Page 13 of The Rebel of Raleigh High
4
ALEX
Two weeks later
Let me be clear.Silver Parisi isnotmy type.
The oversized shirts and the frayed jeans aren’t really sexy, per se. The Chucks make her look like a tom boy. She doesn’t do anything with her hair as far as I can tell, and the touch of eyeliner and mascara she wears is hardly worth mentioning.
In the past, I’ve been drawn to women who take care of themselves. Girls who spend time making sure they look their best before they step foot outside the house. Recently, though, the barbie doll look hasn’t been doing it for me. I used to find tight skirts and heels a turn on, but the past year or so I’ve found myself seriously fucking irritated by the vanity and shallow nature of the girls who’ve flocked around me. Sure, they might look good, but nine times out of ten they’re dumber than dumb, void of any personality or opinion, and boring enough to reduce a guy to fucking tears.
Silver Parisi, on the other hand…
I felt her watching me in that hallway with Maeve and the Deputy. I felt her eyes on me and knew I was being judged. The way she refused to tell me her name in Cline’s class, and the fierce defiance that blazed in her eyes when she ordered me out of her car made me reallynoticeher. Now it’s two weeks later, and I haven’t been able toun-notice her ever since.
I’ve done everything in my power to avoid thinking about Silver. Difficult, though, when she’s in at least one of my classes every day, and we usually end up seated side by side at the back of the classroom.
I haven’t said one word to her since I got out of her car. Not one single word uttered. I’ve observed her plenty, though. There have been times when it’s looked like she’s preparing to talk to me, planning out what to say, but then she seems to think better of it and disappears into the crowded hallways without even opening her mouth to me.
In fairness, no one really speaks to me during my first few weeks at Raleigh. A black cloud hangs over my head, my temper ready to flare at any given moment, and the other students make a point of keeping their distance.
I’m pissed that I’ve been transferred from Bellingham. I’m pissed that I have to skate on such thin ice at precious, pretentious Raleigh High, and I’m extra pissed at myself that I can’t seem to get my fucking head screwed on straight. See, I can’t stop thinking about the girl with the baggy t-shirts and the scruffy high-tops. I can’t get her unruly golden-brown hair and her intense, penetrating blue eyes out of my head. Whenever I’m walking from one class to the next, I make a point of not looking, but I alwaysknowwhere she is.
And, most fucked up of all, the more rumors I hear about her…the angrier I get. The girl’s fierce. She’s baring her teeth at the world every time I see her, head held high, a threat in her eyes, like a wolf backed into a corner, ready to fight at the drop of a hat.
I’m getting used to holding my breath around her. Wherever Silver goes, an oppressive tension follows her; you can feel it prickling against your skin like electricity. Without even knowing why or when I made the decision, I’ve realized I’m waiting for something to happen, for a match to strike or a fist to be thrown in her direction…and I’m preparing to raze the whole fucking school to the ground in her defense.
It’ssofucking stupid.
I shouldn’t get involved.
It’s none of my fucking business.
I should walk away and let her deal with her own shit.
Because, as far as I can tell, from all of my silent watching and waiting, it’s pretty clear that Silver Parisi hates me.
“Alex?Hello? What day is it today, hon? ’Cause according to my schedule, it’s Monday, and Mondays are not on your visitation roster.”
Goddamnit. I shake Silver out of my head, trying to focus on the woman in front of me instead, but it’s difficult to really see the social worker. They’re all the same. This woman, Rhonda, is wearing a flamboyant pink shirt with flowers printed all over it, and her earrings are so big they’re resting on the tops of her shoulders, which does separate her from the other clones I’ve had to deal with in the past. At least Rhonda has some sort of personality, which makes for a change, but at the end of the day, she’s still an administrator. A glorified pencil pusher, ticking boxes, thinking in the straightest of lines, unwilling to bend even the slightest amount to accommodate someone else.
“I have to work Wednesdays now, and that bitch won’t let me come by on the weekends.”
Rhonda makes a show of pulling a face; her earrings sway wildly as she jerks in mock surprise. “Firstly, do you think the title, ‘Bitch’is appropriate when referring to the woman who so graciously agreed to take Ben into her home and care for him like he is her own son?”
I huff out a blast of laughter that can only be described as scathing, shaking my head. “That bitch doesn’t care about Ben. We both know she’s only letting him stay with her because of the paycheck you guys give her at the beginning of every month. And no one asked her to treat him like he’s her son. He’s not her son. I’m his blood, and I should be able to see him whenever I fucking feel like it.”
Rhonda pouts, displeased. I have a knack of displeasing people like Rhonda. Quite a talent, in fact. I can do it without even trying. “You are frighteningly clever, Alex. I know you’re not delusional. I know you’re more than acquainted with the harsh realities of the world we find ourselves in, which is why I’m so confused by the fact that you still expect life to be fair. I am a college graduate with a masters in human psychology. I should be a college professor by now, commanding a ridiculous salary, but because I’m not only black but a woman, I’m entirely unsurprised that I’m sitting here across a table from you, explaining that you cannot just do whatever the hell you please, whenever the hell you feel like it. Why did Jackie tell you not to go over there on the weekend?”
I slump back in my chair, crossing my arms over my chest. Outside, it’s snowing. The view from the third-floor window of this shitbox is, admittedly, quite pretty. The stand of trees at the bottom of the hill that rolls away from the building are all dusted white. Briefly, I’m transported back to another time and another place, a smaller version of me, standing impatiently next to an old woman with cloudy eyes as she pats the side of a sieve, sending clouds of icing sugar cascading down on the wedding cookies we just made together.
“The bike. She said it makes too much noise,” I tell her. “She doesn’t want to disturb the neighbors.”
Rhonda taps the end of her pen against the notebook on the table in front of her. “Can’t you just take the bus?”
“No, I cannot just take the fucking bus! I have a means of transport. I shouldn’t have to ride a bus twenty-five miles away, just to keep fucking Jackie happy. What is this, Nazi fucking Germany?”
Rhonda arches an eyebrow. “This has nothing to do with Nazis. Jesus Christ. I despair of you sometimes, boy, I really do. This is about your brother. He’s ten years old, and it’s good for him to have you in his life. If you need to make a few compromises in order to do the right thing by him, then—”
