Page 8 of The Tattered Gloves
Relieved my aunt wasn’t like my mother. Relieved I wasn’t in a house like hers again.
But the idea of random strangers running in and out of the house at all hours of the day made my skin crawl.
“We’ll figure it out,” she said, as if she could somehow read my thoughts.
I was blessed with the gift of not having to respond as the car slowly pulled up to the high school. I lifted my head toward the large sign that proudly displayed the name Sugar Tree High School.
It sounded like a school for the Oompa Loompas inCharlie and the Chocolate Factory. The whole town did.
I mean, seriously, who thought up the name Sugar Tree?
I took a deep breath, looking out at the sea of student cars in the parking lot, wondering which of the owners would be the first to make fun of the weird new girl. Who would be the ones to whisper behind my back, and which brave souls would do it to my face?
While the inner turmoil was going on inside my head, I stepped out of my aunt’s late model Honda Civic and followed her into the brick building — one that she’d said was, “one of the newer buildings in town.”
It had been built when Kennedy was in office.
We both stepped up to the long row of glass doors, stopping to press the buzzer, where we waited for permission to enter. I guessed, even in a small town, trust only stretched so far when it came to people’s kids.
A chipper female voice crackled through the speaker. “On your left,” she instructed.
Addy grabbed the door handle and pulled, smiling slightly when it easily gave way. “Here we go!” she said brightly.
My stomach lurched at the thought, but I woefully trudged on.
The old saying,Same shit, different day, came to mind as I took my first glance around the old building. It wasn’t that unlike the school I’d left behind. There were no metal detectors at the doors, and it lacked the grime and edge I was used to, but the bland coat of paint on the cinder-block walls felt the same. There were also those stereotypical posters plastered everywhere, warning us about the hazards of underage drinking and drug use.
That was all oddly familiar — and not in a comforting sort of way.
The polished white linoleum floors led to a glass door to the right of the main entrance. A sign to the left told me we were here — the main office. I followed Addy inside, taking note of my surroundings. The entire office was surrounded by glass, like a square little fishbowl. I guessed it made it easier to watch and observe the natives.
Since class was already in session for the day, the hallways around the fishbowl were quiet. I thanked whoever was listening above for this tiny little favor.
I needed just a few more hours before the staring and pointing began.
Just a few more hours of being safe and invisible.
“May I help you? Oh, Addy! I’m sorry. I didn’t recognize you outside of the salon! Is that a new cut or color?” she asked, pointing to my aunt’s short brown locks.
“I just styled it differently. Yours is looking like it needs a trim, June,” Addy greeted the tall blonde behind the desk with a wink. “This is my niece, Willow. She’ll be living with me for the foreseeable future, and I wanted to get her registered for school, if that’s possible. I believe we have an appointment.”
The perky young thing nodded before looking down at what I could only assume was a calendar. “Yes! I see it. One of the students must have written it down. Sorry about that. Do you have her transcripts from her previous school? And immunization records?”
I turned to Addy, waiting for her admission of failure.
Maybe we could go home. Maybe I’d be able to postpone this whole miserable adventure for another week or so.
“I’ve got them right here,” Addy replied, giving me a sideways smirk.
Dang. How’d she manage that?
She handed them across the counter, and the woman smiled, taking them in her hands.
“I’ll be just a moment. I need to key these into her record. You can have a seat.”
Addy nodded, and we both turned toward the waiting area. It was empty, thankfully. No unruly kids to awkwardly avoid. We took two of the chairs that faced the door and sat in silence.
There were no magazines, like at a doctor’s office, and unlike most people my age, my cell phone was only used in emergencies since I didn’t have money to buy more data. But, in that moment, I completely understood the need to bury oneself in a mindless device. It was far better than the alternative — sitting around in uncomfortable stillness while you waited for time to pass.
