"What do you mean you pushed someone down the stairs?" Mum focuses her golden eyes on me.
I drop the bomb later this evening, during the dinner. On the ride home, I've decided they were going to get to know about it somehow anyway, so there's no use hiding it. I counted exactly four minutes from the moment we started eating to share the news with them. As a result, I can now watch as Everett is looking for the purpose of his life in his pasta, and witness how Dad nearly chokes on his broccoli. Only Mum seems to proceed the information right away and is now looking at me as if she's trying to understand.
"I mean what I said. I pushed someone down the stairs." I shrug, wrapping the noodles around my fork. "By an accident."
The sound of metal clinking against porcelain sounds in the room as Dad sets his fork down and thrusts his hand through his hair. I watch as it threads through his fingers only to come back to its place.
Now, seeing that either I or my brother are redheads, people usually think that it's our Mum that we inherited the hair colour after. For some reason, the society chose to believe that only red-haired females deserve to be loved and start a family. Apparently, the Dearg family doesn't fit into the scheme, since it's our Dad to whom we owe that noticeable feature. Our Mum is the proud owner of beautiful, chestnut hair that glosses no matter what. I can't count all the times when I wished I could have looked like her instead of like my father. Out of the two of us, it's Everett who takes after our mother more. In his case, Dad's hair colour mixed with Mum's, giving Everett's hair a shade that is more auburn than red. It can't be said about me, though. My hair is one hundred percent red, with no hope of being mistaken with any other colour. In a certain light, it gets a copper hue, but that's all I can count for. Most of the time, I look like the lost Weasley. Considering that not many people can boast with such hair colour, I usually gain a lot of stares while walking down the street. And it would be nice if I liked attention, but for someone who loathes it, it's pure hell. I've even tried dying it some lighter colour a few times before but to no effect. Nothing can tame this red evil - apart from black, maybe, but I can only imagine how I would look like with black hair. And this vision makes me want to stick with my original hair colour, no matter how terrible it is.
Dad's fingers catch my attention, wondering down to scratch his beard that gives him the look of a Scandinavian lumberjack. That's another thing I don't like about him. Ever since we came here, Dad started becoming more and more... hipsterish. And watching someone who's always chicaned my older brother for being different grow a beard and start wearing shirts in colors that would make clowns proud is simply... weird.
"Daira..." Dad begins, scrubbing his hands down his face.
"It's true!" I step in before he can start his lecture. "The bell rang and I was in a hurry. And then the rest just... happened."
I drop my gaze to my plate and start pushing my broccoli around. My hair is pulled back in a high ponytail, so I can't use it to hide my face. Of course, I can always let it loose and use it as a curtain, but doing it now would end in sending my hair flying everywhere, most probably straight into everyone's food. Not wanting to present them with a few new strands of red spaghetti, I decide to put on my brave mask and face them without any barrier.
"What did the principal have to say about it?" Mum asks.
As the former teacher, she always cares about what the king of this hellhole thinks in the first place.
"I don't know." I admit. "I didn't talk to him."
Mum looks worried. "Why not?"
"I don't know." I repeat. "Guess he's too busy to bother with random lunatics throwing other students off the stairs."
Mum's lips thin and Dad steps into action.
"Is she all right?" He asks, turning to me.
I take a sip of my OJ - another thing that Mum hates me to do. She always says that if we have to drink something to the dinner, it should be water. And even if I don't mind drinking water, I always reach for a glass of juice, just for the kicks.
"Who?" I frown, setting my glass down.
"The girl you pushed off the stairs."
"It wasn't a girl." I shake my head. "It was a guy. A huge one, too. He'll be fine."
Or at least I hope so.
"Please, make sure everything's okay tomorrow." Mum says in a soft voice.
I nod, knowing my chances of finding someone whom I've only seen once, overtaken by panic, and whose name I don't know in a school with almost two-thousand students was nearly impossible. Sure, I want to know if the guy's alright, but I'm also a realist. There's no way in hell I'm going to spot him tomorrow.
"And what about the rest of the day? Is the school all right?"
No.
"Sure."
Normally, I eat as little as possible, just enough to survive, but right now, I stuff my mouth with pasta, hoping it will somehow save me from answering questions. No such luck.
"Did you make some friends?" Dad prods, visibly desperate to hold the conversation while it lasts.
I nod, busy with trying not to choke on the amount of food I packed in my mouth.
"What about the teachers? Do you like them?"
I nod again. Despite telling us otherwise, my Mum still isn't over her job as a teacher. I know it. Dad knows it. Even my brother knows it. The truth is, it's my fault that she didn't find another school to work in here. She couldn't divide her life into teaching me at home and working as a real teacher in a normal school. And I would never admit it out loud, but I do feel guilty. I remember how much she liked teaching kids. Losing something she loved so much must have been painful. Not once did she let me know just how much she misses it, nor did she send any signal that she blames me for it. Not even in my worse moments, when I blamed her for everything. And now that I've finally started attending a standard high school, I hope she finds her place in one of the nearby schools herself.
"And the school building? Is it nice?" She goes on, making me nod again.
"What about -"
"I have to go." I jump to my feet, suddenly eager to get out. "I have homework."
I slide the chair beside me and turn away from them.
"Already?"
I ignore Mum's surprised question as I pick up my plate and put it in the dishwasher. I don't have homework, I'm just eager to be alone. After today's session with Ms. Brownstone, I'm tired of answering the endless questions. All I want is to fall down onto my bed, turn on my music, and tune out the world.
"Just remember to check on that boy tomorrow!" Mum calls, knowing she probably isn't going to see me until tomorrow afternoon. She doesn't work anywhere right now, but in the mornings, she'ss always absent, gone to her morning yoga meetings.
"Sure." I murmur to myself.
Just wish me good luck in finding one guy in the sea of loud people.
~*~
Turns out, I don't have to find my target. With the enormous amount of luck I possess, my target is the one to find me.
I'm sitting at the table during the lunch break, trying to remain as low as I can and gain as little attention as possible. Today, I'm busying myself with twisting the apple around by holding it by its tail, making bets with myself about how long it's going to take for the tail to break. I'm so busy with the fascinating activity that I don't sense another presence until someone takes the seat across from me, entering my peripheral vision. The tail snaps when I raise my eyes and notice who's decided to eat with the loser.
The apple hits the table and rolls across it before falling over the edge. I ignore it completely as I take in the picture before me.
I thought I wasn't going to recognise him the next time I saw him, but apparently, I was wrong.
Straight nose. Broad cheekbones. Shaggy brown hair falling into brown eyes that twinkle with mischief. Lips currently curled into a half-smile, more likely to pass off as a smirk. He sure as hell doesn't look like someone who experienced a major fall down the stairs just yesterday.
"Hi." He says when I do nothing but glue my wide eyes to his face. "Remember me?"
How can I not? Figure you don't easily forget someone whom you've almost killed.
I nod.
"Good." His grin widens, showing off his white teeth. "That'll make things easier."
I have no idea what's supposed to get easier, but I do not ask.
"How are you?" I fire before I have a chance to stop myself.
The guy arches a brow.
"How am I?"
I nod again. I know he understood and I don't feel the need to repeat myself.
"Well." He says, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. His eyes lock with mine as he cocks his head to the side. "I've had a concussion, spent the entire afternoon puking, sport some major bruises on my ribs and I can't really bend over."
Every word feels like a punch to the face and I wince more and more as he goes on.
"But I'm alive and walking. Guess I was lucky you got me on the third step, otherwise, I might have waved my ability to move goodbye."
Well. At least he's honest.
Unable to find any words that would seem fitting for this awkward situation, I just nod again.
"Really?" Both brows raise this time. "That's all I'm gonna get? A nod?"
I hesitate. "If you like to hear me say I'm sorry, then I will, but I don't see how that's going to change anything." I reply.
Not a response Ms. Brownstone would be proud of, but still the only one I could come up with.
The corner of his lips twitches. "So you're not sorry?"
"I am." I correct, for once telling the truth. "But the words won't make your ribs heal faster, will they?"
His eyes don't leave me as he stares me down. I really don't know why I haven't averted my gaze yet.
"You have the nerve." He says, nodding slowly.
"I'm also depressed and have anger management issues." I don't know why I say it. Guess that after you nearly killed someone, you can as well tell them the truth.
The guy thinks I'm a blood-thirsty freak anyway.
"So you really should stay away from me." I finish.
The guy says nothing as he continues to look at me. I shift a little under his intense glare, suddenly feeling exposed. In some way, his stare is even worse than Ms. Brownstone's, and that is an achievement.
Finally, when I feel like I can't take it any longer and am getting ready to bolt, the bell rings, stopping whatever the hell is going on here. I remain seated as the guy's lips stretch in another slow smile.
"We'll see about that." He says, then stands and slides the chair behind him. I notice just now that he didn't bring any tray with him and came armed only with his smirk and good looks. My eyes follow him as he turns and walks around the table. The scent of mint waves over me as he passes me.
"See you around." He murmurs on his way.
And then he leaves.