And with that, it became too personal, igniting a flame within me.
The anger and betrayal I’d experienced walking into class bubbled higher, causing my hands to shake on top of my desk. “No, I don’t. Because it’s not his right. Maybe I have a plan to save my own country.” I used my fingers to quote “country,” hoping he’d know what I really wanted to say. “Maybe I’ve got it all under control. If I don’t ask you—or Steven—to come save me, then you—he—shouldn’t. Especially since no one has a clue as to what goes on in my country.”
“So the German’s could have handled Hitler by themselves?” I had no idea who shouted out that question, but I had a feeling it was the same asshole who spoke up earlier.
“That’s not relevant. We were brought into that war. We tried staying out of it. But when it comes to Vietnam, Desert Storm, Iraq, Afghanistan…we didn’t need to be there.” I could sense every pair of eyes on me, and it started to rattle me. In the two and a half years since starting high school, I’d managed to keep my head down and not draw any attention to myself, yet here I was, offering myself up at the altar as a sacrifice.
“Don’t listen to her. She’s just a hippy liberal,” Andy, the kid next to me, said and waved his hand in my face as if dismissing me.
I didn’t even bother waiting to see if Mr. Taylor would interject before arguing back. “Why? Because fighting sucks and I’d rather live in peace? Because I believe there’s been too much bloodshed and think at some point, we have to say enough is enough? Or is it because I don’t believe we should get involved in others’ affairs when we have our own country and people to think about? We’re blindly killing our own men by sending them over there. Why sacrifice our own for them?” It was an outright argument at this point, and completely off topic from where I began. But I couldn’t stop as I sat on the end of my seat, leaning forward to make my passion known. And I could already feel my face aflame with heat, knowing my fury was visible for the entire class to see. “And why do liberals have to be hippies?”
“Let’s calm down.” Mr. Taylor finally spoke up and called everyone’s attention back to him at the front of the classroom. “Like I said before, everyone is entitled to their own opinion, but there won’t be any name-calling. We’ll stop this now if we can’t voice our opinions in a mature fashion.” It was the first time that morning he appeared angry. And the first time all week he sounded frustrated.
“She’s the one that said we asked to be attacked on September eleventh.”
God, what was up with everyone wanting to put words in my mouth?
“That’s not what I said!” I slapped my hand on my desk, unable to hold back the wrath that raged inside. All this had started because I thought people should mind their own business, and somehow, we ended up here. “Back to us being our own country.” I turned my attention to the ass in the back who twisted my words. “Let’s just say your dad is beating the shit out of you. Would you want Steven to come in and tear your family apart to save your country? What if Steven came to you and asked if anyone was hurting you, and you adamantly told him no? Wouldn’t that make you feel betrayed if he went behind your back and stuck his nose in your business? What if his actions only made things worse? How would you feel then?” My heart rate sped up and the adrenaline pumping through my veins caused my insides to shake uncontrollably. There was no way Mr. Taylor wouldn’t know by now how I truly felt. The original metaphors be damned.
Isaac, the kid in the back, sat for a moment, staring at me with narrowed eyes. “If my dad was beating me, and I couldn’t handle it myself, then yeah, I’d want someone to try to help. It’s called humanity.” His eyes held mine as if he could read me. As if the bruise on my face gave me away and he saw everything. “You’re saying you’d sit by and watch a friend get abused just because she asked you to? What if your friend dies while you do nothing? You’d just say, ‘oh well, nothing I could’ve done. She didn’t want help’?”
Luckily, at that moment, the bell rang. Everyone started to stand, yet no one said a word. I, however, couldn’t find the strength to leave my seat. “No homework tonight. See you back tomorrow morning,” Mr. Taylor said quietly from his podium.
The atmosphere in the room had become very heavy, and it seemed to affect everyone, including me. I blinked at the floor a few times before standing, becoming weak on my feet. I couldn’t shake the worry that I had just led my entire class to believe I was an abused child. I’d allowed my anger to get the best of me, and without thinking about how it would appear, how it would sound coming from the girl with the black eye, I decided to question people’s morals regarding child abuse. We were in high school, I’m sure rumors would spread before fourth period. By the end of the day, people would be talking about how my dad tied me up in the basement or how I had to eat dog food for dinner. Like I said, no one knew my life but me. But that would never stop people from talking.
Mr. Taylor blocked my exit from my row, but I didn’t care. I had bigger fish to fry. I had bigger things to worry about than what he had to say. “Please, Mr. Taylor, I can’t do this right now.” I couldn’t even look at him, my eyes trained on the open door on the other side of the room as I fought back the sting of tears born in embarrassment and anger.
“Come here after school, please. I’d like to talk to you about what happened.”
I shook my head and finally met his stare. “I can’t. I take the bus home, and I can’t be late. If you want to give me detention, just do it and get it over with.”
“No. I would like to talk to you. Come see me during lunch today since you can’t stay after school.”
“Lunch? When am I supposed to eat?”
“Bring it with you. You can eat in here while we talk.” He waited until I nodded before moving out of the way enough for me to get by. “Oh…and, Bree? That detention slip will be written if you don’t show up.”
Well, it seemed as though I had a lunch date with Axel Taylor.
Mornings always dragged on the longest. It always seemed as though the classes before lunch took forever, yet the ones that came afterward flew by. But not today. Today, hours felt like minutes, and minutes passed by like seconds. Before I knew it, the lunch bell rang.
I moved through the halls at a snail’s pace, not in any hurry to get to Mr. Taylor’s classroom. My earlier anger had diminished after class, after I’d been practically smacked in the face with logic. Logic I didn’t want to recognize. And all that remained was the sad fact of my reality.
No one could help me.
It only made things worse.
Realism is what made me linger by the lockers, take my time while pretending to look for something, waiting for the students to leave the hallway. Once the majority of the student body had disbursed to the cafeteria or the courtyard, I made my way into his empty room, feeling my chest tighten to the point where I almost couldn’t breathe.