16. Rumors
sixteen
Rumors
J asmine is waiting for me when I get to my locker on Monday. “How’s your wrist?” She’s eyeing the cast I got after my mom forced me to get an x-ray.
“It hurts, it looks terrible, and it’s nearly impossible to write with this cast on.” I answer. “Other than that, it’s great.”
“Sorry,” Jasmine wrinkles up her nose. ‘You want to see my bruise?” She lifts up the edge of her skirt and shows me a big, target shaped bruise on her hip.
“Yikes,” I say.
“At least my cheer skirt will cover it, well mostly. You have a couple on your neck and your arm too.”
“Great.” I was so worried about the cast that I didn’t realize how bad my bruises looked. Now I wish I were wearing a turtleneck, or at least a long-sleeved shirt.
"They're not that bad." I know she's lying by the way she flips her hair and changes the subject. "So, what's the deal with you and Brad?"
I shake my head. "No deal."
Jasmine raises her eyebrows. "Are you sure? The way you were cuddled up by the fire–"
"Absolutely no deal." I shut my locker hard–too hard, and with the wrong hand. I bite back a curse of pain. "A lapse in judgment brought on by pain, pain meds, and a lack of seating."
"I didn't think so. It's just..." Jasmine looks around like she doesn't want anyone to overhear, "I saw Lexie by the counseling office this morning. She looked like she'd been crying. I thought maybe you and Brad got back together and he'd dumped her."
I suck in a breath. "Not my problem. I'm more than through with both of them." Even though I'm trying to come off as nonchalant, my hand shakes and my binder slips out of my grasp. It crashes to the floor and scatters my papers all over the hall.
I kneel down to collect everything with my good hand.
Jasmine leans over to help me. "I don't know what Brad's game is, but he's up to something.
" She takes my binder and puts the papers back inside for me.
"He's not the kind of guy that likes to lose, at anything.
" She puts her hand under my elbow to help me stand. "Just be careful, okay?"
I try to laugh off her concern. "I doubt whatever happened between Brad and Lexie has anything to do with me. He probably just moved on to the next girl in line."
"You're probably right.” Jasmine checks herself in the mirror she keeps in her locker. “See you in gym?”
I wave my cast. "Not today. I have a note."
"Lucky you." She closes her locker and heads in the opposite direction.
It’s my imagination. People aren’t actually turning their heads and whispering about me while I walk to class.
I’m being paranoid, but I'm not imagining Brad, leaning against the wall outside my class like he’s waiting for me.
He catches my eye and winks. I pretend not to see him.
Lexie isn’t around. Maybe they are through.
That might explain the way he was acting at my house.
My day only gets worse. In English we have a test with a bunch of essay questions.
I write as fast as I can with my casted hand, but when the bell rings I’m still not finished.
My teacher lets me stay to finish it, since I can't go to PE anyway.
I forgot that Brad had the same class the period after me until he plunks down into the seat next to mine.
"Hey," he starts. I don't look up. He slides his chair closer. "How's your wrist?" I lean over my test, hoping he’ll get the hint and leave me alone.
"Jess, are you okay?" His voice is soft, almost concerned.
I write faster, and then erase everything when I realize my answer doesn't make any sense.
He puts his hand on my shoulder and I jump. I shrug him off and give him a death glare. "What?"
"We need to talk."
I open my mouth to remind him that we've already had this non-conversation and I don't want to talk to him, but my teacher steps between us. "You'll have to talk later. Jess is finishing the same test you need to get started on."
Brad scoots his chair back to his desk. "Lunch?" he whispers when she turns her back.
I make the mistake of looking up from my test. Brad looks like a puppy begging for the last bite of my sandwich.
What if the whole thing was a big misunderstanding?
What if all of this is Lexie's fault? What if she set us both up?
I touch my locket, safely concealed in my pocket.
No. Brad is still Brad.. I shake my head fiercely.
I finish my test without looking up again, even though I feel Brad's eyes on me. My arm is throbbing as I walk out of class. I have a headache now too.
“Jessica Roberts?” The vice principal calls as I wander the hall, trying to decide if I should go home. I stammer an excuse, expecting him to give me a hard time for being in the hall without a pass. Instead he says, "Your counselor has been trying to find you. She wants to see you in her office."
I’ve only been in my counselor's office a couple of times and that was to change classes. I barely know her. She welcomes me with a sympathetic smile. “Jessica, it’s good to see you.” She says it like we’re old friends. “Please have a seat.”
She doesn’t give me any clue about why I’m here. All I can think is that someone in my family got into an accident and she's trying to figure out how to break the news gently.
“How have you been?” She doesn’t act like it’s urgent, but the sympathetic look hasn’t faded. “I heard you had some bad luck with your arm.”
“My wrist actually, paintball injury.” I shrug. I wish she would get to the point.
She raises her eyebrows, “I’ve never heard of anyone breaking their arm playing paintball before.”
“It’s kind of a long story.” I hope she isn’t going to make me tell her.
She fusses with some papers on her desk and then looks at me over the top of her glasses. “How are things going at school?”
“Fine,” I answer.
“And with your parents?”
“Good.”
“What about outside of school? What about your relationships ?”
“Relationships?” I screw up my face in confusion. “You mean like with my friends?”
"Not exactly."
It takes me a second to figure out what she’s getting at. "You mean with guys?"
“Yes,” she almost smiles for real, like this is what she was searching for.
My hands get cold. Could someone have told her about the thing with Brad? But that was months ago, and no one at that party would know or care enough to tell what happened. Not unless it served some purpose. Lexie, out for revenge? Was that why she was in the counselor's office this morning?
My counselor keeps watching me, like she’s waiting for more.
“I don’t know what you're asking me,” I stammer.
She leans forward and touches my cast. “Maybe you could tell me about your weekend.”
“My weekend? You mean this past weekend?” I guess this isn’t about Brad.
She nods.
“I already told you. I played paintball. I had an accident and broke my wrist.”
Her face drips with sympathy, “And who did you play paintball with?”
“My friends, my brothers, and some guys from base.” What is she digging for?
She puts her hand on my arm. “Guys from base can be pretty rough.”
“I guess.”
She smiles. “But I can see where someone your age would be attracted to them.”
My face goes red. I think she takes it as a sign that she’s on the right track. “Sometimes a girl feels like they need to hold onto a boyfriend, even if that relationship isn’t good for her.”
My cheeks burn.
“If someone is hurting you, Jessica, I want to help.”
“What?” Everything comes into focus. I remember the fat lip I came to school with, maybe even the bruises from getting my wisdom teeth out. I realize how it all must look to her, especially with my broken wrist.
She sighs, “Let me be frank. I received an anonymous report that you might be in an abusive relationship. Specifically with an older guy, someone from base.”
I stare at her, dumbfounded.
She’s still talking. “Part of my job is to keep you safe, and right now there are physical signs I can’t ignore, the broken arm, the bruises.” She leans closer. “You don’t have to be embarrassed or afraid. I just want to help. Whatever it is, it isn’t your fault.”
I jerk my arm off the desk. Pain shoots through my wrist. I can’t hide the disgust in my voice. “I broke my wrist when I almost fell out of a tree while we were playing paintball. Call my mom and ask her, or bring in my real friends. They’ll tell you what happened.”
She starts to say something, but I stand up. “I’m sorry to waste your time. Maybe you should get the facts before you listen to anonymous reports.”
She sits there with that dumb, sympathetic look on her face.
“Can I please go now?” Without waiting for her answer, I go to the door.
“I’m obligated to call your parents about this,” she calls after me.
“Go ahead.” I shut her office door behind me, resisting the urge to slam it.
Class just let out and I’m walking against the current. Someone laughs. I catch my name in bits of conversation. I’m going crazy. It feels like everyone is talking about me.
Taryn catches me by the arm when I walk by without seeing her. “Hey, are you okay?” She pulls me over to the wall and out of the stream of students.
“I don’t want to talk about it.” I lean back and try to get control of myself. I reach into my pocket and touch smooth silver. “I have to get out of here.”
“Where are you going?”
“Home. I don’t feel good.”
“Do you have your car?” The look on her face is the same one the counselor was wearing. I’ve had about as much sympathy as I can stand.
“No. I’ll walk over to the middle school and get my mom’s car. Then I’ll pick her up after school.”
“Okay.” She looks like she wants to say more, but I turn away. "Call me later?"
I don't answer. I shove my backpack in my locker and head out the back door without bothering to sign out in the office. I walk for two blocks and then break into a run toward home. My head pounds and my wrist throbs. I ignore it and run until the pain blocks out everything else.
I'm so numb that I don't notice the car until it's right behind me. I step off the side of the road to get out of the way and fall. I catch myself with my right hand. Pain shoots up my arm. I curl into a ball and roll into the gutter.