Shhh... Gianna's Side (10 page)

The holidays came and went and several months had passed.
My parents got a divorce two years ago and I blamed myself for it. The trial had doomed us all, and I think that’s why my mom was set on keeping him behind bars. It helped her believe that it was all worth something. After the divorce, my mom stayed in North Carolina while my dad moved to Pittsburgh and bought a house on a lake. I didn’t know what had become of their marriage, nor did I really care; I had my own demons to deal with. My mom bought me a Lexus IS 250 for Christmas, while my dad bought me a plane ticket to go see him. I took the scheduled flight and we spent Christmas together. I wanted to see my dad but I also wanted to see my baby sister Abby.

“How are you doing, baby?” he inquired, as we sat around the table with the
normal festivities I cooked for us.

“I’m
all right,” I replied, spreading my mashed potatoes around my plate.

“You look tired.”

I looked up at him. “Is that your nice way of saying I look like shit?”

His eyes narrowed. “Your sister’s at the table, don’t talk like that,” he ordered. “And of course not. Gianna, I worry about you every single day. I can’t tell you how happy I am that you came to spend Christmas with us.”

I nodded. “You have a nice place, Dad. You look happy. I mean, I don’t know what happened between you and mom, I can only assume.” He sadly smiled and I downed my wine.

“You’ve been drinking a lot since you got here.”

“It’s the holidays, I’m celebrating,” I said, raising my glass. “Here’s to a better year for all of us and trying to put the past behind us.”

He raised his glass
. “I’ll toast to that.”

We ate dinner in comfortable silence and he helped me clear the table when we finished. I dried my hands on a dishtowel and folded it on the sink.

“Gianna,” he said from behind me.

I turned
, recognizing that tone immediately. “Yeah, Dad?”

“The drinking…how serious is it? Because from what I gather
, it’s pretty freaking serious.”

“What are you talking about?”

He held up the white trash bag. “There’s four wine bottles in here and you’ve been here for two days.”

I shrugged.

“I didn’t realize you were like this, Gianna. This stops now. Do you understand me?” he chastised making me feel like a teenager all over again. That was why I stayed away from my parents, especially my dad, he didn’t understand me and he never had.

“What
are you doing out there in Vegas? Why don’t you come and stay here with me for a few months? I could use the help.”

I wanted to say yes
, but I wanted to drink more, in the end that won out.

“I’m okay. It’s the holidays
; they make me think too much. That’s all.”

He tightened his jaw like he did when he was thinking about what I was saying.

“I’m going be checking up on you. This ends now.”

I nodded and looked toward the bedrooms
, wanting to finish this conversation at all costs. As if reading my mind Abby walked in on her chubby little legs making me laugh. “GG, will you play wif me?” she asked, holding up her baby dolls.

“Of course I’ll play with you,” I responded, grabbing her hand and making our way to her bedroom.

I felt his eyes and judgment on me the entire time.

I had cleaned up my act some
, and by that, I mean I was still doing the same shit, only I became more careful about it. My outside appearance reflected nothing of what I was on the inside. I looked picture perfect and my parents couldn’t have been more proud; they finally thought I was getting my life in order. I needed the financial stability that they provided, so I played my part.

I looke
d like the girl I used to be, carefree. The reflection that portrayed itself back at me was one that I was extremely familiar with, and as much as I wanted to pretend she was back, she wasn’t. There was no point in lying to myself like I did to the world. There was no turning back for me and I wouldn’t even know where to start, even if I wanted to.

Which I didn’t…

I couldn’t…

The phone calls and letters for my statement regarding Mr. Nichols’ early
release started to dwindle down and it wasn’t front-page news anymore. It made things a little easier for me. I started answering my phone and actually checking my mail. The press that still followed his case didn’t report much. He wasn’t doing interviews or taking advantage of his fifteen minutes of fame, which surprised me. I thought the complete opposite would have happened. I wasn’t following the case by any means, but the articles that did make it into my view didn’t describe any detail on what he was doing with his life.

I knew he would never be able to teach again
, but I was still curious about how strict his parole would be. If he had to wear an ankle bracelet and not be closer than several hundred yards from a school or children. I often wondered how fucked up his life was, and if it was better or worse than being in prison.

After Christmas
, I started to write in a journal. The headaches and insomnia returned and I decided to write about my feelings. My therapist had suggested it years ago. I’d been writing for the last several months; not regularly, but enough to where there was a crease in the binding and the pages looked worn. Sometimes my writing was deep, and then sometimes I would scribble. It all depended on what mood I was in, what I was willing to share on blank pages, and of course, how intoxicated I was. It was raining outside and I sat on the seat below my bay window. I watched the dark clouds appear as the rain drizzled down on the concrete pavement. I closed my eyes and let my thoughts take over.

“Damn it! It’s pouring!” Mack yelled.

“I’m going to shower before heading out, Mack. I feel gross.”

“Oh ok, well I’m going to head out. I’m meeting my mom.” I nodded
at her.

I showered
and changed into my white sports bra and black cheer shorts. It was still pouring when I jogged out to my car. I threw my bags in the trunk and started to walk to the driver’s seat when I realized Mr. Nichols’ truck was still in the parking lot. I smiled and ran up to the building, making my way to his classroom. The door was closed and when I knocked, he gestured for me to come in without looking up from the papers I assumed he was grading. I came in and closed the door behind me.

His face was
a mixture of shock and surprise when he looked up at me, and his mouth opened slightly as his eyes roamed my entire body; he wasn’t subtle about it.

“
Umm…do you have a towel?” I announced, taking him out of his daze of looking me over. I pulled the hair out of my face. “I mean, I’m all wet.”

“I see that
,” he stated, trying to look professional, like he wasn’t just ogling my disheveled appearance.

He swallowed hard before getting up to walk
to the closet on the other side of the classroom. He grabbed a towel and threw it a few feet away from me. I caught it in midair, with a sly smile on my face. He didn’t want to get close to me and I softly giggled.

I
placed all my hair on the side of my face and rung it out, and then lightly grazed my body. He sat in his desk chair, trying to keep busy from watching me. He nervously moved around random things on his desk, scattering them everywhere. My wet shoes squeaked on the tile floor as I walked to his desk, and his head rose with caution displayed all over his face. I stopped on the opposite side of his desk and threw the soaked towel in his lap and he laughed.

“Thanks,
” I said.

He nodded
. “Can I help you?”

I
chuckled. “Yes.”

“
Miss Edwards, I don’t have time to play games. What are you doing here?” he asserted, using his teacher tone, the same tone he used in the classroom and when we were in front of students.

I shrugged and played with the tips of his pencils that were together in a holder.
“I came to talk to you about tutoring next week,” I explained, peeking up at him through my wet lashes.

“With that attire?
” He gestured with his finger. “You’re violating dress code I could write you up.”

I stopped moving the pencils around
. “Right. I’m sorry. I completely forgot. I came right from practice, I wasn’t even thinking. I saw your truck still in the parking lot and took a chance that I could let you know about next week. I don’t want to get in trouble.” He nodded toward the chair behind me.

“I don’t need to sit down.”

“What about next week?” he prompted.

“Oh! I don’t think I’m going to be able to make tutoring.”

“Why is that?”

“Well…Jake’s in town and…”

“Jake?”

“My boyfriend.”

He nodded. “I see.”

“Yeah…he’s in town and I kinda need to spend time with him.”

“So Jake is more important than your studies. I can see where your priorities lie,” he reprimanded. There was something in his voice that was new and I didn’t recognize it. Jealousy maybe?

“Are you mad?”

“Now why would I be mad, Miss Edwards? I don’t have to worry about my grade.” He snickered.

“G
,” I reminded without thinking.

Our eyes loc
ked and I bit my lower lip. We stared at each other for a few minutes, not saying anything. I wanted to know what he was thinking. There were times when I knew with just a look, and then times like this when I had no idea where his head was. He referred to me as “Miss Edwards” when he was trying to show authority over me or make me feel like his student. I hated when he referred to me as that, it was like he was sticking a knife in my heart, and it made me feel like I had imagined all the nice things that happened between us. Those were the times I looked forward to, when all our walls were down.

“There must be something I can
do; something we could work out together,” I suggested, breaking the silence.

He raised an eyeb
row and stopped playing with the red pen in his lap. “Are you asking for special privileges?” he taunted.

His demeanor changed and I recognized it immediately.
I got down on my knees in front of his lap and he didn’t move an inch, nor did he push me away. If there was any apprehension on his part, then he hid it well. I put my hands on his thighs and watched for any refusal in his eyes. There was none.

“I’m sure there is something I could
do.”

The knock on
my door took me away from my thoughts.

“I’m coming
!” I yelled out.

I opened the door
to find the UPS man standing there with a package. I signed for it, smiled, and brought it inside with me. I placed it on the table and realized that there was no return label on. I ripped it open and pulled out the contents. There was a 5x7 picture of me and Mack cheering at one of the last games before we got kicked off the team. I hadn’t realized I was crying until a tear landed on the picture.

We looked happy.

We landed in New York to do a campus tour at Julliard. The school we both anxiously awaited our acceptance letter for. We planned to go to this school since we started cheerleading and there were no other options for either of us. It was Julliard or nothing.

“What the fuck did you pack? I can’t grab it
,” Mack yelled.

“Oh my God! I can’t grab it either
,” I replied, watching my bag move around the baggage claim.

“Fuck…we suck
,” she said, laughing.

“We totally do. Okay, this time when it comes back around
, you grab the back and I’ll grab the front,” I proposed and she nodded, trying not to laugh.

“There! It’s right there!” she shouted.

We both ran for it simultaneously before it got away from us again.

“Hell yeah it worked.” I celebrated and we high fived.

“Now what?”