Breaking Dawn (2 page)

The bus comes to a stop in front of the school. I wait as the other kids collect themselves and scuffle down the narrow aisle. I follow the last of the kids, keeping my distance, and take my time following them off the bus.

As I stand in front of my school, which looks more like a medieval castle than a
place of learning, for the first time in years I feel totally alienated. I’ve only been away for two weeks, but I feel like a new kid transferring in from another school. It’s like I don’t belong, like I’m an outsider.

I stand at the base of the concrete steps until the first bell rings and all the kids start hurrying through the doors. I can only stand, numb and transfixed, as the pavement is abandoned. I am simply too afraid to go inside.

The Head, Mr Dubois, opens the door and scans the school grounds for late or stray students. I just watch him, this middle-aged man in his tweed jacket and brown elbow patches; Perry and I call him Sean Connery. When his eyes stop on me, he forces an awkward smile and comes out to greet me. I meet him halfway up the stairs.

‘It’s so nice to see you, Dawn,’ he says. ‘Your mom said you would be returning today.’ He touches my shoulder to encourage me to continue up the stairs toward the entrance. ‘How have you been bearing up?’

What a question. How do I respond to that? If I tell him the truth, he’ll have me in his office along with every counsellor in school. They’ll try to force me to talk about my feelings. They might even want me to analyse ink blots. Or they might try to talk my parents into medicating me. I already have a therapist, thanks to Mom. I don’t want to talk any more about how I’m feeling.

‘I’m okay.’

We walk into the school together and he walks with me. ‘If you need anything, I’m here for you.’

I force out a smile, more to appease him and to thank him insincerely, so that I can go on my way.

My locker is on the second floor so I have to make my way up the stairs against the current of down-coming kids, and slowly make my way to my locker. As soon as I lay my hand on the lock, I realise that I have forgotten the combination. Typical of me.
I am terrible at remembering numbers. Perry has the good memory. He writes the combination down in notes for me. Sometimes I lose the notes. Perry taught me a trick though. What is it? Brian’s soccer number – 15; my golden birthday – seven; and how many frogs died in biology last year – 28. I try the numbers in that order and with a click, the lock opens.

I open the locker, vaguely aware of the second bell sounding and a few kids hurrying down the hall late for class. Inside, along with the clutter of paper and books, Perry’s brown leather bomber jacket still hangs from the hook. I panic as I almost look into the mirror hanging inside the narrow door. I tear it down, tossing it to the bottom of the locker.

I drop my bag to the floor, slip out of my parka and hang it in the locker next to the bomber jacket. For a moment I stand there looking at the jacket, imagining that Perry is at school. My heart flutters with that thought. That lapse of thought. What’s wrong with me? He’s gone. Dead. Not coming back.

I search for a select number of books and folders, cram everything else inside the locker and shut the door, snap the lock back into place and give the dial a curt twist. I am late for class but I don’t care. I’m in no rush to get there.

I’m thinking of cutting class when Mr Dubois appears at the end of the hall. With my first class being on the third floor on the opposite side of the building, Mr Dubois takes it upon himself to escort me to my class. It’s like he’s read my mind.

It’s a painful five-minute walk with him rambling on and on about psychology, and how I need to feel, and how I need to heal. During the entire walk to class I wonder whether I should turn around and run away, or scream at him to shut up for the love of God! But when we reach my class, I just momble a thank you and open the door. Social studies.

Mr Valentine stops in the middle of his speech to acknowledge me with a smile, and from behind me Mr Dubois says, ‘She was with me.’

Mr Valentine nods and continues on with his talk as I walk around the cluster of desks and students to sit in the back row, next to Carla Driver. I always get stuck sitting next to Carla Driver.

I would never consider Carla a friend, but occasionally we exchange a few words. Carla is a scrawnier, nerdier version of me. Her long, brown curly hair is always dirty and her glasses are way too big for her freckled face. She always seems to have an odour coming from her clothes. Perry and I have this game where we try to guess what it is. It seems like a combination of marijuana and cat urine.

Once I settle into my seat, I open my text book and pretend to follow along. Carla passes a note onto my desk. Without looking over to her, I open it.

‘Glad to have you back,’ it says.

I write a simple ‘Thanks,’ and return the note.

A minute later she passes the note to me again. ‘Want to have lunch together?’

Do I want to have lunch? With Carla Driver? Even if my appetite returns, I’ll lose it sitting with her and smelling her. Maybe she is just trying to be nice. I’m tired of people being nice, treating me like some delicate Faberge egg. Do I have HANDLE WITH CARE stickers pasted all over me? I write back: ‘No’. Hopefully that will be the end of it.

Mr Valentine pulls down the white projection screen and turns off the lights. He has a movie to show us. The movies are the best part of class. I can daydream or fall asleep and no one will notice. Soon after the lights go out, I do indeed begin to doze off.

I think about the jacket in my locker and I can almost feel Perry here in this room…

During a movie in social studies, Perry passes a note back to me while Mr Valentine
is busy preparing papers for a quiz on the film.

‘Brian wants to talk with you before gym,’ the note says.

Brian is a nice guy, perfect in every way, I think. My dream boyfriend. Perry’s too, come to that. Brian seems to be talking to Perry more often lately, mostly in the boys’ locker room. According to Perry, Brian has been asking a lot of questions about me.

‘About the dance?’ I write back.

‘I think so. Would you go with him? Because if you won’t,
I
will.’

I laugh quietly to myself. That’s one of the things we have in common; we both have a secret crush on Brian Kane. Still, I think I have more of a shot with him than Perry does. But I will never tell Perry that. I’ll never crush his fantasy. No one knows about Perry’s sexual preference. If anyone in school ever finds out, Perry will definitely be forced out of the boys’ locker room at the
very least. Perry knows this, so he keeps his cool with the other boys and acts as masculine as he can.

‘I’m sure you would. At least you get to see him in the shower everyday,’ I reply.

That is always the highlight of Perry’s day; catching glimpses of the boys in the shower without getting caught. If only I could be so lucky.

After class, we walk down to the gym. Brian is waiting off to the side by the gym doors. Perry nudges me forward saying, ‘Show-time,’ as he continues on into the boys’ locker room to change for gym class.

I walk over to Brian, clasping my books tightly to my chest. I try to hide my shaking hands. I am a bit relieved when he appears to be just as nervous as me.

‘So, Dawn… I was wondering…’ He tries to maintain his cool posture, but I see through it because of his fidgeting, which I find absolutely adorable. He looks down at
his shoes. ‘Are you going to the Christmas dance?’ he manages to ask.

I tilt my head to one side and pretend to think about it. ‘I guess, I haven’t really thought about it,’ I lie. It’s actually been on my mind since the school announced it two months ago. I have secretly been searching for the perfect dress for the perfect night that might never even happen.

‘If you don’t have a date already, would you want to go with me?’

I can sense he is preparing himself for rejection; probably because it’s taking so long for me to answer. Even so, I refuse to sound too desperate by replying too quickly. It’s all I can do not to shout ‘Hell yeah!’

Instead, I pretend to think once again and forcing myself to sound calm and offhand, I reply, ‘Sure, that would be nice.’

I see the relief wash over his face. He smiles, ‘Okay, that’s great.’

Is this really happening? Is my dream coming true?

I linger on for a moment, waiting for him to say something else. When he doesn’t say anything more, I excuse myself. I wander over to the girls’ locker room, so excited I am actually trembling. I can’t wait to tell Perry.

The lights flicker back on and I flutter out of my daze. Mr Valentine is yammering on about the movie I was supposed to have been paying attention to as he passes out the assignments. I look over the paper as it is passed back to me without reading a word, and slip it into my book. When the bell rings, I gather my belongings. I am the last one out the door. Brian is standing there.

‘I need to talk with you,’ he says, walking along with me as I try to ignore him. ‘Why won’t you return my phone calls?’

I walk on, still ignoring him. As we are about to pass the caretaker’s cupboard, he
grabs me by the arm, opens the door and pushes me inside. In the dark, I curse at him as he fumbles for the light switch.

‘Talk to me, Dawn.’

The room is tiny and cluttered with boxes and cleaning supplies. There’s hardly any room to negotiate an escape and Brian is blocking the door. Irritated, I drop my books down onto a box and glare at him.

‘What do you want me to say?’

He looks at me and runs his fingers through his hair. ‘Do you blame me? Is that it?’

I shake my head. I don’t want to respond to his question. I don’t want to talk about any of it. I’m not ready.

‘Then what? Look, I know my friends were assholes… none of this should have happened.’

He gestures with his hands as he
speaks. ‘I’m sorry for what happened; but I still want to be with you Dawn.’

‘
I
don’t even want to be with me.’ That seems to come out before I can stop it. But it is true.

Brian is making a visible effort to calm down. Then he steps towards me to take my hands in his.

‘We both made mistakes, but it wasn’t my finger that pulled the trigger and it wasn’t yours either. We can’t rectify this no matter how much we want to – we can only move on.’

I look up into his pleading eyes and think how bizarre this is; that the one person I’ve dreamed of being with since first grade is now begging me to be with him. And I don’t want him.

The butterflies in the stomach, the tingling from his touch, are gone. All gone. I feel nothing for him. Not anger, not resentment, not pity. Nothing.

‘I just can’t do this any more.’ My voice is weak.

‘Do what? Date me?’

Brian, please! I don’t want to elaborate. I don’t want to talk about it. All I want to do is get out of this cupboard and away from you! What can I say that would satisfy you enough to let me go?

Instead I say, ‘I just need more time. I need to sort this out on my own.’

Appearing resigned, he sighs. ‘I’m here for you.’

‘I know, Brian. I just need some time alone, that’s all.’

But in my head I’m thinking, ‘I just want you to leave me alone.’

He bends down to scoop up my books and hand them to me. I force out a reassuring smile as I take them and he steps aside and opens the door. Once I am free and clear of
the cupboard, I walk quickly away without looking back. Further down the hall I duck into the girls’ room as the late bell rings, and go into a cubicle, locking the door. I sit down on the cold porcelain, balancing myself near the edge so I won’t get wet. I drop my books onto the floor and cross my arms over my aching stomach, rocking slowly back and forth.

Back and forth.

It is quiet.

I am alone.

My mind is prompting me against my will as it tries to retrieve memories I don’t want to remember. Memories that keep coming, like worms squirming and wriggling their way into my brain. I am remembering against my will. I am fighting the worms in my head. I know it would be so much easier if I just gave in and let the memories run their course, then it would be done and over with.