Singles and Pairs (3) [discontinued]

Scarlett

“Scarlett!”

The screech wrenched me back to reality. Lisa was clutching my wrists, shaking them up and down, press-on nails biting into my porcelain skin. How long had she been doing that?

I furtively glanced over my shoulder. The entire classroom had taken their seats. Professor Grimsworth glared at us from behind his desk, bushy eyebrows raised in question of the disturbance.

“Can I borrow Scarlett, professor? Lisa asked, batting her lashes as she towed me into the hall. “Ladies issues, I’m sure you don’t want to hear the details.”

Lisa’s willingness to say anything to anyone rarely came into use, and I wasn’t sure if this was one of those occasions. She closed the door behind us before the professor could find the right words to respond.

In a normal situation, Lisa would not have physically overpowered me. At six feet four inches, I towered over her, as I did most of the students at Hatchbrake High. Today was different; I was so dazed from Shane’s threat, a soft breeze could have plucked me off the ground and carried me overseas.

Lisa’s kitten-heel sandals pattered on the hallway as she tugged me along. I vaguely acknowledged another door open and close. The lighting upgraded from florescent to extra florescent and the smell of lemon-scented handwash filled my sinuses. Lisa shoved me into the nearest toilet cubicle.

“You don’t actually have ladies issues do you?” I asked, pre-emptively changing the conversation.

“Scarlett,” Lisa began, her voice midway between concern and disbelief. “Shane’s arm is in a cast. People are talking, saying that maybe . . . well, that you did it. Tell me that’s not true. You didn’t do that to him, right?”

“Technically, yes,” I said, voice sheepish. I couldn’t bear the accusation in her eyes, so shifted my attention to the pale green, nauseous walls of the cubicle.

“And untechnically?”

“It was an accident. I ended things with him, and then--”

“Wait, you ended things with Shane?” Her head drew back, eyes wide with bewilderment.

I nodded, strawberry blonde curls bouncing gently around my face.

“Scarlett . . . this isn’t you,” she said. Her voice had taken on the devastated tone of a parent who no longer recognised their own child. “Skipping classes, cancelling plans, and now this? Since when do you break up with your boyfriend without telling your best friend? Since when do you break your boyfriend’s arm?”

“I told you that was an accident,” I said, almost hissing at her. I could feel my blood beginning to simmer.

“You haven’t been the same since your father died,” she said, shaking her head. “Look, I know things have been tough, and I’ve tried so hard to be there for you. But you need to get over it already.”

Half a second. That’s how long it took for my blood to rise from an agitated simmer to an enraged boil. I shoved her with an open fist, sending her sprawling out of the cubicle. She landed on her butt with a heavy thud.

“What the fuck!” she wailed, thumping her hands on the linoleum floor. A false nail snapped from her thumb and skidded across the entire length of the bathroom.

I didn’t care. At least, not then. All I could see was red. All I felt was the burning necessity to be as far away as possible.

So I ran.

Out of the toilets. Across the hall. Away from the students peering out of their classrooms. Out of the building and onto the front lawn.

I ran to the end of the street. And the end of the next. And the one after that.

I just ran.