I stood before the door to my new apartment, staring. I had no idea how I got there. The last thing I remembered, I’d been in the alley. Somehow, I’d got myself back home.I remembered, though, every second of what happened in that alleyway. I looked down at my arms and hands, expecting to see them look different—but they were normal. The rage had swept through me, transforming me, then had just as quickly left.But the after-effects remained: I felt hollowed out, for one. Numb. And I felt something else. Images kept flashing through my mind, images of those bullies’ exposed necks. Of their heartbeat pulsing. And I felt a hunger. A craving.I really didn’t want to return home. I didn’t want to deal with my mom, especially today, didn’t want to deal with a new place, with unpacking. If it weren’t for Sam being in there, I may have just turned around and left. Where I’d go, I had no idea—but at least I’d be walking.I took a deep breath and reached out and placed my hand on the knob.
“Mom’s gone,” said the voice on the other side. “Went down for cigarettes. Come on, let me in.”I opened the door.Sam stood there, staring back, concern etched on his face. At 15, he looked older than his age. He’d grown early, to almost six feet, but he hadn’t filled out yet, and he was awkward and gangly. With black hair and brown eyes, his coloring was similar to mine. We definitely looked related. I could see the concern on his face. He loved me more than anything.I let him in, quickly closing the door behind him.“Sorry,” I said. “I just can’t deal with her tonight.”“What happened with you two?”“The usual. She was on me the second I walked in.”“All she does is scream and yell at me,” I added. “I think she hates me. No—I am sure of it. Sometimes I think that she wishes she never had us.”Sam looked sad, but I could see in his eyes that he understood. And that he felt the same way.“At least she left,” he said.“For now,” I said.I dreaded her return.“I think she h
“I’m not sure if it was him,” Sam said. “There were 4 people with his name. Two of them were private and had no picture. I sent them both a message.”“And?”Sam shook his head.“I haven’t heard anything back.”“Dad would not be on Facebook.”“You don’t know that,” he answered, once again defensive.I sighed and walked over to my bed and lay down. I stared up at the yellowing ceiling, paint peeling, and wondered how we all had reached this point. There were towns they’d been happy in, even times when their mom seemed almost happy. Like when she was dating that guy. Happy enough, at least, to leave me alone.There were towns, like the last one, where Sam and I both made a few good friends, where it seemed like they might actually stay—at least long enough to graduate in one place. And then it all seemed to turn so fast. Packing again. Saying goodbyes. Was it too much to ask for a normal childhood?“I could move back to Oakville,” Sam said suddenly, interrupting her thoughts. The
I ran. The bullies were back, and they were chasing me down the alleyway. A dead end lay before me, a massive wall, but I ran anyway, right towards it. As I ran, I picked up speed, impossible speed, and the buildings flew by in a blur. I could feel the wind rushing through my hair.As I got closer, I leapt, and in a single bound I was at the top of the wall, thirty feet high. One more leap, and I flew through the air again, thirty feet, twenty, landing on the concrete without losing a stride, still running, running. I felt powerful, invincible. My speed increased even more, and I felt like I could fly.I looked down and before my eyes the concrete changed to grass—tall, swaying, green grass. I ran through a prairie, the sun shining, and I recognized it as the home of my early childhood.In the distance, I could sense that my father stood on the horizon. As I ran, I felt I was getting closer to him. I saw him coming into focus. He stood with a large smile, and arms spread wide.I ac
I glanced at my watch: 8:40. I was 25 minutes late to class.I took a deep breath and turned the metal knob.I entered, and the entire class stopped and looked up at me. Including the teacher.Silence.“Ms….” the teacher, forgetting my name, walked to her desk and picked up a piece of paper, scanning it, “….Paine. The new girl. You are 25 minutes late.”A stern, older woman, the teacher glared down at me.“What do you have to say for yourself?”I hesitated.“Sorry?”“That’s not good enough. It may be acceptable to be late to class wherever you are from, but it’s certainly not acceptable here.”“Unacceptable,” I said, and immediately regretted it.An awkward silence covered the room.“Excuse me?” the teacher asked, slowly.“You said ‘not acceptable.’ You meant ‘unacceptable.’”“OH—SHIT!” exclaimed a noisy boy from the back of the room, and the entire class erupted into laughter.The teacher’s face turned bright red.“You little brat. Report to the Principal’s office rig
It wasn’t him.I sat there, waiting for what felt like forever.But he never came.The bell rang, and the cafeteria emptied out. Still, I sat there waiting.Maybe he didn’t care after all?*My heart broke as the final bell of the school day rang, and I stood before my assigned locker. I looked down at the combination printed on the piece of paper in my hand, turned the knob and pulled.The inside door was lined with graffiti. Otherwise, it was completely bare. Depressing. I thought of all my other schools, of how I would rush to find my locker, to open it, to memorize the combination, and to line the door with pictures of boys from magazines. It was my way of making myself at home.But somewhere along the line, a few schools ago, I stopped trying.I closed the door with a bang.“Caitlin?”I jumped. Standing there, a foot away, was Jonah.He wore large sunglasses. I could see that the skin beneath them was swollen.I was shocked to see him standing there. And thrille
“No,” I lied. “I don’t really know anyone here, remember?”He paused.“I got jumped,” he said. “Walking home from school.”“I’m so sorry,” I said again. I sounded like an idiot, repeating the same stupid phrase, but I didn’t want to say anything that would give too much away.“Yeah, my dad’s pretty pissed,” he continued. “They got my viola.”“That sucks,” I said. “Will he get you a new one?”Jonah shook his head slowly. “He said no. He can’t afford it. And that I should have been more careful with it.”Concern crossed my face. “But I thought you said that was your ticket out?”He shrugged.“What will you do?” I asked.“I don’t know.”“Maybe the cops will find it,” I said. I remembered, of course, that it was broken, but I thought that by saying this, it would help prove to him that I didn’t know.He looked me over carefully, as if trying to judge if I was lying.Finally, he said, “They smashed it.” He paused. “Some people just feel the need to destroy other peoples’ stuff,
I was on cloud nine as I walked home from school, clutching my journal. I hadn’t been this happy in I didn’t know when. Jonah’s words replayed in my head.“There’s this concert tonight. At Carnegie Hall. I’ve got two free tickets. They’re the worst seats in the house, but the vocalist is supposed to be amazing.”“Are you asking me out?” I’d said, smiling.He’d smiled back.“If you don’t mind going with this lump of bruises,” he’d said, smiling back. “After all, it is Friday night.”I practically skipped home, unable to contain my excitement. I didn’t know anything about classical music—I’d never even really listened to it before—but I didn’t care. I’d go anywhere with him.Carnegie Hall. He said the dress was fancy. What would I wear? I checked my watch. I wouldn’t have much time to change if I was going to meet him at that café before the concert. I doubled my pace.Before I knew it, I was home, and even the dreariness of my building didn’t bring me down. I bounded up the five