Disclaimer: This is part of an original work of fiction. Don't steal it, or I will be very, extremely, legally mad. Thanks. Enjoy.
~~~
When I get back to my house, Daddy is sitting on the porch, talking on his phone. Just as I walk up the stairs, he is saying goodbye and hanging up.
"You're cutting it pretty close, there, kid."
"I know," I say, sitting down on the steps.
"You know, if I hadn't been stepping out the door right when you ran past, I'd be out looking for you right now. You're lucky."
"I guess I am."
"You could have called."
I don't say anything, I just sit, chewing on my lip and thinking about what Mr.Tate was saying.
"You're a mess, sweetheart."
"I know, Daddy," I sigh, leaning back and trying to look leisurely just in case my mother rolls up just a bit early. "I don't really know what to do about it, you know? I feel like I'm completely out of control, and it sucks no matter what I do."
He pauses for a second and then clears his throat.
"That's not really what I was going for, but yeah, I can see how that's going on."
I want to ask what he was going for, but I don't. I don't know what to say, and that's so common for me right now that I just stay silent, letting my thoughts go crazy, working themselves into frenzy.
"Look, you're a teenager. You're not supposed to be in control of your mind. You're supposed to be a little insane. It's normal."
"Really? This is normal?" My sarcasm is starting to get the best of me, and I really don't want to unleash its full force on Daddy, but I feel like that's where I'm headed.
"Completely. I waited a long time for you to make the transition into a fully-fledged teenager, and you're a few years late, but I'm glad you finally got here."
"How could you possibly be glad that I'm freaking out and getting into fights and messing everything up?
"Two reasons-" he gets up from his seat and sits next to me on the step. "First, you're acting like this while you're still at home to fall back on your mom and me. It's better than doing this once you've moved out. And second, I'm just glad you're not out getting pregnant or hurting yourself."
"What do you call this, then?" I ask, pointing at my lip where I know there are still dark bruises that match the ones on my ribcage and a nasty healing gash.
"I call it amazing, because I saw that Sellers kid yesterday, and he looked worse than you," he replies, putting an arm around me for a quick squeeze just as we watch my mother's car drive up the street.
"Really?" I didn't think I'd done any real damage.
"Really. You can pack a punch."
I smile, leaning into him, even though it's hot out here in the shade and I'm still sweating from running.
"Thanks, Daddy."
"Anytime, Augie."
When my mother gets out of the car, we all go inside, Daddy and I forcing ourselves to admire her new manicure while she gets dinner ready. By the time we're almost finished eating, Daddy takes control of the conversation.
"Well, I've got some news."
"What kind of new, dear?" my mother asks.
"Okay, do you remember around this time last year, one of the old mayors from that tiny town up north croaked, and I wanted to go up to the estate and pick up some of his stuff for the auctions?"
"Yeah, but you couldn't, because his family wasn't ready to have strangers in the place?" I fill in.
"Yeah, that's the one. Well, I've had it on my radar since then, and they're finally ready to continue their healing process, or they've cleared it out of stuff his will mentioned, so I'm gonna go out there and pick the house- and get this- the guy had a second piece of land that he had two barns on."
"Awesome."
"That's great, honey," says my mother, sipping her glass of wine lazily. "When do you leave?"
"Tomorrow."
Wait. What?
"How long are you going to be gone?" I ask, dropping my fork and sitting back in my seat.
"About a week and a half."
What?
"Are you serious?
"August, don't talk to your father like that," my mother says mildly before picking up her plate- as well as mine because I guess she thinks I'm done- and taking it into the kitchen to scrape it off.
"I thought you would be happy for me," he says quietly, pushing food around his plate with his fork. "This is a great pick."
"I am," I say, leaning in. "It's just that I need you right now. I can't be alone with her- and grounded- for a week and a half."
"You'll be fine, August."
"Somehow I doubt that."
~~~
My first day back to school is spent staring out of windows and wanting to run away. Everywhere I walk, I'm followed by the sudden hush of whispers being stifled as people see me coming. I hide in the bathroom during lunch, not sure how to face the guys after the other day, not sure of what to say.
Aiden's good at that, though. When we pass in the hallway in between classes- with me wishing I could melt into the ground, and staring at it accordingly- all he does is reach out his hand and give mine a short squeeze. No words, just that, and he keeps walking.
Just before the bell ends my next to last class, one of the kids who helps out in the office for a Life Skills credit walks in and hands me a piece of paper that summons me to Principal Coastin's office as soon as possible.
When I get there, his door is open, and he glances up on hearing my tap at the doorjamb.
"Ah, Miss Shoemaker. Come in. Sit down."
I do as I'm told and as soon as I do, he leans forward on his desk.
"How's your first day back?"
"Not my best, but not my worst," I say, uncomfortable. "I've definitely had worse days."
"I believe that," he chuckles. "I see your lip is healing nicely."
"Slowly but surely, yes."
"Good."
I feel like he's waiting for me to continue the conversation, but I don't know what to say, so I keep my mouth shut. A minute or so passes as he stares at me.
"Well, I just wanted to check on you and Mr. Sellers. Make sure you've both decided that my school is not the place to have brawls."
"Don't worry, sir," I say, smirking. "Next time, I'll get him in a dark alley or something."
"I dearly hope there won't be a next time, Miss Shoemaker. Now, back to class."
I leave his office and walk downstairs to get my Physics stufff out of my locker, wanting nothing more to go home and close my blinds and sleep. Or run. I could go for a run.
When I reach my locker, I shove my bag in it and grab the test review packet that's been serving as the text book for my Physics class lately. As a second thought before closing the door, I pick out a pen, just in case I might actually need it.
Without the weight of my bag on me, I can't resist my urge to jog and then run down the rest of the hall and streak up the three flights of stairs that will take me to class. As I trot toward my classroom, I pass it and continue down the hall. Fifteen minutes later, I've headed down and up the stairs again, enjoying the steady pounding of blood in my ears and how my legs are starting to burn and I really could do this for the next thirty minutes- for the next week, just not go to class, not go to school, just run and not have to think- but a teacher sticks their head out of their classroom and says:
"It's a little late for track season, so please tell me that you're finally heading to class, girl."
And I stop and hang my head and walk the three doors that will take me into Physics.
Turns out, we have a sub who doesn't care that I'm twenty minutes late to class.
It's nice, though- with the blood pumping in my ears, I almost can't hear how the conversation all but stops when I walk in the room.
After the final bell of the day rings and I'm headed to the front of the building to meet my mother, I feel a tap on my shoulder. I turn around, and behind me, there's a group of gawky, awkward, freshman boys behind me. One of them is standing closer, one hand still raised from getting my attention.
"Can I help you?" I ask, really hoping they got the wrong girl, and I can just go on my way.
"See, Dustin," hisses the tallest one, who still barely comes up to my nose. "I told you it was her. See the lip?"
It looks that bad?
"No, but really, can I help you or something?" I repeat.
"Are you the girl who beat up Jake Sellers?" asks the one closest to me.
"I- uh, yeah," I stutter. "What about it?"
The one in front of me sticks out his hand. "The name's Dustin. My friends and I, well, we're big fans of your work."
I don't doubt it. Sellers is an asshole to me, but to freshman, he's a monster.
I smile my best- crooked, so it doesn't pull on the lip- and shake his hand.
"August Shoemaker. And thanks. But listen, I'm kind of on heavy-duty-lockdown-grounded status right now, so I need to get home. Maybe we can talk about it some other time?"
"Sure, sure," they all say as I walk away.
One of them catches me by the shoulder again and as I turn around, he holds a hand up.
"High five for the road?"
"Sure," I laugh, slapping my hand to his.
And it almost doesn't matter that my mother's greeting is icy in comparison, because at least I didn't just punch Sellers for me.
~~~
AN: I feel like August has this underground fanclub. I love it.
What do you think? Who'd be president? VP? Where would they meet?
I love you all immensely, and I will see you at the next part! xx