Atticus

Lilburn, Georgia – 1992** Candice **In a manner of minutes, I'll be walking into my fourth high school and everyone will be staring at the new girl. We've moved so many times in the past three years, I'm nauseated before I even leave this crappy apartment. This time, we've landed in the middle of small town Georgia because Mom ran out of money and needs a job. Again. Thank God this is my last year in high school. "Candice!" Mom screams from downstairs. "Where's my tip money?" The bite in her voice practically slaps me in the face. Mom's already pissed and it's only seven thirty in the morning. That might be a new record. She must have forgotten where she hid it again, but I can't tell her that or even admit that I can usually find it within minutes. I'm pretty sure I know why she's been more on edge than normal. Every penny she had saved was eaten up by having to pay our first and last month's rent and now we're living on her leftover tips.Clearly, I need to be more car

After finding a seat in the back of the class, I can finally get a deep breath. I know the hardest part about being the new girl is the being new part, but my stomach still has some catching up to do. It's nothing new; I pretty much stay in a perpetual state of uneasiness thanks to the unpredictable world I live in. The first few weeks are always the worst though.I manage to clear my head long enough to take a few notes in between the occasional stare from a guy next to me and again from a girl on my left. I swear it'd be easier if I just wore a freaking nametag saying, "I'm new, not an alien." When the bell rings I bolt out of the room as quickly as I can. My only focus is to find my next class before I have to ask for help. I don't want favors and I don't want charity because nothing in my world is free. Everything is conditional. I thought by now I'd be used to the way we live but what I really do is fake it. Just like my mom. Most of the time I feel like I'm on autopilot, trudg

** Candice **All during chemistry, I felt Brad's eyes on me and it seemed like forever before class was over. I wish I were like other, normal girls, excited to have the attention of an attractive guy. But I simply can't have him right now-not when my life is shit. My head won't allow it even though my heart doesn't understand. I've never had roots and I sure as hell don't think we'll stick around here long enough for them to grow. I wait for most of the students to leave before I try to stand because I'm pretty sure I'll need a second. I have no doubt I'll look like I'm a hundred for the first few steps. The pain in my lower back isn't as bad as it was at the beginning of class, but the last thing I want is to draw attention to myself. I'll risk being tardy.As I leave the room I see Brad standing outside the door and I make the mistake of looking up at him. His lips curl up and for a split second, I can't remember why I told myself to stay away from him."Need some help fin

I sit with my back against the wall for a while, adjusting myself to stay in the light as I watch the sun move across the room. I'm so relaxed I have to fight to keep my eyes open; I can feel myself drifting in and out. It doesn't take long for my lids feel like lead so I give in, feeling completely tranquil until my mind begins replaying the events from this morning with Mom. I can even smell the cigarettes and booze on her breath. I'm bracing myself for another smack when the scene suddenly changes and I see my father pushing me on a park swing. I'm maybe only five years old and I'm laughing as I beg him to push me harder. When he does, I instantly fall off, his voice screaming my name, becoming its own echo. I look up and can't see my dad anywhere because a black mist forms from the ground up, blacking out my vision. It's so dark that panic starts rising in my stomach because I know I'm alone. I hear my name and watch as the mist slowly begins to morph into the shape of a man. My

The alarm goes off and I wake up in the same position I was in when I got into bed. I don't remember falling asleep or dreaming at all. My book is open on my chest, but it's like I woke up from a black hole of nothing.Shrugging it off, I pull my body of out bed and make my way to the mirror. The first thing I notice is Mom's handprint on my face. It's not nearly as red as it was last night, but it's still slightly warm to the touch and definitely noticeable. Fortunately, I've become a master at applying concealer and I can make almost any mark disappear. Hopefully no one will notice. But, to be safe, I should definitely wear my hair down.Swiping a dab of foundation on my cheek, I blend it in, trying not to press too hard. The bruise is deep and will take a while to go away. Mom still has a wicked right hook, even dead drunk. I shake away the growing pity party. It's a waste of time to feel sorry for myself. I'm like Mom in that way because after she divorced Dad, it toughened her