Chapter Three
“The only things guys care about are looks,” Vikki informs me. I don’t answer, but I’m faintly surprised. My new friend never struck me as the type to be bitter against the opposite sex.
My silence doesn’t deter her. She’s used to my lack of responses and easily fills in the gap herself. “I mean, take Lord Byron’s She Walks in Beauty. Typical male. The entire poem was just one long rave on how hot he thought she was and how he wanted her.”
“I don’t think so,” I interject quietly. She raises her eyebrows at me—they’re green today, as is the rest of her frizzy head. She waits for me to continue.
“In the beginning, you’re right, he does talks about her eyes and her face. But the last two lines he speaks of her mind and her heart.”
She grins. “You actually paid attention? Wow, I never would have guessed. You’re always drawing or have your head on your desk.”
I shrug.
“Ladies, is there a reason why you’re talking at the same time I am?” Mrs. Jones asks crossly. Vikki turns back to the front.
“We were discussing Lord Byron’s poem, actually,” she replies brightly. Mrs. Jones purses her thin lips.
“Please refrain from doing so until I’ve given you work time or class is over, girls,” she admonishes. I put my head back down on the desk after she’s turned her back. After a few minutes Vikki pokes me.
I look at her.
“Mrs. Jones is assigning partners for a new project,” she tells me.
I sit up. “What kind of project?” I ask tiredly.
“Writing a summary on the poem. We have to find three things we agree on with our partners about it.”
“Great,” I mumble.
“I hope I don’t get a jock,” Vikki moans. “They’re not capable of brain activity.”
I smile a little.
“We should totally get to choose our own partners! I mean, this is, like, high school!” Brittany whines.
“I beg to differ,” Mrs. Jones says coolly. She presents Brittany with a small bucket. With her lower lip protruding dramatically, I watch as Brittany pulls a scrap of paper out.
Her face lights up. “Leslie Hawthorne!” she announces triumphantly. Her and her best friend squeal and wave at each other from across the room.
Our teacher rolls her eyes. She continues going around the room with the bucket, and one by one all the students gain partners. Vikki pulls out her paper.
“Elizabeth Donner,” she reads, and nods at the athletic girl next to us. The bucket looms before me now, and I nervously pick out the name of my partner.
“Jesse Radin?” My voice wobbles timidly, and I wince.
There’s a series of hoots from the left side of the room. A guy slaps another guy on the back. “Congrats, boy!” he laughs. The guy who I assume is Jesse looks less than excited. He glances at me, and instantly turns away when our eyes meet. I bite my lip, and Vikki gives me a sympathetic pat on the shoulder.
I look at Brittany, afraid that she’s angry because I’ve gotten her boyfriend as a partner. It's common knowledge the two are going out.
But she is only giggling with Leslie. She smiles sweetly at Jesse Radin and waves. He gives her a chin-up gesture back. She’s not worried at all about it—and there’s no reason she should be. What chance do I have of actually getting the attention of a guy like Jesse Radin? Now that I actually take the time to look at him, it's a wonder I haven't noticed him before. He's possibly the best-looking guy I've ever seen.
“You have the rest of the class period to talk to your partner about the poem. Tomorrow you can write the summaries,” Mrs. Jones tells us, jarring me. I realize that I've been staring at my new partner.
Vikki stands. “Later,” she says to me. I’m left alone as everyone groups up. Jesse looks at me, and begins in my direction with obvious reluctance. My face burns.
“Let’s just get this over with,” he says, and sits down next to me. He doesn’t scoot closer, and he doesn’t meet my eyes again. I struggle to think of what to say.
“What do you think about the poem?” he asks me irritably after a long, awkward pause.
My mind is a blank. He’s sitting there, staring at me, probably wondering if I’m even capable of speech. Desperate, I resort to what Vikki had said. “Lord Byron is obsessed with the girls’ looks?” It comes out as more of a question than an answer.
I instantly feel like an idiot. If his expression is any indication, then I can safely assume that I haven’t managed to sound intelligent.
He raises his eyebrows. “Okay… maybe we should just do this tomorrow.”
Without waiting for me to reply he grabs his books and stands. I watch as he strides back over to his friends without so much as a backward glance.
I shove all my feelings down deep within me. I pretend that I don’t care, that he hasn’t affected me, and I take out my notebook to doodle some more.
Vikki leaves Elizabeth to come over to me. “What’s up with the jock? Why aren’t you guys working on your summary thing?”
I don’t look at her. “We’re done.”
* * * * *
The only sound in the room is the clinking of dishes and the occasional clearing of the throat. Even Matt is subdued, chewing moodily and staring at the wall.
Under my lashes, I glance at Dad. His gaze is directed at his plate. I turn to look at Mom. She’s taking a sip of her milk, and she’s just looking at the platter in the middle of the table.
I swallow the food in my throat, feeling like I want to scream. The silence is overwhelmingly stifling.
“The… weather is getting colder, isn’t it?” I ask the table in general.
Dad says nothing. Matt grunts.
“Yes, it is sweetie,” Mom says quietly.
Nothing more is said.
I try again. “I heard in the news that we’re supposed to get a huge rainstorm on Thursday.”
“Whoop Dee-do.” Matt shoves another forkful in his fat mouth. Mom and Dad don’t say anything, or even look at me.
I give up and resist sighing. I hate it when Mom insists on these family dinners. It’s just a futile attempt to reunite a family that is hopelessly falling apart.
Minutes tick by. I mark each one by the large clock hanging on the wall behind Dad’s chair. I listen to the sounds of them chewing. I listen to the clock. Crunch. Tick. Crunch. Tick.
I can’t stand it anymore. “May I be excused?”
Mom finally looks at me. “But you haven’t finished your dinner.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Finish the food your mother made you,” Dad orders.
For the first time in my life I consider disobeying and just leaving the table. What could they do to me? What’s the worst that could happen?
But I remain in my place. I don’t have the courage to go against my father. He glares at me now, with those dark, disconcerting brown eyes—my eyes.
I pick up my fork and stab some broccoli. Dad relaxes and once again goes back to eating and staring at his plate.
I feel a foot kick mine under the table. I look up. Matt grins at me. “So how was that poem?” he asks.
“Why do you care?” I snap.
He grins again. “Heard about the partner thing in English. Radin wasn’t too happy about it.”
My face is red again. I can feel the blood rushing to it. “So, what, he’s so immature that he blabs to all his buddies how unfortunate he is to be stuck with someone like me?”
Father is looking at me. Mom is frowning. “What do you mean, ‘someone like me’?” she demands.
I stab another broccoli. “Nothing. Never mind.”
Mom doesn’t stop frowning.
“He thinks you’re weird,” Matt informs me cheerfully.
“Tell me something I don’t know, you idiot!” I growl. Mom makes a sound in her throat.
Dad sets down his fork with a clatter. “That was uncalled for. Apologize to Matt, now.”
The desire to say no runs strong within me. I want to get up and yell at them, and stomp away. I want to show them that I’m not some weakling.
“Sorry,” I grind out, glaring down at my lap. I pick at the edge of the tablecloth. I don’t need to see Matt’s face to know that he's grinning.
“I forgive you, Lissa,” he says solemnly. I now clench my fists in the fabric of the tablecloth to restrain myself from slapping his face.
“Why does he think Lissa is weird?” Mom asks Matt with distress.
“He’s just kidding, Mom,” I say quickly. Matt’s not completely heartless, and he just nods in affirmation, stuffing his face some more to avoid our mother’s probing gaze.
She’s still suspicious. “Is that why you aren’t bringing any friends home, Lissa? Because you’re having problems with the other kids?” Concern sharpens her words, and now Father is listening to us—something he almost never does.
“No, Mom,” I say, striving for patience.
Matt snickers. “What scares the other kids is how normal Lissa is.” He laughs at his own joke.
“Well, then why aren’t you making any friends?” Mom points out to me, ignoring him.
I sigh in exasperation. Why is this such a big deal?
Matt has another crack ready. “Because—”
“I have made friends. In fact, I made one yesterday.” I glare at Matt as I say this.
Mom’s countenance brightens like a light bulb. “Really? What’s her name? What sports is she in? Does she—”
“Her name is Vikki,” I break in, not wanting to admit that I don’t know much about her. Now I’m uncertain that I should’ve mentioned her at all. Vikki isn’t exactly the type of friend my Mom had in mind for me. She prefers RaeAnn’s type. Cute, petite, a cheerleader. Definitely not my type, or what Vikki is.
“Tell me more,” Mom urges, her eyes shining for the first time in weeks. I’m tempted to ask to be excused again, to ignore her eager questions… but I can’t ignore the scar running down her cheek. It in itself urges me to talk.
“She’s… very cultural,” I say carefully.
Matt snorts with laughter. “She’s cultural, all right.”
Mom gives him a sharp glance. “Lissa is talking, dear,” she says. She turns back to me. “Well, honey? Go on. What else?”
I pick at my food. “She, uh, travels a lot. With her parents.”
Mom is smiling. Smiling. “How nice. I wish we could take a family vacation.”
Suddenly her smile disappears. She’s thinking of RaeAnn again.
Father stands. “Thank you for the meal, Dorrice. I have to get back to work.”
Mom looks up at him. “You’re welcome, darling,” she says dully. Father walks out of the room. He doesn’t comfort her, he doesn’t offer any soothing words. Can’t he see? Doesn’t he care?
“I’m meeting up with some friends at the park,” Matt announces, also leaving the table.
And with that, our delightful family meal has come to and end.
* * * * *
Someone could care,
Someone could see.
Someone could know,
Someone could understand.
Someone could ask,
Someone could help.
Someone could tell,
Someone could support.
But no one does.
I crumple my latest attempt into a ball and toss it towards the wastebasket. It bounces off the side and falls to the floor. I shove my notebook away and roll to my back, staring up at the ceiling.
At times like these I always wonder if RaeAnn can see me. Does she watch me? Miss me? Even… hate me? I could have died that day. I could have been the one to leave our family. But she was. The joy, the light of our lives. She was the one thing that kept the Browns tied together. Her and Matt got along great. Dad would even leave his paperwork to play a game of chess with her. Mom could never get enough of going to RaeAnn’s cheerleading competitions, or taking pictures of her and her dates before they went out the door.
What have I ever done for my family?
jk
