Thirty minutes later,
Sissy climbed in her friend Courtney’s open window. She snatched a piece of gum from the pack on the dresser and caught site of her reflection in the dingy mirror.
She looked wasted. No wonder everybody always thought she was.
Heavy black eyeliner smeared her puffy bottom lids. Day-old black lipstick crusted her dry lips. Her dyed black hair stuck out in short, gelled clumps. And the bruise from last week’s fight with her mom still colored her chin.
Ms. Gabrier was the only teacher who had asked about the bruise. Sissy had told her she got in a fight with a friend. It was a better excuse than “I ran into a wall.” Who actually believed that anyway?
The other teachers had seen the bruise. How could they not? But none had asked. If you asked, then you had to follow up. Paperwork, reporting to authorities, blah, blah, blah. Who had time for all that junk? None of the teachers cared. Or at least none cared when it came to Sissy. Now if it had been cute little Kirstie or peppy athletic Lisa…
Whatever. Everyone expected this from Sissy. Bruises, drugs, zeros.