Indisputable (7 page)

Tatum

On my mad dash down the stairs to escape Mr. Ryan, I
ran myself right into the school principal, who was oh-so curious about my
first day as a TA.  I completely forgot to apologize for yesterday’s
drama, and Mr. Stephenson demanded I make a public apology first thing sixth
period and that he would be attending. 

I’m still contemplating switching classes, but Mr.
Ryan was right.  I do need calculus and he is the only teacher for that
class.  I made it my priority this year to take as many classes for college
credit as possible to save some money on my generals.  If all I accomplish
is an AA degree, it’s better than nothing, and having 30 plus credits under my
belt will save me almost a year of schooling and student loans. 

My phone buzzes for what feels like the thousandth
time this morning, breaking my thought process.  I don’t need to look at
it to know who it’s going to be.  

You still haven’t answered me.  We
getting together tonight? 

Can’t tonight.  I have to study.

Never stopped you before ;) Just for an
hour.

Sorry, no can do.  Maybe later this
week.

I doubt I’ll have homework tonight, but I don’t want
to see him again so soon.  I silence my phone so I don’t have to read his
reply.  Wyatt and I have gotten together maybe once a week in the past, if
that, but lately he’s been much clingier than usual.  He texted me all
through second period, trying to get me to meet for lunch today, which
subsequently led to Mr. Ryan getting pissed off at me once again. 

I’ve never been a relationship girl, even as a young
teen.  I was always too embarrassed of the state of my house, and my mom,
to invite anyone over.  I think I intimidated a lot of the guys my
age.  When I met Wyatt, I had just relocated after leaving my mom’s house
and I was still reeling with the knowledge of her near death and everything
that followed.  He offered me an escape, and our relationship was built on
sex and comfort.  But even when he compliments me, I still see myself as
the image of that scared little girl I used to be when my mom was too busy
doing drugs to care.  Dirty, worthless, unlovable.  Any time someone
tries to get a little too close, I push them away by any means I can. 
Because people can only hurt you when you let them in.  And after over a
year, Wyatt is trying to get dangerously close.

After lunch, my day is smooth sailing up until Mr.
Ryan’s class.  No matter how much confidence I think I have, I hate public
speaking of any sort.  My stomach has been a ball of nerves for the past
half an hour and I haven’t been able to shake the feeling.  Twisted,
tormenting flames burn deep in my gut as I pace the hallway outside his
classroom.  My hands are knotted at my waist, palms damp with
uncontrollable sweat.  Only a few moments.  I just have to say a
couple of words and I’ll be done.  Feeling as though I’m about to cry, and
pissed for bringing this upon myself, I close my eyes, leaning my head against
the cold brick wall. 

“Tatum?” 

Why the hell isn’t he in his classroom already? 
The bell rang five minutes ago.  I swallow my sarcasm and bite my tongue
against the smart ass remarks.  I try taking a deep breath to calm myself,
I do, but as I turn to face him, all that comes out is panic.

“Mr. Ryan, I’m so sorry,” I gush, an uncontrollable
rant bursting forth as if a dam broke. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks, but I keep going because I
can’t stop myself.

“Mr. Stephenson wants me to apologize to you in front
of the entire class, but I can’t.  I can’t go in there in front of
everybody.  I’m sorry I acted like a jerk and embarrassed you yesterday,
it was wrong.  I know it was.  But please don’t make me go in there
in front of everybody.”  I’m shaking from nerves, my fingers gripping the
hem of my shirt.  I feel like I can’t breathe as he stands there just
starting at me.

“Miss Krause, calm down,” he says, approaching me
slowly.  I attempt to take another deep breath as I watch him near
me.  “If it upsets you this much, I won’t make you.  Although maybe I
should.  What you did yesterday was completely over the line.”

“I know, I know,” I rush, “and I’m really sorry.”

Mr. Ryan studies me critically, weighing my words
against my behavior, I’m sure.  “Apology accepted, Miss Krause.”

The air leaves my lungs in a whoosh. 
“Okay.”  I can feel some of the anxiety seeping out of my system. 
“Okay….Thank you.”

He lifts his hand as though he’s going to touch me,
but he thinks better of it.  It falls limply at his side.  “Are you
going to be okay, or do you need to lie down?” he asks gently, eyeing me as if
I’m going to suddenly drop. 

“I’m okay.  I just need a minute,” I reply,
feeling better with each passing second.  I can’t help but catch his deep
brown eyes watching me curiously, but he doesn’t say anything.  He waits
patiently until my breathing has slowed, and now I feel like an idiot. 
“I’m good.  Let’s go inside.”

“You sure?” 

I nod my head. 

“For the record, I’ll tell Mr. Stephenson I spoke to
you privately and accepted your apology.”

“Thank you,” I mutter as I follow him inside the
room. 

I end up with a seat in the very front since I’m the
last student to show up, and Mr. Ryan doesn’t waste any time launching into a
review of linear functions.  My mind is having a hard time focusing after
the emotional day I’ve been having, and after sparing a quick glance at Mr.
Ryan, I pull out my phone to text Emerson, ignoring the 3 missed texts I have
waiting for me in my inbox.

I need girl time 2nite you avail? 

She texts me back almost immediately.  Her phone
is like an extension of her right hand.

Of course.  You okay?? Your place at
4? 

Making sure I’m still in the clear, I type a quick
reply.
 
I’m fine just need to blow off some steam.  See ya
at 4!

I slip my phone into my pocket, thankfully without
being noticed.  Days like this, where I’m moody and confused and lost, I
can’t help but wish I had been born into a normal family with a mom I can talk
to or even a dad who will listen.  I’m just grateful I have Emerson and
Kels, because without them, I don’t know what I would do. 

When the bell rings signaling the end of class, I
gather my things to leave.  Turning towards the door, I find my path
blocked by Mr. Ryan.  I can’t quite decipher the look on his face, but
it’s not hard to miss the concern in his chocolate eyes.  It makes my
insides twist and slither.  

“Do you have a minute, Miss Krause?” he asks when most
of the students have filed out.

“I thought we were passed this ‘Miss Krause’
stuff.  My name is Tatum,” I tell him, feeling ready for this day to be
over.  “And I need to go to work.”  I’m lying, but he doesn’t need to
know that.  What does he want?  Is he going to talk about the
kiss?  Should we talk about the kiss?  It seems much easier to leave
it swept beneath the rug.  If we let it out into open air, it’ll just dirty
everything.

He sits on the corner of the desk behind the one I was
occupying, his hands folded in his lap.  “I wanted to make sure you are
okay.  Do you often have panic attacks like that?”

My face flames with mortification, and with my bag in
my hands, I can’t hide it.  Swallowing down the retort on the tip of my
tongue, I lie. “I’m fine.  It’s just been a long day.  My emotions
got the better of me.” 

Truth is, I’ve had panic attacks since I was a little
girl, when I’d hide away in the corner whenever my mom would bring a John home,
or her dealer.  I remember cramming myself into the small space beneath
the staircase and hyperventilating behind my hands, praying they would leave so
I could finish coloring or playing with my doll.  Mom always told me I
must never be seen, and would scare me with horrific stories of what would
happen to me if I didn’t hide.  Now that I’m older, I realize telling your
kid fucked up shit to make them listen is just plain wrong.  Even if there
were some truth to her words.      

“Okay.  Look,” he sighs.  “I know we got off
on the wrong foot, but I am still your teacher.  If you need someone you
can talk to me, and I promise I will keep things confidential.” 

I snort rudely when he finishes.

“I’m sorry,” I say, composing myself.  It really
takes a lot of effort to not be rude around him.  “Thanks for the offer,
but I’m fine.  I don’t need your charity therapy sessions.” 

He sighs again, running a hand through his long,
shaggy hair.  “Alright, Tatum.  Just know I am here if you need
someone.  Have a good evening.  I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says,
dismissing me.

Walking away from his classroom and out to my car, I
have a new sense of unease in my belly.  As much as I don’t want to, I
almost feel excited about Mr. Ryan’s offer to listen to me.  Besides the
few girlfriends I have, I’ve not once had a male friend offer to lend an ear to
listen to my petty problems.  And even though it’s highly unlikely that I
will ever act on his offer, considering our miniscule, yet complicated history,
the fact he even offered is monumental.  He must feel something for me or
he wouldn’t even acknowledge me.  Some messed up daddy complex I
have.   

When I get home, I have an hour to kill before Em will
be here, so I call Kelsey to check in on Mrs. Marsden.  Kelsey works
doubles on Wednesdays, so she should be on a break right now.  She picks
up on the second ring.

“What’s up girl?” She answers, and I hear the
unmistakable sound of her exhaling a drag from her cigarette. 

“Just checking in.  How’s work today?” I ask,
while seating myself on my bed.

“Oh, you know, pretty typical.  I’ve been stuck
here with Kathy today, and you know how she can be.  Always bitchin’ about
her kids and that ex-husband of hers.  At least I have Finn replacing her so
tonight should be drama free.”

“Dang, I love working with Finn.  It sucks I’m
off tonight.”

“Well I was going to call to see what you’re up
to.  Might want to stop in and see Mrs. Marsden today.  She’s really
not doing well.”

“What’s wrong with her?  She seemed alright when
I tucked her in last night, besides being more tired than usual.”

“It’s about the same, except she hasn’t been out of
bed all day.  I could only get her to eat one cup of jello and one cup of
yogurt with her pills crushed inside.  Her son has been here most of the
afternoon.” 

My heart plummets into my stomach.

“That sucks, Kels.  I’ll see what I can do. 
Emerson is coming over for a bit, but I’ll try to make it over this evening.”

“Alright girl, my break is up.  See you later,
okay?” 

“Yeah, you probably will.  Later, girl.”

We disconnect and I take a minute to soak in our
conversation.  Since I began working at my job, I’ve never been close to
one of the residents that have passed away.  I don’t do death well; the
thought of my own death sends me spiraling into a panic attack, and I’m unsure
how I’m going to handle Monica’s passing.  I know how completely moronic
that sounds, considering how I manage my emotions, but even though I tear my
flesh apart to cope, it doesn’t mean I’m suicidal.  I’m just…messed
up.  

Fixing myself a BLT, complete with microwaved bacon
because who really has time to cook it in a pan, I park my butt on a stool to
wait for Emerson.  Not even thirty seconds later, she bursts through my
door, huffing and puffing as if she ran the whole way here.

“What’s the matter with you!” I cry, coughing up bits
of my sandwich I inhaled at her dramatic entrance.  “Are you trying to
kill me?”

“Sorry, I just have news and I’m so excited!” 
She sits down beside me, picking up my uneaten half of sandwich and takes a
bite.

“Um, did you want one?” I offer after the fact. 
She shakes her head no, shoving the rest of the food in her mouth.  “Okay,
then.  Well I did,” I grumble.  I wander over to the microwave to
cook a few more pieces of bacon.  “Spill, Em.  What’s your news?”

“Okay, so get this,” she starts, stopping for a
dramatic pause.  “Grant asked me out today!” she squeals, clapping her
hands together like a five year old at the circus. 

“That’s great, really.  What are you guys going
to do?” I ask as I arrange the bacon in a crosshatch pattern on top of the
lettuce.

“He’s taking me to the dinner theater on 1
^st
.” 

The dinner theater on 1
^st
Ave is about
thirty minutes away and used to be a movie theater in the 1970’s.  The old
abandoned building was bought up about 10 years ago, renovated, and turned into
an expensive night out complete with a three course meal and a two hour
show.  For obvious reasons, I’ve never been there, but I can tell Emerson
is totally pumped. 

“Whoa, that’s got to be expensive.  I bet you’ll
have a great time,” I tell her, tamping down the ugly green monster inside
me.