“I’m just happy you’re doing okay,” she says. “Is it a girl … or a boy?”
Of course she’d worry about that. “Relax, no penises involved.”
She makes a face. “I didn’t say that.”
“No, I know, but I know what you mean when you ask,” I say. “You can stop worrying about me. I’m fine.”
“I just don’t want anyone to … well, you know …”
Use me. I get it. She won’t say it out loud. It’s like this forbidden word that never gets uttered, but we all know it’s hanging in the air.
“I know, I know. There are no boys, so don’t worry. Just assholes.” I laugh it off, but it’s not really that funny.
“Okay,” she mumbles. “I trust you.”
That means a lot to me. I just hope it’s true.
“Soooo … about that friend I made. She kind of invited me to a party tonight,” I say, tucking my hands into my back pocket. “It’s not a big deal. It’s just an indie concert in a club.”
“Oh.” My mom makes a weird face that I don’t know how to describe because it shows all kinds of emotions, from surprised, to worried, to angry, to fearful.
“Are you … sure you’re ready for that?” she asks. “I mean, what if it goes wrong again?”
I swallow back the nerves. She means well, but sometimes it’s almost as if she blames me for what happened. “I don’t want what happened to me to hold me back. I want to be happy again, Mom. I just want things to be normal.”
She nods. “I understand. You’re a teen.”
I don’t know whether to take that as a compliment or an insult.
She grabs my shoulders, and says, “If you think you’re ready, then it’s fine by me.”
I smile. “Thanks. That means a lot to me.”
She pulls me in for a big hug. “I’m proud of you, always. Remember that. Nothing will ever stop me from loving you.”
“I know,” I reply. “I love you too, Mom.”
“What time does it start?” she asks.
“Um … in like three hours, so there’s plenty of time.”
“Will you be eating dinner with us?” she asks hesitantly.
“I’d love to,” I say with a genuine smile.
Dinner at home. Before, I never used to consider it my favorite place to be, but right now, normalcy is the only thing I crave.
A month earlier
Falcon Elite Prep
Breathe.
Just breathe.
You can get through this.
It’s just school. It’s nothing special. You’ve walked down these halls a million times before, and you can do it again.
The little voice inside my head sounds like my mom. It doesn’t make it any easier.
It feels as though her hand is on my shoulder as I approach the school doors. She told me she’d be here, in spirit, walking right alongside me. Even though I brushed it off when she said it, now more than ever do I need her strong voice supporting me.
This school and all the pain it harbors for me … is my biggest hurdle yet.
It’s the first time in months that I’m back here, back where I left behind everything I ever knew and cared about, just so I could repair what another had broken.
Just so I could mend my heart and heal the scars a boy left on my soul.
A boy whose name even now I refuse to say out loud.
He broke me.
He broke the trust I had in people, and now it’ll take months, maybe even years, to rebuild.
At least, that’s what my therapist told me, but I don’t know if that’s true in my case.
I take a deep breath and stare down the door I once walked through clutching that same boy’s hand. This time it’ll be different. I won’t ever let a boy trick me like that again.
Clutching my books close to my heart, I push past the door and enter the big hallway to our school. Kids are bustling all around, people are chatting near the lockers and going up and down the stairs, and watching them go about their daily lives is overwhelming.
Because all this time, I stood still.
Going to intense therapy for so long really did a number on me.
But I know I can do this. This is still the same school as it always was. At least, that’s what I tell myself while I walk down the hallway, trying to keep my bearings.
I feel as though everyone’s looking at me, and it’s making me uneasy.
The more steps I take, the more the buzzing hallway grows silent.
And when I look up, several students gape at me as though I’m a living ghost. But it’s just me.
I’m now that girl.
That girl who was used by a boy named Bobby. Whose drunken, drug-induced haze was put on camera for all the world to see. That video of him doing all those disgusting things to my body was shared around the school as though it meant nothing. As though my life meant nothing to them, and it was all a cheap trick to get some laughs and attention.
And it hurts … because all these students are still looking at me.
That one video is etched into their brains like a permanent tattoo, and nothing I do or say will erase it from their minds.
It doesn’t matter that Bobby went to juvie. It doesn’t matter that Lila, who helped spread the videos and brought him his victims, is also doing community service.
None of it will undo what happened to me.
And all these people know who I am … and what happened to this girl.
And I stop moving in the middle of the hallway. I’m frozen to the floor, my body shaking. This isn’t me. I was the bubbly girl, the girl who took every challenge head-on, who wasn’t afraid of anything, and certainly not any boy. But that was the old Monica. And the old Monica no longer exists. All that’s left is a broken shell of the girl she once was.
And I feel it in my bones—everyone’s looking at me, judging me. They’re whispering things I can’t hear, but I know they’re talking about me.
Tears stain my eyes, and I blink them away. I told myself I could do this, that I was ready, but am I really? Am I really willing to fake my way through my education and pretend nothing ever happened?
No.
I turn around.
I can’t. I just can’t.
My feet march faster than tears can flow, and I quickly make my way outside again so I can breathe.
“Mo?”
Sam’s voice makes my heart shudder, and I turn my head.
She’s standing near the door, clutching her bag over her shoulder. That same worry is in her eyes that’s always there when she knows I’m in deep shit.
I don’t think I’ve ever been in deeper shit, and we both know it.
“Are you okay?” she asks.
She wouldn’t be my best friend if she didn’t know exactly what to ask to make me fall apart.
And I shake my head, tears flowing freely. “No. I can’t do this. I can’t go back.”
When Mom opens my door, I sit up straight in bed. The book I was reading drops to the floor. I try not to look guilty, but I know I do. After running from school, I’ve been home all day, avoiding the inevitable, and she knows.
“Mom, I—”
She holds up a hand. “No more excuses.”