American Dream?

Making a Scene

There was silence. No-one dared to move, to speak, to do anything. All I could hear was my deep breathing and the rapid beat of my heart. My eyes were locked onto Madison’s. Through my peripheral vision I could see in the crowd the unmistakable figures of Chelsea and Nick, although there faces seemed somewhat blurred.

I could sense Jason next to me; are arms were still wrapped around each other. He fidgeted slightly to then hold me tighter – not in an uncomfortable way; in a protective way.

Madison had tears streaming down here face. No noise came from her lips which were tightly pursed. She had mascara all down her face, black ribbons of make-up that twisted and turned around her face as if they were tiny snakes.

I could feel the hatred radiating off her, the tension was so thick it was suffocating. I realised I should have been angry at her for ruining this moment, for making a scene; but all I felt was sadness.

Sadness for Madison.

I put myself into her shoes, to see her perspective. She had walked in on me and the boy she also loves kissing. I felt the hurt she was feeling, the sadness she must be experiencing, the pain. With her broken heart and sudden emotions she became angry, but I knew, deep down, the agony she was going through.

And at that moment I knew the same had happened to my mum. When she saw dad and are skiing instructor, it broke her. Every time she was angry, it was to hide her true emotions. Just like Madison was doing now.

My epiphany was cut short when Whitney materialised from nowhere and was walking towards me in a brisk and determined manner. I had a flash back to the night Madison attacked me. Déjà vu.

Whitney raised her hand which had a glass held in it and throw the liquid in it at my face. The freezing drink hit my face with such force I let out a loud gasped. The liquid was so cold; my face went numb and tingly. One ice cube glanced of my face but the other hit me squarely in the nose. I opened my eyes to see Whitney standing in front of me with her eyebrows scrunched together, one hand on her hip and the other clenching the glass tightly. I sensed she was about to do something else.

My defensive instinct kicked in and I slapped her round the face as hard as I could. The sound of the slap seemed to echo around the room.

“Butt out of it Whitney.” I managed to say. A red mark instantly appeared on her cheek where my hand had come in contact. “For once, understand to keep out of other people’s business.” And with she gave me one last dirty look and scuttled off with her left hand to her cheek.

With Whitney out of my way I could see Madison had sunk to the ground. Her dress fanned out around her, making a golden circle around her. The lighting made the dress appear to be glowing and sparkling like candle light. There were some spots dotted round the front of her dress where her tears had dropped.

I tried to think of what to say or do; I didn’t want to stand there forever, but if I walked away that could make her go completely mad. I couldn’t say sorry because I wasn’t sorry, I had nothing to be sorry about. I felt sadness not guilt. Also what would saying sorry do to help the matter? I couldn’t exactly say “sorry I kissed Jason, here you have him.”

I wanted to walk up to her and help her up off the floor, but knowing her she would probably want to bite my hand off. Thoughts of what to do clouded my mind, made me unaware of what was happening. A teacher made his way through the crowd now. He walked up to Madison and held his hand out her. For a few minutes she looked up to him blankly. He was a middle aged teacher I had never been taught by, but I recognised him to be an English teacher. Mr Peters.

He had short sandy blonde hair, a rectangular face with well defined features. He would usually wear a suit and was about five foot 10. He was well known around the school for being a friendly and nice teacher; always talking to students as if they were adults instead of talking to them as if they were five year old, like most teachers do.

No-one had any criticism about him. I remember hearing a group of girls in my year go on about how good looking they though he was, how he looked like a movie star, how they would do anything to be in his class because that would give them an excuse to stare at him.

Everyone held there breathe, what was going to happen?

Madison ignored his offer of help and got up clumsily, because of her state, she was shaking, crying, but also because of the killer heels she was wearing. Mr Peters recoiled his hand and when Madison finally stood up she was level with him.

“Are you OK?” he asked in a soothing voice. I wondered why he ask this as but looking at Madison it was clear she was defiantly not OK.

She stayed silent just looking at Mr Peters, like she was planning the best way to kill him.

“Madison, what happened?” Mr Peters had obviously never been faced with a woman who was so pissed of and angry they scream, cry and sink to the ground. Then again I’ve never seen anyone do this before, male or female. In my head I was screaming for him to walk away, not press on the subject but he continued.

“Madison, what happened?” he repeated. I couldn’t bear to watch. What was he doing? If he had been like this with anyone, they would answer, let him help them. Everyone except Madison.

One moment Madison was staring at Mr Peters the next he was on the floor shouting. It all happened so fast but I think Madison punched him in the face. Mr Peters was moaning on the ground, in the crowd of students and few girls screamed out, the boys looked in shock. Everyone was thinking the same thing.

Madison had gone mad.

The teachers present made there way through the crowd. Madison had a wild look in her eyes and began to scream like a banshee.

“DO I FUCKING LOOK OK? WHAT ARE YOU ALL LOOKING AT? FUCK OFF!”

She was now making loud wailing noises because the tears had become harder. She had this sound that was like a gargle mixed with a gasp.

The stronger of the teacher made there was forward trying to calm and restrain her. “Come on Madison, calm down, we can sort this out.”

She let out an ear piercing scream and started to charge at me when the teacher grabbed her. She bit, scratched, yelled, punched kicked to get loose from the teacher. She managed to hit a few, most swore.

The remaining teachers went to see if Mr Peters was okay. There was a small puddle of blood on the floor, his nose was gushing blood, it was like a tap. There was a sizable cut on his forehead where he hit the ground. A student had called the ambulance and a paramedic went to Mr Peters’ aid. Mr Peters didn’t make a sound and followed what the paramedics advise and in the end when off with her.

Everyone stood still. Madison was being dragged out of the great hall.

That was the last time I ever saw Madison.