Ralph stood in the middle of the foyer. I wasn’t getting by him unless I ran upstairs. One problem, though. My mom sat on the stairs.
“Let me see it.” Ralph motioned with his fingers for me to show him my hand.
I lifted my hand up, but kept it close to my chest. And kept my mouth shut.
“I said I wanted to see it.” He grabbed my hand and yanked me to him, twisting my arm back and forth to see the damage. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from making any noise from the pain. “Broken?”
“No, sir,” I answered quietly, “Just jammed.”
My mom moved from the stairs to my side so she could look at my hand. “How’d you get—?”
The slap was loud and hard. She stumbled backward several steps, a look of surprise on her face. She cradled the side of her face in her hands.
“Damn it!” Ralph shook the hand out he’d just slapped my mother with. “That stung. If you’d both learn to just keep your mouths shut, you’d make my life so much easier. It’s not a hard concept to grasp. Even ignorant white trash like the two of you should be able to understand it. Just shut. Up. When I want your opinion, I’ll give it to you. When I want to hear you speak, I’ll tell you. Otherwise, silence.” He slashed his hand through the air.
“What did you tell the doctors?” Ralph looked at me. When I didn’t answer right away, he shoved my shoulder hard enough that I lost my balance and fell against the door behind me, cracking my head against the wood. He rolled his eyes and let out a long, exasperated sigh. “Well? How did you explain your hand?”
“I jammed my fingers playing basketball.”
He nodded. “And when they asked who your ride was?”
“They didn’t ask me,” I answered.
Ralph nodded. He started whistling, turned, and walked away. I slumped forward. My heart raced in my chest, and I took several deep breaths to calm myself.
“What’dya go and do this time? You can’t just shut your mouth and do what you’re supposed to, can you?” my mother hissed. It wasn’t a question she expected an answer to, so I didn’t give one. “You need to learn to be quiet and do as you’re told. Men want you to be seen, not heard. Things will go a lot smoother for you when you learn that.”
This gem of advice from the woman whose husband just smacked her senseless for daring to ask a question.
“I’ll do better.” I hated the quiver in my voice. I hated that I wanted my mother to wrap me in her arms, hug me to her, and tell me everything was going to be okay. That she’d fix it. That the secret would go away and we could leave Ralph. I hated that sometimes I hated her for what she did. That I blamed her. I hated that she could drown the problems of our life from hell in alcohol and pills. I didn’t have that luxury. And she only had Ralph to deal with. I had Ralph and Jaden. And most of all, I hated feeling like I was a whiner.
This is life. Get over it. Suck it up and deal.
“You’d better. He’s a good guy. Start treating him with respect.” She turned and walked away.
“Yes, ma’am. Goodnight,” I said to her retreating back.
“Goodnight, Willow. I love you.”
Yeah, okay, whatever. Sometimes, you have a really shitty way of showing it.
“I love you, too, Mom.”
Breathe. Just breathe.
“Surprise him. Okay, which one should I wear… what message do I want to send?” I stood in front of my closet, looking through my shirts. I finally decided on sending a safe message to Brody and hoped Jaden wouldn’t notice or ask about the shirt. I pulled out a pink tee that read, He’s just a friend, and slipped it over my head before I could change my mind and grab the other one I was debating on wearing that read something about kissing me… which would definitely send mixed messages after the night before in Brody’s Jeep. But, oh, how I wanted to wear that shirt—wanted to finish that kiss.
Maybe I’ll have a T-shirt made that reads, I just dumped my dumbass jock boyfriend. Will you kiss me senseless now? Yeah, that’s sounds like a perfect T-shirt. I’ll get right on that… sure.
I pulled on a thin, zippered hoodie—I had a ton of them to go with the T-shirts and tanks. They were great for covering the cuts and bruises. Thankfully, he didn’t usually hit in the face. The hoodie was a light blue and matched the lettering on the tank top. I pushed my feet into my blue paisley Converse high tops. Another fashion faux pas I had that made Jenna cringe—my shoes. I went for comfort more than style. I loved my Converse, especially the ones with the funky prints. Not Jenna. She nearly had heart palpitations every time she saw me wearing them. I thought it was hilarious. She thought I’d lost my mind.
After running a brush through my hair, pulling it into a messy bun, and swiping my teeth with a toothbrush, I was ready for school.
I opened my door slowly and peered down the hall. My mother wasn’t anywhere in sight. Stepping into the hall, I made my way to the stairs. I was careful to avoid the boards I knew would make noise with the slightest change in pressure. I didn’t want to wake her up and get another lecture on how to keep men happy so they wouldn’t smack me around.
As soon as I’m eighteen, I am out. Of. Here. I don’t care if I have to flip burgers every day and babysit every weekend for four years to put myself through college. I’m leaving Middleton far behind.
I walked toward my locker when Jenna turned and saw me. “What are you wearing? I told you, shoes make or break an outfit. Those are breakin’ it. They are even worse than that horrid pink monstrosity you call a shirt.” She finally freed her book and papers from the mess overflowing from her shelf. I had to stifle a laugh.
“What’s so funny?” Brody peeked around the locker door at me.
“Oh, Jenna is just being… Jenna.”
“Ah. How’s the hand?” Brody asked.
“It’s okay. It makes getting my pants on and off interesting. Ugh… I can’t believe I just said that.” I laughed, feeling my cheeks heat with a blush.
“You’re cute when you blush.” He smiled. “I’ll see you in class. Oh.” Stopping, he looked over his shoulder. “I don’t like that particular T-shirt. Just so you know.” He winked and walked toward our biology class.
“What happened to your hand? And what the hell was that between you and Brody?”
“I jammed two fingers. No big deal. And Brody and I are… just… we just are. Like the T-shirt says. That’s all.”
“Mm-hmm. Sure, just friends.” A small smile curved her lips. “And how’d you jam your fingers?”
“Oh, you know, the usual.”
“Willow—”
“I’m fine. Really. I’m just fine,” I lied.
I sat next to Jaden, twirling my fork in the salad I was eating for lunch. Brody was across the room with some people I recognized from a few of our AP classes. Jenna and Tim sat with them, the traitors.
“I can’t believe you, like, eat that,” a blonde cheerleader said to me, cracking her gum as she talked. She was a girlfriend of one of the other football players—Sasha, or something like that.
“What?” I asked, looking at her.
Jeez, is it a requirement that all cheerleaders possess abnormally perfect genes? Big blue eyes, wavy, blonde hair, big boobs, and a tiny waist, yeah, I feel incredibly sexy next to her. She does wonders for my self-esteem. Sure. At least she’s dating a butt-ugly football player.
“The salad dressing. It has, like, a million calories and, like, a ton of fat in it,” she said, horrified.
“Oh, I don’t really pay attention to that. I just eat what I want.” I shrugged a shoulder.