I stood there shell shocked. He didn't really think I was coming back again? I'd pretty much chalked up the whole experience as a failed attempt at being normal.

Dean was long gone by the time I finally shook myself out of my stupor and headed out of the library with the clearly aggravated librarian on my heals. I was tempted to tell her to get a grip. So she had to stay five extra minutes while I stood like a guppy with my mouth open. You didn't see me bitching that I was forced to stay late at the bane of my existence. Shit happens. Get used to it.

I wasn't surprised when she left me on the sidewalk outside the front doors of the school without a word, hurrying off toward the lone car in the parking lot.

People didn't enjoy being sucked into the shadows that were my constant companion. They wanted perky, cheerful and butterflies out the ass as they danced beneath rainbows and singing birds. They didn't want silence and darkness.

The two-mile walk home went fast as I contemplated the disastrous tutoring session. I mentally kicked myself for even saying anything. I'd broken my code by opening my mouth. One thing was for sure, he could wait all afternoon for me, but I wouldn't be there the next day. No way in hell.

***

He was waiting for me the next day when I strolled in five minutes late. I wasn't going to come. All day I told myself I was going to leave him high and dry. I didn't need his psycho-analysis shit. I'd been heading out of the locker room, intending to head right home, but my feet seemed to have a mind of their own, and here I was. I convinced myself it was because we had unfinished business. My plan was to basically tell him to eff-off and then I'd leave. Quick and clean. No harm no foul.

My eff-off moment never came though because he threw me for a loop.

"Hey, I'm really sorry about yesterday. I know I came across as do-gooder-asshole," he greeted me, raking a hand through his short dark hair. It stood up slightly from his touch, giving him a rumpled just-woke-up look. "I can be pushy sometimes. Forgive me?" he said, holding his hand out for me to shake. >I pondered her words that night, coming to the conclusion that maybe Santa was Satan after all since their names had the same letters. As a matter of fact, I was so convinced that the next morning before school I scrawled Santa=Satan on twenty-six slips of paper, one for each of the students in my class, and one for Ms. Price, my kindergarten teacher, in case she hadn't been let in on the secret like me. Those twenty-six slips of paper earned me a one-way ticket to the office that day. When Donna picked me up from the principal's office, she almost looked proud of me. Almost.

Convinced I had found what would finally make a space for me in her life, I decided to set the record straight on the whole Santa conspiracy. I was back in the office the next day when I bloodied Brad Mitchell's nose after he informed me I was "stupid and ugly" for believing Santa was evil. Donna didn't look quite as pleased this time when she picked me up, especially after the principal told her I would be suspended for the day if I didn't let the subject drop. During the car ride home, Donna lectured me about how Santa wasn't Satan because he wasn't real. I was sent to bed without dinner that night to reflect on keeping my hands to myself in the future, but instead I plotted my revenge on Brad and the other kids who had laughed at me.

The next morning, Brad pulled his spelling workbook out of his desk and I almost died laughing when he fell out of his chair from a squirming mass of worms that landed in his lap. The worms were courtesy of my dad, though their actual purpose was supposed to be for his upcoming annual fishing weekend. My punishment was doubled for that prank, but it didn't deter me as I spent the rest of kindergarten exacting my revenge. I didn't mind the punishments since Donna was forced to pick me up each time. She'd spend the drive lecturing me on my "atrocious" behavior. I'd tune out the actual words, just pleased that she was actually talking to me. Eventually though, she stopped lecturing and the drives were filled with angry tense silences until finally, I lost interest and stopped.

Not wanting to think about the past anymore, I walked over to my stereo and docked my iPod. I selected the rock playlist and blasted the volume. The steady beat of the music throbbed through my room, drowning out the bothersome memories. I selected a book off my bookshelf and plopped down on my bed.

I didn't open the book though. Instead, I allowed the events of the day to run through my mind like a filmstrip. Mitch's death played havoc with my mind as I morbidly wondered how he'd done it. I'd given suicide so much thought that I was convinced that an overdose was the only way to go. Donna would have had a fit if I would have made it messy, and I figured a clean death could be my last parting gift to her. Maybe then she'd finally forgive me for all my past sins. For a while, I'd entertained thoughts of doing it on the awful floral print sofa in the front room which would have been the ultimate exclamation point. Suddenly, it occurred to me that all my thoughts seemed to focus on how I would have done it, not how I was going to do it. The oddity of my thoughts truly puzzled me as I lied there contemplating it all. Strangely enough, what I think I felt was relief, but how is that possible? I was pissed this morning when Mitch ruined my plans, and now I'm relieved? Did that mean I never would have gone through with it? I was just a hack the whole time. A fraud.

Chapter Five

The next morning I still felt like a fraud. My epiphany didn't suddenly change my life so that now there would be birds chirping happily outside my window. The sun beams didn't beckon me to dance beneath them, and it certainly didn't change the limited greeting Donna gave me as I entered the kitchen and grabbed my typical breakfast from the refrigerator.

I returned her greeting with Coke in hand before sliding in my earbuds. The music drowned out all other noise, but I knew from past experience Donna had nothing else to say. I gathered up my backpack while Donna tossed away her empty yogurt container and placed her spoon in the dishwasher. We left the house together without a word and within a few minutes she pulled up in front of my school.

"Bye," I said, stowing my earbuds and iPod in my backpack as I climbed out of the car.

"Bye," she replied, picking up her phone as I closed the door. I watched her talking on the phone as she drove away. If I cared, I would have wondered who she talked to when she wasn't with me. I would have wondered if she ever laughed or even smiled at a witty comment, but I didn't care, so I didn't wonder.

First period was filled with note taking while we watched a movie on the reconstruction of Europe's ravaged cities after World War II. I doodled on my page, listening with half an ear. It wasn't just me. Most of the class whispered and texted each other throughout the movie. Mitch wasn't mentioned in the whispers, and no one uttered the word suicide the entire period. I wasn't surprised. People were fickle and attention spans were short. Today's juicy nugget was how some junior named Pam had gone down on two jocks behind the bleachers in the gym. Gossip was a weird beast. Everyone always scoffed at being labeled a "gossip," but they had no qualms about passing damaging information along, which is the ironic part. All the whispering, glaring, pointing and judging makes them no better than whoever or whatever it is they're gossiping about.

Before I put my foot down and stopped going to church, I'd seen gossip rear its ugly head many times. Religious people were big on saying the "tongue is a mighty weapon, so use it wisely," and then forsaking this claim when the music director slept with the minister's wife or when the youth minister did what he did. The plain and simple fact was everyone sinned. Either they were good at hiding their sins, or they weren't. I fell in the latter category. My sins had been featured front and center, on display for everyone to judge.

The rest of the morning passed much like first period had. No "Mitch" mentions, but tons of how wide Pam's mouth is. James was waiting for me outside the cafeteria when I joined him.

"Hey," I said, munching on the barbecue chips I'd bought from the vending machine.

"Hey," he said in a lackluster voice.

"Same old crap?" I asked, not needing to clarify.

"Yeah," he said, pulling up his sleeve to reveal a bruise in the shape of a handprint circling his wrist.

"Bastard."

He nodded, accepting the only form of sympathy I knew how to give.

"Just till grad," I said, attempting to be reassuring.

"I guess," he answered, pulling the sleeve of his hoodie back down to cover the mark. He stared off at nothing, lost in thought.

"You want to hang out after I get out of tutoring?"

Tags: Tiffany King Romance
Source: readsnovelonline.net