Chapter 22
“Ooooo,” the class taunts.
“Quiet, class. Delilah, take the hall pass and go straight to the guidance counselor. No messing around or it’s straight to detention,” Mrs. Harbach says. Yet another teacher who hates me for no reason other than for having the wrong last name.
I work hard to go unnoticed, so I’m worried why the guidance counselor wants me to come see him immediately.
I knock on the open door and wait to be invited in.
“Ah, Miss Tate. Please take a seat,” Mr. Richards says. I do as I’m told and try my best not to fidget.
“Do you know why you’re here?” he asks.
“No, sir.”
“Now’s your chance to tell me anything you want to say. It will stay in this room, I promise,” he says. Behind me, the door is still wide open and the gossipy teacher’s assistants are sitting in the main office.
I stay silent and he shakes his head in disappointment.
“This is your last year of middle school, Miss Tate. The administration takes the success of its students seriously and need to ensure you’re ready to enter high school in the fall.”
What’s he talking about? I get good grades, and I stay out of trouble. Why wouldn’t I be ready to go to high school? Cold sweat beads on the back of my neck and I squirm uncomfortably in the hard, plastic chair.
“Your teachers have reported an upsetting trend. You’ve been falling asleep in class and aren’t keeping up with the material as easily as usual,” Mr. Richards says.
I flush with embarrassment.
Dad left, and Mom stopped taking care of us. There’s never enough safe food to eat.
So, yea, when my stomach’s burning from being so empty, and Mom’s up all night drinking and wailing about my dad being gone, sometimes I fall asleep in class…
And being so hungry and tired makes it hard to pay attention…and I’ve gotten a few bad grades on assignments and tests recently.
“I’ll try harder, I swear. Please don’t be mad. Please don’t hold me back in eighth grade!” I plead.
Mr. Richards regards me with such scrutiny, like bugs crawling all over my skin.
“See that you do. You’ll be stopping in for weekly visits with me until your teachers are satisfied. If things don’t improve, administration will need to get involved.” He raises one bushy eyebrow over his tortoiseshell glasses.
“Yes, Mr. Richards.” Keeping my head down, I rush from the office, giggles and whispers from the teacher’s assistants already following me out the door.
Hoping I have enough grace period to use the bathroom, I lock myself in a stall and allow myself a minute to cry.
This is the worst year of my life.
Izzy and Connor are both in high school now, so their schedule is different than mine. Izzy goes to school earlier than me, so, I walk to school by myself. And I don’t see them after school as much because Connor has sports, and Izzy has a lot more homework.
Livy’s still in middle school like me, but her lunch period is different than mine and her specials are on a different rotation than me, so when I have gym, she has art. Or when I have art, she has music.
I’ve never been this lonely in my whole life.
My dad left. My mom doesn’t love me. I can’t do anything right—not even eating…
“Why the long face, dollface?” Connor says, nudging my side with his elbow.
I plaster on a fake smile and keep walking, hoping he’ll drop it.
I had another counseling session with Mr. Richards today. They’re bad enough, but today the school nurse was there. It felt like she saw inside me and learned all my secrets.
“I don’t have practice today, and it’s warm out. Do you want to go do homework at the park?” Connor asks.
I readily accept because though I’m so hungry I might faint, especially in this warmer weather, I’ll do anything to stay out of our trailer as long as possible.
We sit at an old table with green rubber coating peeling off the diamond pattern of the seats. Izzy has detention and Livy has riding lessons, so it’s just us today.
Time alone with Connor is my favorite. He always makes me forget about the bad things in my life for a little while.
I watch him closely as he pulls his books from his backpack. He got a lot taller this year, and his arms are bigger. He has fuzzy hair growing on his face and sometimes his voice cracks and sounds deeper.
High school looks good on him. I flush at the thought and cover my face with my hair, digging into my backpack.
I’ve been having these feelings more often lately. I’ve always loved Connor; he’s my best friend in the whole world. But now when I look at him, he’s not just my best friend. He’s my extremely cute best friend who’s becoming a young man…just like I’m becoming a young woman.
One time I thought Connor was staring at my boobs, but then he tripped and fell, so maybe he was just distracted.
“What are these?” Connor asks, grabbing the colorful pamphlets that’ve fallen out of my backpack.
I scramble to gather them up, but he holds them over his head so high I can’t reach.
“Nothing,” I grumble. But Connor never takes that as an answer.
He knows me better than I know myself and I can’t hide anything from him.
He flips through the pamphlets, and I sink deeper into mortification, burying my head in my arms on the sticky table.
Connor gets on his knees next to my seat and pries my head up from my arms. His eyes are shining with tears and seeing him hurt breaks me.
I burst into tears and collapse into his arms, joining him on the pavement.
“Shh, shh. It’s ok, Delilah-doll. It’s gonna be okay. We’ll get you through this, I promise,” he soothes, rocking me in his arms, not caring if anyone’s watching.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks, pain lacing his cracking voice.
I can’t bear to look at him, so I burrow into his chest and talk into his tear-soaked shirt.
“You already worry about me too much. You bring me snacks and your parents invite me over for dinner all the time. I didn’t want to bother you…” I admit.
Connor pushes me back by the shoulders and tips my chin up. “Hey. Stop it. You never bother me. I like helping you. It’s always hurt my stomach when you don’t have enough to eat, and my mom and dad hate it too. It’s not your fault your parents…your mom, sucks.”
I huff a laugh through my tears. “Sucks” is the understatement of the year, but he’s right.
“Talk to me. Please, doll,” Connor pleads.
Taking a deep breath, we get off the ground to sit back at the table. He holds my hands atop the worn green diamond tabletop.
“I don’t know how to explain it…”
“Try. You can tell me anything. I wish you hadn’t kept this from me. I could’ve tried to help sooner…” he says sadly.
“It’s not your job to fix me.”
“I know. But I can’t not help…I can’t stand you in pain.” He smiles, perhaps revisiting the day we met, me sitting in the dirt, crying, and him riding up on his bike like a knight in shining armor.
“Mom doesn’t really buy groceries anymore. She used to…sometimes.”
Connor looks so angry, his knee’s bouncing under the table like a basketball.
“I was so hungry all the time, I ate what we had, but lots of times it was spoiled, and I’d end up throwing it up later.”
“Oh, Delilah…” I’ve hurt him by hurting myself and it breaks my heart.
“I hated throwing up, so instead I got more choosey with the foods I ate. I already avoided the rotten and spoiled food at home. But then I started avoiding treats, like I wouldn’t take a cupcake at the class party, or the chips from your lunchbox.
Well, when we were at the same school.” I wince, chagrined because it’s not his fault he’s a year older than me.
“Soon I was only eating oatmeal, frozen vegetables if the freezer was running—if we had electricity—or canned. Dried beans are cheap, and they keep me fuller, so I always try to buy those when Mom gives me grocery money.” I’m embarrassed admitting all this out loud.
I’ve never told Connor the full truth and I didn’t tell Mr. Richards or the school nurse, but they figured it out anyway.
I pull a pamphlet from the front-zipped pocket of my backpack. The one I thought might help me.
Equine Therapy.
“We don’t have insurance or even a doctor.”
Connor’s wracked with sorrow. I hate myself for burdening him with my stupid problems.
“I only eat foods I think are healthy and safe. Fresh food spoils too fast. Foods like noodles, rice, lunch meat, cereal—those will make me fat. When I eat my safe foods, I don’t gain any weight, and Mom doesn’t have to buy me more clothes. I’m in control of what I eat.
“But…I guess I’m not eating enough of even my safe foods since I’ve been falling asleep in class and getting bad marks on my homework.”
Connor’s at a loss for words, everything I say makes him sadder and sadder. This is why I didn’t tell him…I knew I’d hurt him.
He picks up the equine therapy pamphlet and flips through it.
“Would this help?” he asks, motioning with the colorful paper.
“There’s no way we could afford something like that, and I have no way of getting there.” I snatch it back and crush it into a ball doomed to die at the bottom of my backpack.
“Let me talk to my mom, I’m sure she—”
I cut him off. “No. Thank you, Connor, but no. I can’t take anything else from your parents.
I promise I’ll try to eat more foods, okay?
The school nurse said hard boiled eggs are healthy and can last a week in the fridge…
if we have electricity. She promised me peanut butter was safe.
And Mr. Richards said if I ask the grocery store people, they should have foods in the back that are less money since they’re trying to get rid of it. ”
He regards me carefully, not knowing what to say or how to help.
“Promise?” he asks.
“Promise.”