Skin Deep

~ Nine ~

I walked up the empty stairwell in the back corner of the building. It was coated in a thin layer of dirt. It didn't fit with the bright florescence and sterile surfaces of the rest of the school. I was crossing the first landing when the back door banged open. I leaned over the railing to see who was coming. I heard footsteps below me but couldn't see any one yet. then I felt someone shove me from behind and I was falling.

I sat in the guidance counselor's office with a bag of ice on my ankle. It had taken the sectary several tries to reach my mom, but she had finally taken the call and was now on her way here. The student aid had brought me a soda and some pain reliever.

"At least you don't play any sports." She said as if that was somehow comforting.

My mother walked through the door and I could see her face shift from being annoyed at having to leave work to being worried. She scurried over to where I sat.

"What happened?" From the look in her eyes you would have thought that I had lost a limb instead of twisted an ankle.

"She fell over the railing on the stairs." My guidance counselor, Mrs.Gadd emerged from her office at the sound of an adult's voice.

I shook my head in protest. " Someone pushed me."

I recounted the story again for my mom. When I finished Mrs.Gadd patted my shoulder.

"There was no one anywhere near the stairwell when we found you." She smiled at me the way you would smile at a child who had told you their tree house was a spaceship. "No one saw anyone coming from the area either."

My mom crossed her arms the way she did when she was upset.

"What about the cameras?"

Mrs.Gadd looked embarrassed, "The cameras in that area have been down recently."

She was implying that the school's security was having minor technical problems, but we could both read between the lines. The cameras were just for show.

"So how are you going to find the person who pushed me?"

I slammed the car door. This was ridiculous. Not only had Mrs.Gadd continued to accuse me of making up stories, but she had also made it seem as if she had became accustomed to dealing with that sort of behavior from me quite often. Which enraged me even more, considering it had been my first non-academic trip to her office.

I followed my mom into the house. The big plastic cast clicked against the hardwood as I walked.

"Use your crutches," She flashed me a scolding look. "You aren't supposed to be putting any weight on it."

I flopped onto the couch and propped my leg up on the coffee table.

"The doctor said not to move it, not walk on it. Besides, it's sprained not broken."

She picked up the remote and flicked on the DVR.

"It needs rest to heal."

An old episode of Grey's Anatomy began to play. I grabbed my backpack and limped toward the steps.

"One week," I warned, "Then it's coming off."

She clicked the tv off again and turned to look at me.

"Why would someone want to hurt you, Ally?"

I didn't know how to answer, how to erase that panicked look in her eyes. I shook my head and continued up the stairs.

Clinton came by to drop off my homework. I retold the story for what felt like the hundredth time hoping that Clinton would pick up on something that I overlooked.

"So..." He tapped the plastic lid on his flavored water, "The cameras don't actually work?"

So much for his brilliant insight.

"Apparently not, but aren't you curious who pushed me?" Sure, my mom had believed me, but I needed to hear that I wasn't crazy from someone a little less biased.

"Morbidly." I sighed in relief. "It was probably Kate."

I wiggled my toes uncomfortably in the plastic boot. "But why?"

He shrugged, "She's a bitch, why else?"

His logic made sense, but my intuition told me it was something more complicated than that.

After Clinton left I completed the assignments sent by my teachers. Mr.Grazer passed along a few worksheets on chemical conversions and Mrs.Reece sent me a book on mythology in case I'd already finished my others (I had). Mr.Ramey only gave me a note reminding me that the art auction was after school on Wednesday. The letter ended with him telling me that he had found my project in the class room and entered it for me. I was confused. My collage wasn't finished. Why would he submit a half bare poster? Unless...

I felt sick.