Old Wounds (7 page)

When Sophie slid a sheet of paper between us, I glanced at her. She was looking right at me and she was unbelievably perfect. Too pretty. Why couldn’t my lab partner be ugly with buck teeth and a lazy eye? Then she wouldn’t have been so intimidating. The music fled my mind and in fact, so did everything else, when she smiled at me.

“So now you’re forced to talk to me,” she said, her tone low and conspiratorial. “Man, this guy’s all kinds of random, isn’t he? How do you go from soil samples to arranging flowers?”

My mouth suddenly went dry. She was expecting me to speak. She had expectations already and I was going to fail, and then there would be no hope of salvaging her opinion of me. My heart raced and my breathing sped up as I tried to get my brain to work beyond the bare minimum of necessary function. Finally I just busied myself with the soil, sliding the containers under the microscope and identifying them easily myself. I was happy that the samples were contained. I didn’t have to touch the dirt; just the glass slides. I didn’t even give her the chance to help and by the time I looked back up, she was basically just staring at me. I felt sick. I wrung my hands together as I desperately told my mouth and mind to work together and produce a sound that at least mimicked a word.

My breath caught when she touched my hands and they immediately stilled. “I was just kidding, Elliott. You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to.”

Elliott. She said my name. She
knew
my name. She hadn’t made it a joke, imitating my stammer. Then she withdrew her hand and I immediately moved both of mine under the table to my lap, where they balled into fists.

She spoke again, her voice light and casual as if she was talking to a normal person. “So I imagine that you’re all sorts of smart because quiet types are always smart,” she said, clipping the ends of the stems one by one, “but don’t think you’re going to carry me through this class. I’m all kinds of knowledgeable and I have a wicked eye for aesthetics.” Her expression was as sarcastic as her voice. “I was taking this in Tampa, but I’m not going to carry you either.” She pushed the utility knife and foam closer to me. “It’s not all arranging flowers and looking at little jars of soil is it? Because in Tampa, the syllabus said we were going to get to play in dirt and actually grow things.”

I ignored the way my skin nearly crawled just thinking about “playing in dirt,” and instead focused on all the information she’d just shared. She was from Tampa and she thought I was smart. That was a good thing, I hoped. She smiled at me again and then I couldn’t help it; I gave her a half-smile back. I glanced at the flowers and began carving the foam to fit in the wide orange vase. When I looked back up, Sophie was staring at me, this time with raised eyebrows. Right. She’d asked me a question. My mouth opened to speak before I even realized I wanted to say something, but all that came out was “Ah-ah-ah,” and I sighed in defeat.

“Duh-duh-duh.” I looked up to see Chris Anderson, turned around in his seat, giving me a cross-eyed look as he verbally humiliated me. Something launched itself from my table, hitting Chris in the chest. He narrowed his eyes at Sophie.

“Hey, that could have hit me in the eye!”

I realized that the item was a pencil, and that Sophie had thrown it at him. “You’re lucky it wasn’t the knife. Now turn around and stop making your poor partner do all the work. I know it’ll be difficult, but I have faith that even
you
can create something beautiful.” Chris huffed, and turned around, and Sophie spun back to me and said, “I told you I’d kick his ass.”

I just looked at her. If Robin and Stephen thought we had similar backgrounds, how in the world had she turned out so completely different?

We finished the work before the bell rang and sat there in silence. It was fine by me, because it was hardly fair for Sophie to have to fill the void alone. Since it was Friday and I didn’t have to see Ms. Rice, I went to the library to help return books and grade papers. Stephen had arranged it as a way to give me credit for being a student aide. I didn’t have to be around anyone other than the librarian, Ms. Peters and I rarely had to speak at all. For the rest of the school day I thought about everything Sophie had said to me.

I had to chuckle from time to time, thinking about what happened before the bell rang. She’d leaned in close and said, “Hey, if everything goes right,” I got nervous at that point, “Chris should have a big knot on his head or maybe a swollen nose in about an hour.” I wondered what she meant. Was she actually going to punch him? “I plan to ‘be clumsy,’” she explained, complete with air-quotes.

It hadn’t been the worst day ever, but I was ready to go home. However, as I sat in David’s car, I realized that today was therapy day with Robin, and I would find no peace there either.

I wondered if Sophie even knew what was in store for her.

My second day at Damascus High started off boringly enough. I avoided Chris and Connor like the plague, even as they followed me around like puppies that thought I had a Milkbone in my pants. The first part of my day was fine. Photography was a waste, seeing as everyone else was developing their film from last week’s assignment. Study hall and lunch were again filled with annoying people sitting with me even though I hadn’t asked them to.

I did have a conversation with a girl named Andrea Tuttle about what kids did for fun around here. She was as cool as someone like her could be. She was nice and that was…nice, but I bored of it all quickly.

Just as I thought I was about to go insane, I watched as Jason made a point to stand up from his group of friends and walk past my table, his hand tapping his pocket. It amazed me how easy it was just to leave the library. The librarian must not care
at all.

I waited for just a minute or two before I left and walked to the woods, where I found him waiting. “Thank the Flying Spaghetti Monster!” I said as I sat down next to him on the fallen tree.

“The what?” he asked with a soft laugh.

“Google it.” I could’ve gone into the whole thing with him, but I didn’t feel the need. The whole concept of “God” was a sore subject with me. My mother wasn’t religious or anything, but she loved to take advantage of people, so she appealed to them any way she could. My freshman year, she made me go to church with her. I didn’t really know why, but I thought she just wanted to feel important sometimes. New converts seemed to be exciting stuff at church.

I had to sit through youth group meetings too. They were horrible. People were always talking about “God’s goodness” and how he punished the wicked and rewarded the righteous. They went on and on about things like an apple and snakes, and for some reason, because two people wanted to know and understand their world, the rest of us got screwed.

Or something like that.

What did they call it? Original sin?

It was a bullshit concept and the whole idea of some being that loved me when I was good and hated me when I was bad was too close to the concept of shitty parenting. It didn’t make sense to me. God should love everyone, no matter who they were or what they did. I already had my mother who hated me for arbitrary reasons. Why did I need some invisible, all-powerful being hating me too? In a child’s world, parents
are
gods.

So this youth group leader would assign essays. Yeah, essays. One time I didn’t capitalize the “g” in god and he made a point to correct it in front of the rest of the flock. I told him to fuck off and that anyone who would get that upset about a letter being capitalized was just messed up. I proceeded to let everyone know
why
there was no “God,” and then I invoked the name of Satan just for shits and giggles.

Helen and I were asked to leave the congregation. I paid for it, but for the most part, it was worth the pain.

To this day, I wrote it with a lower case “g.” Hell, I even
thought
about it in lower case.

Any
deity had to be better than their “God.” The same “God” that gave me to Helen and let me suffer because some chick and her man ate an apple.

When I learned about the Flying Spaghetti Monster, the atheist response to divine creation, he became my deity of choice. The FSM didn’t say he loved everyone and then punish them just because he didn’t like what they did. He didn’t say he loved a person, only to abandon them to a life filled with hate.

I didn’t want to think about that anymore, and forced my mind away from it all. I watched excitedly as Jason plucked a pre-rolled joint from his pack of cigarettes and lit it. He didn’t take long passing it to me and I inhaled deeply, feeling my facial muscles relax just from the first hit.

We were quiet while we passed the joint back and forth, but when he crushed it against the tree, he turned and said, “How was your night with Tom?”

“Boring as hell.”

I turned quickly, lifting my leg over his lap to straddle him. His hands immediately moved to my waist, holding me to him as we kissed. He tasted like sour apple candy and chronic. It was only moments until his mouth was at my neck, lapping and sucking. I hated hickeys, but his hands were doing the most intriguing things to my body, so I let him continue on his bruise-producing quest.

He was pressing against me, his hands gripping my hips.

“We can do it later. We have class,” I reminded him as I straightened up and pulled away, grabbing my backpack and walking back to school.

I was only a few minutes late to class and came up with some lame excuse as I ducked past the teacher. Taking my seat next to Rusty Dalton, I let my mind wander until the teacher started passing out all the materials we’d need for our assignment. I was in a good mood, so I started to tease Rusty Dalton about how he’d have to talk to me now. Then he proceeded to do the entire soil exercise himself. I didn’t mean what I said in a bad or insulting way, but he looked like he was going to throw up or cry, or have some kind of a breakdown, so I let him know that he didn’t have talk to me unless he wanted to.

Being high, I was chatty, so I started talking to him about how good I was with flowers and making things pretty or whatever. At one point he opened his mouth like he was going to say something, but before he could really get anything out, Chris Anderson turned around and made fun of him, again. Chris was a prick, so I flung my sharpened pencil at him.

In P.E., I slammed another basketball in his face and then batted my eyelashes until he couldn’t stay pissed at me. I wondered how long it would take until I had to do more than flirt to cover up my violent tendencies toward him.

Again, Jason was waiting for me out front and I had expected him to make good on my promise of banging him after school, but we didn’t go to his house. He went to mine instead. “I thought…”

He shook his head dismissively. “I have a thing tonight, so maybe tomorrow.”

“A thing?” I asked.

“Yeah, it’s stupid, but tomorrow I could pick you up early for a little wake-n-bake and then we could go for a hike in the woods.” Jason licked his lips and leaned in close to me. “Ever do it in a forest?”

Swampy wetlands, yes. Sandy beaches, yes. Forest, no. I smiled wickedly at him. “Don’t come over too early. It’s Saturday after all. And don’t think that it’s a date or anything.” Jason sighed and I shrugged. “Just felt like I needed to remind you.”

“I won’t be over before Tom leaves.” At my silent question, he answered, “Your dad would flip if he knew I was banging his precious little girl. He hates me.”

“You’re his best friend’s son.”

“Who sells dope and corrupts the youth of Damascus.”

I shrugged. “Socrates did the same thing, except for the dope-selling, and now he’s studied by everyone.” Jason gave me a quizzical look, obviously not knowing or caring about Socrates. “What does Jerry think of your dope-selling ways?”

He sighed. “He doesn’t approve, but he doesn’t ask questions or make a big thing about it. He can’t work and I can’t make the kind of money we need by flipping burgers, so he realizes either I sell the shit or we don’t eat and he can’t go to the doctor or get his meds.” His eyes flicked to the clock on the dash. “I have to go. See you tomorrow.” As I found the door handle, he added, “Don’t bother wearing panties, unless you want them ripped off.”

I bit back a laugh and exited the car without saying another word.

I’d just gotten out a few ingredients for dinner when Tom came through the front door. “Hey, kid,” he said as he walked into the kitchen.

“It’s your off day, where have you been?” I looked down at the fast-food bag in his hands. “You brought food?”

“Yeah,” he said, his eyes nervously darting around the kitchen. “I forgot to tell you, but we have an appointment.” He held out the bag. “So here, I went out for food.”

“What appointment?” I asked, frowning. “I typically stay away from fast food.”

“I got you a salad, ‘cause I know you have to eat healthy and all that.” Again, he was nervous, and his voice told me that he was hiding something, but before I could ask, he said, “Come on, we have to go.”

Tom was quiet and nervous during the entire car ride and he carefully avoided answering any question about where we were going. I didn’t like it. I hated surprises and I hated being trapped in a car without the slightest idea of where I was going to end up. I hadn’t been caught doing anything bad so far, so I didn’t think he was taking me to jail or a group home, but then we stopped at a large house.

I turned to him, already feeling betrayed. “What’s this? Where are we?”

“Calm down there, Sophie, it’s all a part of the agreement.”

I breathed out angrily. “What agreement?”

“The agreement with the people in Tampa. In order for you to avoid any kind of severe discipline, I had to take you.” I couldn’t help but hear an emphasis on the word “had.” “You have to go to therapy. This is Dr. Dalton’s place. He and Robin Wallace have set up—”

“EXCUSE ME?” I yelled. “I don’t
need
therapy!”

Tom sighed and shook his head. “You stole a
car
, Sophia. You didn’t think you could just get away with that did you?”

The whole thing pissed me off, ruining my relatively good mood. The word “therapy” snapped the very thin thread within me. I’d been polite and nice so far, but it ended here.

“Of course not,
Tom
.” I spat out his name, unimpressed by his parental authority. “But I thought moving to Podunk, Maryland with
you
was punishment enough.” He sighed again and turned away from me as if I was just going to let him be all cool and calm with this shit. “Don’t you think it’s torture enough to have to live in your shitty little house and pretend like you’re actually my father?”

I watched his jaw clench. His voice was tight when he spoke. “Listen to me, Sophie. I wish like hell I’d been there for you more when you were growing up, but there wasn’t a choice.”

What the hell ever. He was deluded if he thought he didn’t have a choice. Everyone
always
had a choice. He just couldn’t admit that his choice didn’t include me.

“But I am your father, and I will not have you disrespecting me like this.”

I cruelly laughed in his face. “Tom, you’re not my father. You’re not a parent. You’re just the witless sperm donor Helen duped seventeen years ago.”