Shadow of the Past (15 page)

She put her chopsticks down, folded her
hands on top of each other and leaned forward as well. “I’m sorry
that happened to you. It wasn’t fair, and that’s really awful. But
there are things you can do about that and ways that you can react
so that you don’t keep stuff like that bottled up inside
you.”

Mark leaned back into his chair. “Yeah,
I doubt that.”

“Sure there is. You could talk to
someone, and we could’ve figured out a plan for you to take control
of the situation. Without violence. Jack and his friends still have
to follow the rules like everyone else, and there are plenty of
things that we can do to combat their behavior effectively. Like
conflict resolution or mediation.”

“Mediation? What the hell am I supposed
to say in mediation? ‘I’m sorry that I make you so mad you have to
shove me to the ground and mock me. I pledge to work on that issue
with you.’”

She just stared at him. “Are you
done?”

“No. Yes. See, now I’m mad. Seriously,
where did you come from? How do you work in a high school and not
understand how they work?”

“My high school career isn’t really up
for discussion, Mark,” she smiled. “And all I can work with is what
I know about. Now that I know about this, here we are talking about
it.”

“I don’t like talking about
things.”

“Yeah, it really sucks sometimes, but
sometimes it’s the only thing that helps. What about your Uncle?
You two talk don’t you?”

“Oh god no! I mean, things like ‘Pass
the salt’ or ‘Where are you going to be.’ This week there was a lot
of ‘These are your chores’ too, so thanks for that.”

“So you don’t talk about your parents,
or your aunt?”

“No, we don’t. He’s an old-school guy
who doesn’t talk about his feelings and tells me my hair is too
long.”

“That’s really unfortunate. What about
your friends? Christine?”

“My one friend? Well, he knows and he’s
cool but he just doesn’t take anything seriously. And Christine . .
. well, she doesn’t need to worry about me and my weird and
embarrassing past.”

“Well, if you want to have a
relationship with her, you’re going to have to try to be honest
with her. But that’s it? There’s no one else?”

If there was anything the chores and
the dreams had done it was take focus off Clara’s death and the
emotional sucking chest wound it had caused. For the first time in
almost a week he thought of Clara again, and he was stricken by her
loss and how he’d been able to forget about her. Ms. Kennedy could
see it on his face, and she leaned forward again.

“What is it, Mark?”

She’s like an emotional
vulture. She can’t wait to explain to you how this is “natural” and
what you’re feeling is “normal.” How much horseshit is that,
huh?

“I . . . well, there was someone. A
friend, a real good friend who . . . she died.”

“I’m so sorry. When?”

“A couple of weeks ago.”

She straightened up, and for
a second her sympathy was over-shadowed by a look of
triumph.
Fucking hell, she loves this.
It’s like she found the trauma prize in the emotional
cracker-jack.

“Just before the fight.” She nodded,
all of her pieces put together. “This is important, Mark. Loss,
especially loss of a good friend, is so traumatic and hurtful. If
you don’t have time to grieve and accept the loss, then things like
this can happen. All of your emotions get all jumbled up and you
can’t process anything in a real way.”

“If you say so,” Mark grimaced, tossing
his sandwich back into the bag. Chicken salad wasn’t going to
soothe his hunger any more, or his irritation.

“Who was it?”

Don’t do it. Don’t do it,
man. Don’t let her play emotional whack-a-mole with you.

“Her name was Clara. She was an older
lady, a friend who was there for me when my Aunt died and she
helped me and now . . .”

It was too much. It was buzzing and
burning in his head and settling in his eyes. He was tearing up and
his voice was cracking.

Not this crap again. C’mon,
this is what she wants. Mark the crybaby. Mark the damaged. Mark
the vulnerable. This is a one way ticket to a lifetime of
therapy.

She reached into a desk drawer and
handed him a small stack of tissues.

“I’m fine,” he said, wiping his eyes
with the back of his hand.

“It’s okay, Mark.”

“Like hell it is. She’s dead and gone
and I’m still here.”

“Tell me about it, Mark. You can’t keep
this ins--”

“Yes I can! I don’t need to tell you a
damn thing! It’s done, okay? No amount of talking is going to bring
her back, or change what I’ve seen! She’s dead, okay? Killed, gone,
murdered before my eyes and she is never, ever coming
back.”

Oh yeah, that told her.
That’ll make her back off, genius.

The look on her face was enough to
confirm that he’d fucked up royally. Her cracker jack prize had
turned into an angry scorpion called “Holy shit did he say
murder?”

“Mark,” she said, back stiff and palms
flat on her desk. “What do you mean by that? Exactly.”

They stared at each other for a second.
“It’s just an expression.”

“Really? I’ve never heard it before.”
Her face twitched, and Mark realized she was trying to smile it
off.

“Look . . . My friend, Clara, she was
killed, okay? They were talking about it in the papers and stuff
and on TV so it’s like . . . I can’t really get away from it,
y’know?”

She stayed still for a moment, and then
nodded. She picked her hands off the desk and rubbed them together.
“Okay, I guess I can see that. But Mark, this is serious business.
You can’t just go off and drop a bomb like that and expect me not
to react.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I should’ve realized my
friend’s murder would be such a bother for you.”

“Mark,” she said, her voice almost
reaching ‘I’m a serious disciplinarian’ levels. “That’s not fair.
I’m just trying to process this.”

Stop. Think. Don’t say
something stupid.

“I’m sorry. I’m just really tired and
stressed and worn out.”

“I can imagine. This must be a terrible
time for you, Mark. I had no idea that your friend was the one
they’d been talking about on the news. These things are never easy
when they’re this sudden, but I want you to know that there’s
nothing you can’t talk to me about, okay?”

“Well, thanks, but I should be
fine.”

She stopped and stared at him intently.
“Mark, you’re not fine. That’s why you’re here. Now . . . Is there
anything else I need to know about Clara’s death?”

“No, I told you. It’s just an
expression, that’s all.”

“Mark, I think we both
know--”

“You don’t know, okay? Just drop it!
I’m sorry I said anything.”

“Mark, it’s just that you said . . .
what you said and I think it’s important that we be honest with
each other. If you know something about what happened then you need
to tell me about it.”

“I don’t need to do
anything.”

She paused. “That’s different than
there not being anything to tell.”

“Look, it’s just . . . I’m fine, okay?
It’s nothing.”

Oh yeah, that’ll shake
her.

“Mark, I think we should--”

“No, we shouldn’t,” he said, leaping to
his feet and grabbing his bag. “This is pointless, okay? I was
upset because my friend died and Jack thought it was funny, that’s
why I got all crazy. That’s all, there’s nothing else. I’m not
going to sit here and have you grill me because you think I maybe
saw or did whatever.” He darted for the door.

“Mark,” she said, and he paused with
his hand on the knob. “You can go, but this is serious and I still
want us to talk about this tomorrow, okay?”

He didn’t look back, and slammed the
door behind him.

“Oh, c’mon, never?”

“No,” Christine said with a
laugh. “I’ve never seen the
Sopranos
. Is that
horrible?”

Steve threw up his arms and
fell backwards in the grass with a great sigh. “Yeah no, it’s fine.
I mean you're a Jersey Girl now and you don’t know the gospel of
the
Sopranos
.
That’s fine. I’m just going to lie here quietly and die from the
shame you should be feeling.”

“Oh quit it,” she said, kicking his
foot. “I just hate that kind of stuff. Plus, it’s old.”

Steve propped himself up on his elbows.
“They have this thing called the Internet, and you can get stuff
from it. Like, shows and music and all kinds of magic
stuff.”

“Ugh, whatever. There’s plenty of good
new stuff on.”

“What, like Gossip Girl?”

“Well . . .” she said, tapping her chin
in mock thoughtfulness.

“Oh my god, you trash TV slut. Wait,
here comes lunch,” he said, rolling over and retching with an
exaggerated heave.

Lunches with Steve had almost always
contained some kind of heaving on his part, especially after she
had told him that she hated that sound. In the week of Mark’s
suspension they’d had lunch together every day, a couple of times
with some of the other kids that Steve knew from Drama club, but
most of the time was spent together under the tree where she and
Mark first had lunch.

She’d been looking forward to Mark
joining them but if there was anything that the counselor could do
to help him out, she was all for it. He was so flipped out over
them not being able to eat together, so she’d done her best to make
sure that he knew that she was fine with it and he didn’t have to
stress.

“I’m going to miss our vomit filled
lunches together,” Steve said, straightening up.

“We’ll still be having lunch together,
and it’ll be even more fun with Mark around.”

“Oh yeah, since he’s such a barrel of
laughs nowadays.”

“Steve!”

“I know, I know. I don’t want to be a
dick or anything, but I just wish he wouldn’t make such a big deal
out of everything.”

“Well you’re kind of a dick, because
this is a big deal.”

“Yeah, I know. When things like this
happen he just tenses up and everything becomes the end of the
world. It all works out, no matter how much things suck. If he just
relaxed, he would realize that he’ll be fine, but he’d rather
punish himself.”

“He’s not punishing himself,” she said.
“He just feels things, probably a lot more than you or I do. Under
all that shyness is a lot of passion, and I like that. It’s better
than feeling nothing.”

Steve leaned closer. “Oh so you’re an
emotional passion-junkie, is that what it’s all about? I don’t
really know what’s going on with you two, since Mark was never
really one to kiss and tell. Or kiss at all, for that
matter.”

She pushed him away with a smile.
“Well, he does just fine and I’m not one to kiss and tell either,
wise guy.”

“Nuts.”

“Seriously. You think Mark’s going to
be okay, don’t you?”

Steve rolled his eyes. “A thousand
times yes. I mean, he’s kind of a ‘getting shit on’ magnet and he
can be painfully emo about it but he always manages. It was the
same thing when his aunt died and it was like his whole world was
ending. But he realized it wasn’t and he got over it.”

“This is a little different
though.”

“Yeah, I know, but Mark’s a lot of
things. Sure, he’s weepy, he’s sensitive, he’s melodramatic, and he
may have the fashion sense of a homeless guy, but he’s still a
great once you make it past all of those things. . .” Steve looked
up and saw Christine’s gaze focused just over his shoulder. “And
I’m saying these things only because I know he’s standing right
behind me.”

“Oh really?” Mark said, standing right
behind him.

“Of course, and just so that we’re
clear, exactly how long have you been standing there?”

“I’m a lot of things,” Mark said,
taking a seat in the small space between Christine and Steve. Mark
placed his hand on Christine’s knee, and she felt it trembling. She
put her hand on his and gave it a squeeze.

“Are you okay? I thought you were going
to be there all period.”

“Yeah, just fine.” He didn’t look over
at her, his gaze still locked on Steve. Steve just stared back,
tugging at the grass with a playful smile.

“Good, it’d suck to have you in
guidance counselor jail all lunch. And look, I was just fooling
around, man. You know I love you.

Mark’s hand trembled again.

“Mark,” Christine said, putting a hand
on his shoulder and trying to turn him towards her. “We’re just
worried about you, that’s all. We just want to help.”

“Of course you do,” he said, giving her
a sideways glance, but still focusing on Steve.

“I’ve just got your best interests at
heart,” Steve said.