Pulled (9 page)

All along the left side of my face there is a long, dark line which runs from the corner of my eye all the way down to the end of my jaw. The outline of the back of a metal chair is now imprinted onto my face.
Perfect. Just perfect.

Thoroughly pissed, I yank the ponytail out of my hair hoping to cover as much of my gruesome face as possible with a curtain of black hair and storm off to class.

I’m the first one to arrive, again, but today I decide, this is a good thing. I pad off into the bathroom to put my leggings on and when I come out, I choose a seat in the back, keeping my face to the wall, just as Etash had done. The realization causes me to squirm in my seat.

Needing to keep myself busy, I dig in my bag for something to read. Without thinking, I pull out my copy of
Romeo & Juliet
, but then cringe, and shove it back down to the bottom. I scrounge around for something else, but all I have left in my bag is my Drama Lit book, which I spent hours reading this morning, a notebook and my planner.
Figures.

Just then the door opens, and my heart speeds up. Relief floods me when I see it’s only Kari and another tall girl.
What was her name? Liz? Liv?
No-name goes into the bathroom, as Kari makes her way over to me.

“
Hey, how are you feeling?” Kari asks, sitting down beside me.

“
Better.”

“
How’s your head?”

I sigh. There’s really no point in hiding it from her so I swing my hair to the side, showcasing my make-shift tattoo.

“
Holy shit!”

“
It looks worse than it feels,” I mutter, as Kari leans in closer to get a better look.

“
Um, Naya?” Kari's tone is measured, her face filled with sudden concern.

“
What? Is it bleeding?” I reach my hand up to feel my face, but she bats it away, continuing to stare at me with a look of what I could only describe as fear.

“
Naya, don't you see it?”

“
See how freakish I look? Ya, I caught that,” I hiss, pulling my hair back over my face.

“
No. Not that. Your bruise. It looks
exactly
like Etash’s scar.” Even though I know that’s impossible, as soon as she says it, I realize she’s right. It runs down the left side of my face, from eye to jaw, just as his does. The odds of my face hitting the chair at that exact angle is inconceivable, but the facts are literally written all over my face. There is no way this could be just a coincidence, could it?

Afraid I may have another panic attack, I decide to bolt. Without looking back, I grab my bag and run out of class.

Etash

Even before I walk into Acting Class, I know she's not in there; I can't feel her. Flinging the door open, I scan the room--I'm right, she's not here. A friend of hers is there though. She was the one with Naya last night. She's leaning her head toward another girl and starts whispering the moment they see me. She knows something. As I march over to them, I'm assaulted by Naya's scent. So, she
was
here.

“
Where is she?” I ask her. She looks up at me like I've got three heads.

“
Who?” she asks, batting her eyelashes.

I'm coming off too aggressive, so I try and calm myself down.

“
Naya,” I say, “Do you know where she is?”

“
I'm not exactly sure why
you
care where she is.” She folds her arms across her chest, defensively.

Clenching my fists in frustration, I go for honesty.

“
Look, I'm just worried about her. After last night, and all. Can you just tell me if she's okay?” My voice surprises me by shaking a bit at the end. Something in her expression shifts.

“
She's okay,” she confides and my shoulders slump in relief.

“
If she's okay, then why did she leave?”

She looks at me strange. Probably wondering how I could have possibly known Naya had been here. Then she looks at the other girl, and back at me, her resolve deflated.

“
I think she might have left because of something I said.” Her eyebrows pinch together in frustration. “She ran out of class when I pointed out how the bruise on her face looks exactly like your scar.”

That's impossible. She's obviously just associating any mark on a face to be as freakish as my scar. Even still, I don't like that her comment upset Naya so much that she had to leave. I want to go and find her, but I don't. It's not my job to comfort her.

Naya

Back in my room I sit on my bed prepared to wait out the hour and twenty minutes until my Drama Lit class starts by filling my brain with recklessly loud music. But my head is pounding so much that I can’t tolerate it now.

Instead, I down some more aspirin and check my e-mail, needing to do something, anything, to distract me from thinking.

There are three messages in my in-box: one from Campus Security reminding girls to walk in pairs; safety first. Delete. There’s one from Seth, presumably checking up on me. I skip by this one for now. The last e-mail is a bit of a shock. It’s from Tina and Harold, my foster ‘adults’, for lack of a better term. I refuse to call them my parents, because they aren’t. Unable to conceive of any reason for them to want to e-mail me, I click on the message.

Naya,

We got a bill today from your college. Why? Please take care of this.

Regards, Tina and Harold.

Regards? How about ‘love’ guys? I delete the e-mail without replying. The bill is obviously an error in processing my trust fund, but I’d be damned if I was going to try and fix it right now. I frown at myself, realize I'm just being hateful. I want so much to be allowed to blame them for the pathetic job they did caring for me, but deep down, I know it’s not their fault. They were cheated, after all. What they had wanted from a foster child was someone to care for their poodle while they went away on business trips, clean their house and run their errands. What they got was a fifteen-year-old head case. I’d want a refund too.

Flicking off my computer, I sit for a few minutes and stew. I’m angry. Angry at Harold and Tina for not being my parents, angry at Seth for always being so controlling, and angry at myself for apparently
needing
to be controlled. But mostly I'm furious with God for leaving me so utterly alone and afraid.

Unable to sit in my room any longer wallowing in self-pity, I grab my bag and head out early for Drama Lit.

I take the longest route possible, making unnecessary detours, weaving around dorms just to pass the time. When I reach the building, there’s only about ten more minutes to kill. I breathe a sigh of relief. At least Drama Lit will give my mind something more productive to focus on.

After buying a bottle of Coke from the vending machine, I make my way to class, and for two hours, lose myself in Greek tragedy, taking page after page of therapeutic notes.

I’m almost giddy to head to my first costuming course, knowing I can count on another fifty minutes of distraction. When the professor passes out the syllabus, however, I am less jovial. Who would have thought there could be this much homework for costumes?

Although I grumble, I am invigorated by the challenge. That's what college is all about. This is my opportunity to define who I want to be; to prove to the world, and to myself, that
I am
strong enough to survive whatever life spits at me.

My phone is ringing off the hook when I walk in my room. I grab it and toss my bag on the bed.

“
Where the hell have you been?” It’s Seth.

“
Whoa, calm down, I just got back from class.”

“
Why didn’t you answer your cell?”

I pull out my cell from my pocket and flip it open only to find that I must have turned it off.

“
My battery must have died,” I lie. “I didn’t check it before I left. Sorry.”

“
You’re sorry? Do you know how worried I’ve been? Why didn’t you call me when you woke up like I asked you.”

You didn’t
ask
, you ordered, I want to say but I bite my tongue. “I
did
call you. Josh said you were still sleeping,” I say in the calmest voice that I can muster, careful to leave out the bit about his hangover.

He mumbles profanities about Josh's message-taking skills before his tone softens a bit.

“
Are you okay?” he asks.

“
I’m fine.”

“
I’m coming over,” he’s gone before I can object.

I have about ten minutes before he’ll be at my door, so I plug my cell into its charger to cover my tracks, and I check my dorm phone for messages. The beeps on the line tell me I have a message. I punch in my code to reveal I have nine new messages! Eight are from Seth, frantic over nothing. I erase each message as soon as I hear his voice come on, already knowing the gist. I’m about to erase the last one until I hear Professor Campbell’s voice.

“
Just wanted to let you know I’ve set the first rehearsal for tomorrow night at 6:00. It’s just going to be you, me and Etash. See you soon.”

Thinking about Etash brings an instant blush to my face. When Seth pounds on my door, I almost jump out of my skin.
I rush to the door, scrambling with the lock, and open it.

“
Hey there.” Seth’s leaning against the door frame, holding a wildflower in his hand that’s moist with rain, giving me his most apologetic smile. It’s a smile I’ve seen a thousand times before--it’s his signal that he’s come to beg forgiveness for being a jerk. Already, I know I’ll forgive him. I always do.

I return his smile, letting him off the hook, and he tucks the flower behind my left ear, brushing my hair away while he does. I flinch, waiting for his reaction.

“
Holy shit, Naya!”

I push away from him, hurt, and yank the flower out of my hair. “Yeah, I know. Thanks a lot.”

He grabs my arm, spinning me back around. His fingers move across my face, tracing the outline of the shadow. I resist the urge to flinch at the throb his touch causes.

“
Your beautiful face,” he whispers in my ear. “I don't like it.” He kisses the top of my head. “Guess we’ll order in,” he says.

“
Good idea,” I say, squirming out of his arms and pulling my hair back over my face.

Seth orders a pizza and we curl up on my bed. He turns on the TV.

I don’t know if it’s the sound of the rain on the window or the humdrum drone of the sports show he’s watching that causes my eyes to droop, but all too soon they close, and I slip deep inside my worst nightmare; the night that changed everything.

The torment comes in pieces, fragmented and jagged, much like my memory of that night. It starts in the rain—it always starts in that damn cold and unforgiving rain. It hammers on the top of the car, effectively drowning out the hushed argument my parents are having in the front seat about the sudden wash-out conditions the rain has caused.

My stomach is twisted into knots, somehow sensing the worst is about to happen. The sheets of rain coming down have completely obscured the road ahead. Their argument continues. A bolt of lightning flashes, turning the night sky bright white, and a feeling of absolute panic fills me. I have to stop this car. I have to stop it,
now,
even if I have to turn the wheel myself.

With shaking fingers, I brush against the release button of my seatbelt, but I'm not permitted to push it, because that's when it happens. The blinding headlights, the angry crunch of metal, the agonized voices of my parents, and the blood. Dark and metallic smelling. Bits of my parents splattered across the smashed windshield.