Perfectly Flawed (33 page)

“Come on, ladies,” Coach Jones, the girls’
basketball coach, yells as she runs up to us. She has a habit of
doing the laps with us students.
Weird
. “Let’s keep running.
Lift those knees.”

Yes, ma’am
, I think in my head, I
really want to accentuate it with a salute, but that’s Smart Ass
Joey. I’m trying to be Good Student Joey.

So my hand stays down and I just run.

Damn. What a wasted opportunity.

I keep running because it’s gym class and
that’s what we’re supposed to do in gym: Run, run, listen to the
coach, and run.

At lunch, because I can’t take all the weird
looks and loud whispers—
There she is. Look, there she goes. This
it’s true? Who knows?
—I hide out in the library near the
classics section. Harley joins me, taking the available recliner
next to me while I look over
Beowulf
for my final paper,
taking notes in my notebook.

“Kennie’s getting information for me,” Harley
tells me once she’s settled into her seat.

“What
kind
of information?” I ask, my
nose stuck in my book. I’m almost finished. A few more pages to
go.

“I want the lowdown on what happened after
Ryder went home.”

“He’s in detention for the next two weeks,
like me, and he’s suspended from two games,” I tell her, repeating
what Principal Grady told me. “I mean, it’s something, right?”

“It’s not enough, Joey,” Harley almost yells.
Looking around us, she leans forward, her hands tugging up the
front of her low cut top. “People like him go around doing whatever
they want despite whoever gets hurt. I want to make him pay. You’re
one of my best friends and he’s hurt you. You’ve been through a
lot, Joey. I want him to know that you’re not just another nameless
girl in the crowd. I want him to feel the pain that you’ve
felt.”

The pain that I’ve felt…
no one should
ever experience that.

“I don’t wish that upon my worst enemy,
Harley,” I tell her as sincere and serious as I can. I mean it. No
one should lose their entire family. No one should feel like
they’re a problem inflicted upon someone not ready to be a
mother.

I think of all the things that my Hilary had
to give up just for me. Normal people her age are married and
starting their families, starting their own lives. At a young age,
she was given a kid to raise, a little girl with serious mental
issues and medical problems.

There wasn’t a handbook attached to my
jacket, no way to know what was right and what was wrong, just me.
Little damaged me.

“You’re right about that,” she tells me;
regret clouding her eyes. “But he
needs
to suffer.”

The way she says that should worry me, but
she’s Harley. She’s a bit creepy to begin with.

“And what do you propose we do about it?” I
ask, my mind filling with all things revenge worthy. I hope that
she doesn’t to
Revenge
him. I’m not capable of Amanda
Clark/Emily Thorne-ing someone. I don’t really have the patience
for that. “Do you want to tape him to the flag pole? Maybe take his
car and place it on the school roof.” Awkward suggestions. “I don’t
know about you, but I’m not
that
strong and I have no idea
how to put his car on the roof.”

“You might not,” Harley mutters cryptically.
“But I think I do.” She rubs her chin—Holy hell, she’s
plotting
!

Now, I’m wondering what’s going on in that
devious little mind of hers when the bell rings and I’m walking to
my next class. In American Sign Language, we play state-bingo. Mr.
Penn signs the state, if we have it on our card
and
recognize the sign; we black it out with a chip. If we have it and
don’t
recognize the sign—that happens to my sign partner,
Cassie Bell—we just suffer. The prize is five extra points on
Friday’s test. In English, I work on my final paper for
Beowulf
, finishing the rough draft; I only need to type it
up. In orchestra, everyone is talking about the
very
one-sided fight.

“Is it true that they were fighting over
you?” Marilyn, first chair viola, asks when she passes by me in the
instrument storage room. She disappears down a hall and pops out
holding her rectangular viola case.

“Not fighting
over
me,” I clarify.
“You mean to tell me that you didn’t hear what Ryder said about
me?”

That’s a first. A story not making its way
down the ladder.

“Who’s Ryder again?” she asks. Right now, I
realize that Marilyn is a freshman music nerd that doesn’t know
many upperclassmen—except for the juniors and seniors in this
class. She’s very much in the dark about the gossip spreading
through the school. Normally, if it doesn’t involve a freshman, it
won’t sink down to their level.

I pat her on the shoulder and tell her, “You
don’t need to know who he is, dear.” That makes her laugh and we
walk to our respective places to start tuning.

My stand partner grabs the sheet music from
my case and sets it on the stand, spreading all the pages of
Brandenburg
. He pushes his glasses up onto his nose—they
slide down again—and tightens his bow. He doesn’t look at me. He
doesn’t even acknowledge me, which is fine.

Max has been my stand partner since last year
when we both moved up to first violin. He transferred schools,
extremely excited to join an award winning orchestra rather than
deal with his last school’s music program. Suddenly, his eyes start
glancing to me, brief, fleeting glances, and I just want him to ask
whatever question is on his mind.

Though, knowing him, it isn’t good.

“What is it, Max,” I snap, annoyance settled
in my tone. Mrs. Pearl hasn’t arrived so we have a few minutes to
talk. I know I’m soon going to regret this.

He looks to me, eyes hidden behind thick
glasses. “Nothing,” he nearly whispers. He doesn’t look to me
again, just ignores my brief outburst. I will
never
understand this guy.

After orchestra, I walk to Mrs. Taylor’s
room, the teacher that happily agreed to lead my detention.
Usually, the same teacher holds detentions for the entire school in
the same room but I can’t be in the same room as Ryder, so I’m with
Mrs. Taylor. She lets me do homework so I finish my calculus
homework and a history worksheet Mr. Cheney gave me. After
detention, I end up taking a transit bus home—it almost passes my
stop.

I’m not the type of girl that gets in trouble
in school. Hilary has never received phone calls from the principal
or a teacher telling her that I’ve done something bad. My
nervousness is growing the closer I get to home.

I inch open the door, sneaking a peek into
the living room as far as the door allows.

If Hilary isn’t in there, I can just run up
to my room and hide in my closet like I used to. That sounds
tempting. She could be asleep—I pray that she’s sleeping—trying to
catch up before she starts her next shift. I take a step through
the door, quietly closing it behind me.

“Josephine. Elizabeth. Archembault.” I was
very
wrong. “What were you thinking?” Hilary asks from the
dining room table. She’s been waiting for me.

“I thought you were sleeping,” I mutter under
my breath. I drop my backpack in the nearest chair and stand
awkwardly in the middle of the living room. I’ve never been in
trouble before.

“
Excuse
me?” She crosses her thin arms
along her chest and leans to the side, cocking out her hip. She
means business. “What did you just say?”

“Nothing,” I reply, avoiding eye contact. I
let out a sigh; waiting for the lecture I know is to come. “I
wasn’t thinking,” I tell her.

“That’s obvious, for damn sure,” she snaps, I
recoil. She thrusts her hand, pointing to the couch. “Sit,” my aunt
demands.

I take a seat, dropping my gaze to the white
carpet.

“You’ve never done
any
thing like this
before, Joey,” she starts, beginning to pace through the living
room.

I fold my hands neatly in my lap, twiddling
my thumbs.

“Why, Joey?” Hilary asks, exasperated.
“Why?”

“God, I’m sorry,” I yell. She stops pacing
and turns to me. This is the first time I’ve ever yelled at my
aunt. It shocks her as much as it does me.

She composes herself. “Are you?” she
questions, her eyebrows skyrocketing.

I snort. “Not for what I did to him,” I
admit. When I kicked him, I felt a little surge of power. I felt
that I could handle myself. I felt like I didn’t need the
protection of anyone. It was only a kick but it made me feel
better
. Like I was telling everyone else that ever said
horrible things about me to shove it where the sun don’t shine. “He
deserved that and then some.”

“Why’d you do it?” she asks again, throwing
her arm fitfully into the air. “I spoke to Molly, okay? I know
Zephyr punched Ryder. Did he say something about Zephyr?”

“No.”

I can tell you—if my mouth will let me—I can
just open up and tell you what happened… but my mouth won’t work,
it won’t let me reveal anything.

“Well, why, Joey?” she asks, the fight
leaving her voice.

I can tell her. I
know
I can tell her.
About the party, about the rumors, about Ryder, I
can
tell
her. I
want
to tell her. I
need
to tell her, damn
it.

But I can’t.

Hilary takes a seat on the couch next to me,
reaching for my hand, but I snatch it away.

“Please, just talk to me, Joey,” Hilary begs.
“Were Ryder and Zephyr already fighting and you just got in the
middle of it? Was Ryder hurting you in some way? Was Zephyr hurting
you
? Joey, you need to start—”

“He was talking about me!” I yell at her.
“That’s why Zephyr hit him, because he was telling people at school
that we hooked up at some party.”
And he tried to force me to,
Aunt Hil, but I can’t tell you that
. “He said that even though
I’m a great lay, I’m as crazy as everyone thinks. Zephyr was
defending me.”

It shocks her, her green eyes wide with
surprise as I spew out the gory details.

Momentarily. Then things shift.

“Well,” she starts quietly, treading lightly.
“Did you?” she asks.

What the hell?

“That’s what you took from that?” I ask,
getting angry. No,
pissed off
. “I just told you that
someone, a boy that you’ve met, spread a rumor about me and the
first thing you ask is if I had SEX WITH HIM!
WHAT THE HELL,
AUNT HIL
?”

“No, you didn’t say it was a rumor at first,”
she defends, poorly.

“And it’s okay to just assume that your niece
is some slut?” I yell back. My aunt recoils from the anger lacing
my words. “Some whore sleeping with random guys behind the
bleachers in the gym, huh?”

I can’t sit here, I can’t think straight just
sitting here.

“That’s not what I said and you know it,”
Hilary barks back.

“It’s not
different
!”

Hilary leans away. “I don’t know, okay. I
don’t know how to handle this type of situation,” she tells me. She
drops her head in her hands, exhaustion running through her,
letting out a long, deep sigh. “I just… I just don’t know what to
do here. Okay, I’m not…” she stops herself.

I can’t
take
this anymore.

“I know that!” I yell, her head snaps up to
look at me. “I know you’re not my mom; I got that. You don’t have
to keep reminding me every single chance you get.” I shoot up from
the couch, just needing to distance myself. I start pacing back and
forth. Exhaustion racks my body and I just want to be any place but
here.

“Is that what you think I’m doing?” Hilary
asks, her voice barely a whisper.

“It’s pretty obvious,” I answer, my arms
wrapped around me protectively. I’m fighting to prevent the tears
welling from falling. The last thing I need is to start crying.

“That isn’t what I’m doing here, Joey,” she
tells me. I look to her and I see the strain in her eyes, I can
hear it in her voice. Her will to try, her determination, I can see
it in her. She’s trying.

And really, that’s all I can ask for,
right?

“Well, you could’ve fooled me,” I tell her,
losing my will to fight. I’m still angry. I turn on my heels,
heading for the front door. I just need to escape.

Hilary stands up from the couch. “Where are
you going?” she asks.

There’s no anger, but that doesn’t stop the
snarky remark from leaving my lips.

“To make sure that my fellow prisoner is
getting his daily dose of bread and water,” I tell her, throwing
open the door. It bangs against the closet behind it.

“I have to ground you, Joey.”

“Wouldn’t expect anything less,” I
mumble.

With that, I close the door and make my trek
across the lawn, jumping over the large rock that separates the
yards. I just want to see him, that’s all I want. I need to see
him.

The sky is an ugly gray and darkening, the
air smells like rain. I miss that scent. Finally, the normal
Washington weather has arrived, I’ve been wondering when I would
see it, encounter it, frolic through it. I’ve been wondering when
it would finally feel like home to me.

Okay, maybe not
frolic
through it. But
I’m excited.

***

Standing at their door, I take a deep breath,
letting the air fill my lungs, inflating me. I don’t want to
disturb them. I really hope that Jamie answers. I don’t think I’m
exactly their parents’ favorite person right now. I don’t even
think that I can look at Molly or Antonios without spilling in
hurried speech how sorry I am I got their son suspended. For the
second time, no less. I don’t even know what Molly looks like when
she’s upset with someone. And she’s the sweetest person I’ve ever
met.