocket
and escape to my room. I figured I’d lie around until it was time to get ready
to go out.

 Up
in my room, I ate my lunch while I checked my e-mail. As usual, it was all
junk. I checked MySpace, but there wasn’t anything new or interesting in the
bulletins. As I was closing out the Firefox window and about to sign off of
AIM, which I had set to automatically connect when my computer started up after
I started talking to Jackson, I got an instant message. I smiled when I saw the
screen name.

jackyourhart:
Hello, Silly.

thesillywallflower:
Hey, Jackson. What’s up?

jackyourhart:
Not much. Just woke up.

thesillywallflower:
Late night?

jackyourhart:
Yeah, you could say that. I went
out with some friends. What about you?

thesillywallflower:
What about me?

jackyourhart:
What are you up to?

thesillywallflower:
I just ate lunch and was
checking my e-mail. Nothing too exciting.

jackyourhart:
It sounds like you’ve done more
than my lazy ass has.

thesillywallflower:
Not really, but if that’s what
you want to think, that’s okay.

jackyourhart:
So, are you excited about
bowling tonight?

thesillywallflower:
Yeah, I guess so. I haven’t been
bowling for a long time. I’ll probably get my ass kicked.

jackyourhart:
Not if you’re on my team. I’m a
master bowler. I’ve got mad skills. Everyone should bow down before me.

thesillywallflower:
Yeah, right. I hope you’ll
excuse me if I don’t do any bowing to your greatness tonight.

jackyourhart:
We’ll just see what you have to
say after I lead us to victory.

thesillywallflower:
Yeah, yeah.

jackyourhart:
So I guess I better find some
lunch. My stomach is growling something fierce, but I’ll see you tonight. At 8,
right?

thesillywallflower:
Yep.

jackyourhart:
Do you need a ride or anything?

thesillywallflower:
I think I’m riding with Tegan
and her sister.

jackyourhart:
Okay, sweet. I’ll talk to you
later.

thesillywallflower:
Yep, see ya.

After
Jackson signed out, I put up an away message and stood up. Talking to Jackson
brightened my mood immensely even though it wasn’t a long conversation that
amounted to much. I was anxious to see him tonight. He always managed to make
me laugh. He just had a very approachable and calming personality. If I didn’t
have a gigantic crush on him, I probably would have felt completely at ease
around him instead of feeling slightly spastic at the start of our face-to-face
conversations.

I
considered leaving him a message on MySpace saying I needed a ride after all
just so I could ride with him and get to hang out with him alone for a few
minutes, but I couldn’t think of a good enough reason to do that. Tegan and
Tierney lived closer than he did, as far as I knew, so I decided I’d just have
to wait to see him.

I
returned my dirty dishes to the kitchen. For one lazy moment, I considered just
putting them in the sink after I saw that that the dishwasher needed to be
unloaded, but it wasn’t like I had anything better to do with my time.  Once
the clean dishes were put away and my dirty ones were in the washer, ready to
be washed with the next full load of dishes, I went back up to my room.

I’d
finished
The Client
on Thursday, so I decided to reread
Speak
by
Laurie Halse Anderson. It had been a while since I’d read it, and I was feeling
a bit like a wronged outcast, much like Melinda Sordino, so I thought it seemed
like a good choice.