Toxic (Better Than You) (3 page)

             
I’m hoping today is one of the days where they leave me alone, but as soon as I get on the bus, Danny, one of the worst of them all, calls my name. I keep my eyes on the seat I’m planning on sitting in and keep walking. Grownups always tell us to ignore the bullies but ignoring Danny seems to be the wrong thing to do because he sticks his foot out and trips me. I fall fast and don’t even have time to stick my hands out in front of me. My face slams against the dirty bus floor and I taste blood right away.

             
No one tries to help me up. No one asks if I’m okay or even looks my way. I am reminded of just how alone I am and always will be. But it’s okay, because I’m used to it, so I stand up and dust off the dirt on my knees.

             
“Why are you always on your knees?” a boy yells over the rumbling of the bus. I don’t know what he means, but I know it’s not something good so I don’t answer. I just walk to my seat and sink into the stinky, cracked leather. My mouth still tastes like blood and my chin is throbbing but I ignore it. I’ve learned to ignore pain.

             
The halls are full of kids and I get pushed more than once. It takes all of my concentration not to lose my balance; if I fall, someone will take the time to kick me while I’m down. Some days I think about not coming to school at all, just staying in my room where it’s safe and quiet and I can draw all day. But then I think about spending more time than I already do with Mom and I know that school is the better option.

             
I finally make it to the classroom and I burst in, which is my first mistake because the teacher notices me right away instead of barely seeing me like usual. She takes one long look at my bloody face and then marches over to me, all serious and worried.

             
“Logan Reynolds, what in the world happened to your face?”

             
I start to cry, which is my second mistake, because she carefully takes my hand and walks me all the way to the principal’s office herself. Once I’m in a seat in front of his desk, she closes the door and sits in the seat next to me. And then they both look at me and wait, like they’re expecting me to give them the answers to the universe.

             
“Can you tell us what happened?” Principal Hendricks asks, in his principal voice. It’s deep and serious and it kind of makes me wonder if he thinks it works at all.

             
“Honey,” says Mrs. Julian, touching my arm, “Did your Mom do this to you?”

             
I see Mr. Hendricks look at Mrs. Julian and shake his head, just barely, but enough that I catch it. It’s almost like she wasn’t supposed to ask that question. But it doesn’t matter, cause it wasn’t Mom, not this time. Of course, I don’t tell them that. I just sit there and stare at them and I think they start to wonder if I even understand them at all.

             
Mr. Hendricks’ voice booms into the silence, making me jump. “I have an idea. Why don’t you come here to my office once a week and talk to our counselor, Mrs. Puentes. She would love to get to know you.”

             
When I don’t say anything at all again, Mrs. Julian grabs my hand and leads me back to the classroom. Everyone looks at us when we walk in but instead of looking at the floor like I really want to, I stare back and walk to my desk. They leave me alone for the rest of the day but I know it’s only a matter of time before they’re back at it.

             
The house is empty when I get home and for the first time all day I let myself relax. I drop my backpack by the door, kick off my shoes and am about to walk into the kitchen when I see a red flashing light coming from our phone station. Nobody ever calls the house phone, and nobody ever leaves a message, so I’m really curious and I know I shouldn’t but I press the button to listen to it. And good thing I did.

             
It’s the principal and he’s asking to meet with Mom. Before the message is even over, I press the delete button and stare at it for a long time before my heart finally stops beating so fast and I can breathe normally. Then I pick up my backpack and my shoes and walk to my room where I lock the door. I sit on the dirty beige carpet and reach under the bed for my drawing stuff, and I stay there until its dark and the crickets start singing.

             
Underneath my covers, where I keep my eyes closed tight and wait for the darkness to brighten, I hold my breath and wait for the doorknob to jiggle. It doesn’t, so I pull the covers down and open my eyes. I keep them open for a long time, but the house stays quiet and eventually I close my eyes, and I fall asleep without dreaming. 

July 25
th
, 2000

             
It seems like every day gets hotter and hotter. Mom refuses to turn the air on so I push open the window in my room and wait for the fresh air to hit me in the face. Except it doesn’t, and if it’s even possible, the air outside is hotter than the air inside. I’m about to close the window again when I hear kid’s voices just down the street, which is strange because the only kids that live on this street are the opposite way.

             
Before I can change my mind, I climb out of the window and onto the dead grass. It crunches underneath my bare feet and makes me question whether I should put shoes on or not. The ground will be hot, but I’m used to it. I pull the sleeves down on my shirt and hope no one asks why I’m wearing sleeves in this heat. There’s no way I can tell them why.

             
The voices get louder so I start to walk faster. I round the corner and stop suddenly, because there’s three kids right in front of me, at one of the nicer houses in the neighborhood. The grass is greener than ours and the paint doesn’t look all muted and peeling. The driveway is crack-free and their sprinklers actually work. The kids, two little boys and an older girl, are running through them and screaming and laughing and I have to force my feet to stay where they are because the water looks so amazing.

             
But of course they see me, because I’m standing there like a weirdo in the middle of the street, watching them, and the girl says something to her brothers before running over to me. Water drips off of her cute pink bathing suit and I’m automatically jealous. I’ve never owned a bathing suit, even though the beach is so close I can smell it.

             
“Hi, I’m Melissa,” she says with a smile.

             
She has pretty blonde hair and light skin with freckles and big brown eyes. I start to get embarrassed because I probably look dirty and dark compared to her, with my dark brown hair and weird brown eyes and tan skin. The long sleeve shirt and jean shorts I’m wearing are suddenly way too much clothing and of course I start to fidget because I’m nervous. But she keeps smiling at me like she doesn’t notice any of this stuff at all.

             
“Do you live near here?”

             
Finally I find my voice because this question is easy. “Just down the street,” I tell her.

             
“Cool! Maybe we can be friends? We just moved here and I don’t know anyone at all.”

             
I don’t know what to say because I’ve never really had a friend before. But I want one, more than anything, so I tell her the only thing I know has been told to me. “People say I’m toxic.”

             
“Um, well, I think that’s a bad thing but let’s ask my mom and see what she says. And we can get some lemonade too.”

             
She starts to walk away before I can say no and leaves me no choice but to follow her.

             
“I’m going inside!” she yells to her brothers who pay her no attention at all. They’re twins, I realize, and look just like her. I wonder what it’s like to have siblings and then I’m glad I don’t because I wouldn’t want Mom to be a mom to anyone else.

             
“Mom!” Melissa yells into the nearly empty house. There are boxes stacked in almost every corner but the kitchen has plates and cups and pots and pans on every counter. The whole place is bright and cool, so different from my house that it makes me wonder how they can be so close to each other but nothing alike.

             
“She’s probably unpacking her room,” she says to me, then turns to yell again. “Mom! I found a friend!”

             
This gets her mom’s attention because we hear footsteps and then an older version of Melissa walks into the room. “Oh, honey, that’s great! Did you offer her some lemonade?”

             
“Yup. She didn’t want to come inside because she said that people say she’s toxic, but I wasn’t sure if that was bad or good, so I figured I’d ask you.”

             
Melissa’s mom looks at me with a small smile, and then she does something no one has ever done. She hugs me. When she’s done hugging me, she keeps her hands on my arms and leans down to look into my eyes. “You can call me Mrs. Linda, and you come over here any time you want to.”

             
“Thank you,” I whisper, trying not to cry. If this is what having friends feels like then I never want to be alone ever again.

             
Melissa pours me a glass of lemonade and I take a small sip. I’ve never tasted anything like it. It’s sour and sweet and cold and amazing and I drink the whole glass in one big gulp. She refills my glass without asking and then I follow her to the other side of the house.

             
“This is my room,” she says, holding her arms out like those women on the game shows Mom likes to watch.

             
I giggle and say, “It’s pretty,” because it is. The walls are a light pink and the few pieces of furniture she has are white and girly. If I ever had a choice, my room would look exactly like it.

             
“You never did tell me your name, you know,” she says after sitting on her bed. I stand in the doorway because I don’t know where else to go.

             
“It’s Logan, but everyone calls me Lo.”

             
She nods her head. “Lo. I like it. Well, you can come in you know.”

             
I feel like stepping into her room will change things, and I’m pretty sure I’m ready for a change, so I step over the crack between the tile and the carpet and just as I thought, everything’s different.

             
We sit and talk for hours. Mrs. Linda brings us more drinks and snacks and Melissa offers to let me borrow a bathing suit when I tell her I don’t have one of my own. When I tell her no thanks, she doesn’t push it and instead we walk to her backyard and play on the swing set. By the time the sun starts to set, I know everything about Melissa; that they moved here from Tampa and she’s going into fifth grade like me and her favorite color is yellow and they had a dog named Betsy but had to leave her behind because the new house doesn’t like dogs.

             
I don’t tell her much about myself, because there isn’t much to tell, but she’s okay with that. And for the first time, I think I might have someone to talk to after all.

March 18
th
, 2002

             
“I think you need more,” Melissa says, for the hundredth time.

             
“Melis, if I put any more on it’ll be way more obvious than it is now. It already looks freakish as it is.”

             
She sighs loudly and I roll my eyes. Always the drama queen. “Fine. If you just told someone then this problem would disappear.”

             
“And then I would disappear too, into a foster home that could be ten times worse than this,” I say, gesturing towards my house just down the street.

             
She meets my eyes in the mirror. “I know, it’s just, I don’t know how much longer I can keep this a secret, Lo. I hate seeing you hurt.”

             
“You have to promise not to say anything, Melis. This is my problem. I can handle it. I can handle Mom,” I remind her, as I wipe a tear from under her eye. Now it’s her turn to roll her eyes.

             
“You’d think I’m the one being abused,” she mumbles.

             
And I laugh, because leave it to Melissa to be so blunt. It’s why I love her. It’s how we’ve made it through these past two years with the bullies and the secrets she basically ripped out of me. She doesn’t really take no for an answer. 

             
“Come on, we’re gunna be late.” I throw my arm around her shoulders and march us out of the bathroom. Her mom’s already in the car, waiting to take us to school and I silently thank anyone who’s listening that I don’t have to ride the bus anymore.

             
“Melissa, honey, we’re going to be having a family dinner tonight, so Lo’s going to have to go home for dinner,” Mrs. Linda says, meeting our eyes in her rearview mirror.

             
“But mom-”