No Monday in history has ever sucked more than this one.
Mom begged me to stay home this morning — just until things settle, she said. But I don't know if that's even possible.
"Talk to us," she said. But when I did, this huge fight between her and my dad raged until Kristie, his current wife, threw up her hands and said they should go home. So now I'm on my way to school, pretending nothing's wrong, nothing happened, nothing changed when I know nothing will ever be the same again.
"No sluts allowed," Alyssa Martin, a girl I've known since first grade, snaps at me when I slide into the empty seat across from hers. We're on the school newspaper together. She knows me.
I blink at her in shock. "Alyssa, you weren't even there."
She rolls her eyes. "No, but I heard what happened."
I slink lower in my seat. I wish I could say there was nothing for her to have heard. I keep hoping I'll wake up and everything that happened Friday night will be some stupid dream.
"Whatever."
I sit by myself all the way to school, wishing the bus would move faster so I can escape all the comments and finger-pointing. But school is even worse. The corridors are battlefields. I see familiar faces but after what Alyssa said on the bus, I'm afraid to talk to anybody, to even look at anybody. Somebody trips me on my way to first period. I hit the floor and Kyle Moran shouts, "Hear you like it on your knees." Everyone laughs.
Matt Roberts helps me up but when Kyle shoves him, he takes off before I can thank him.
I grab my backpack, pray that the school's expensive digital camera tucked inside it isn't damaged, and duck into the girls' bathroom. "Miranda! Oh, God." I fling my arms around her, tears filling my eyes.
She pats my back once and takes a step away. Lindsay stands at the sink, but doesn't say anything.
I stare at my best friends, trying to figure them out, trying to understand. "What's wrong with everybody?"
Miranda runs a hand down her smooth blond hair, shoots me an incredulous look from the mirror over the sink. "Come on, Grace. You said Zac MacMahon—"
I fling up a hand. "Don't. Please."
Miranda's hand freezes on her hair. "What, now you don't want to talk about this? You know, he could get kicked off the lacrosse team because of you."
"Good!" I retort, instantly furious.
Miranda whips back around to face me, hair blurring like a fan blade. At the sink, Lindsay's jaw drops. "God! I can't believe you! You guys broke up! So why did you hook up at all? Was it just to get back at me?"
My jaw drops. "What? Of course not. I—"
"You know I like him. If you didn't want me to go out with him, all you had to do was say so—"
"Miranda, this isn't about you. Trust me, you don't want Zac. He's—"
"Oh my God, listen to yourself. He breaks up with you and you fall apart and then—"
"That is not what happened. I was upset because of Kristie and you know it."
She spins around, arms flung high. "Kristie! Seriously? You played him. You wanted everybody to feel sorry for you so you turned on the tears and got Zac to—"
"Me? Are you high? He —"
"Oh, don't even." Miranda holds up a hand. "I know exactly what happened. I was there. I know what you said. I know you're a lying slut and so does the whole school."
Lindsay nods and tosses her bag over her shoulder and they stalk to the door. At the door, Miranda fires off one more shot. "Lose my number, you skank."
The door slams behind them, echoing off the lavatory stalls. I'm standing in the center of the room, wondering what's holding me up because I can't feel my feet. Or my hands. I raise them to make sure I still have hands and before my eyes, they shake, but I don't feel that either. All I feel is pressure in my chest, like someone just plunged my head underwater and I tried to breathe. My mouth goes dry but I can't swallow. The pressure builds and grows and knocks down walls and won't let up. I press my hands to my chest and rub, but it doesn't help. Oh, God, it doesn't help. My heart lurches into overdrive, like it's trying to stage a prison break. I fall to the cold bathroom floor, gasping, choking for breath, but I can't get any, I can't find any, there's no air left to breathe. I'm the lit match in front of a pair of lips puckered up, ready to blow...
"Grace. Grace, honey, open your eyes."
The voice sounds like it's miles away. Something taps my face and I blink and roll my eyes around. I'm on the floor in the second floor girls' bathroom. Mrs. Reynolds, the school nurse, hovers over me, a security guard hovering over her. I sit up too fast and my head pounds.
"Did you take something?" She demands in a stern voice.
What? No! I shake my head.
"Look here." She holds up a finger and I track it right, left, up and down. "Think you can stand?"
When I nod, Mrs. Reynolds and the guard help me to my feet. My entire body's still shaking. I suck in gulps of air. It feels so good to breathe easy again.
"Easy. Don't gasp. Take one deep breath... hold it...one...two...three...let it go. Better?"
"Yeah, I think so."
"Good. Have a seat." Mrs. Reynolds waves a hand toward a wheelchair that I didn't notice until now.
"Oh, no, I'm—"
"Not going to argue, right?" She raises her eyebrows over rimless glasses and I back down. It only takes a few steps to make it to the chair but my legs feel like they're connected to someone else's body. I fall into the chair, grateful for its presence. The guard pushes me down the empty corridor — thank God for that — and we wait for the elevator Mrs. Reynolds calls with a key. By the time we get to her office, I've stopped shaking and feel a little less fuzzy.
"Your mom's on her way."
Oh, God. I bury my face in my hands.
"You want to tell me what happened?"
Not really. But there's still a disconnect between my brain and my body and I blurt out the whole story. "My friends... they don't believe me. They don't believe me." Every time I say it, every time I think it, it gets hard to breathe.
"Grace, look at me." Mrs. Reynolds orders. When I do, she hands me a tiny bottle of water. I accept it gratefully. "I heard what happened and I'm sorry for it."
I hide my face again.
"Stop that."
More tears fill my eyes. I can't believe I'm not empty yet.
"Grace, keep your head up high. Even when you're dying inside, you keep it up. You show everybody you're right and they're wrong. What happened to you shouldn't have happened and you can make sure nobody else gets hurt. Don't hide. Understand?"
I stare at Mrs. Reynolds. "You believe me?"
Her eyes crinkle at the corners. "I don't see why anybody would ever lie about this."
Gratitude spreads in a warm rush that starts in my chest and spills into every cell in my body.
"Grace, I want you to do something for me." She presses a card into my hand. "I want you to call this number. Talk to someone, okay?"
I read the card and my chest goes rigid all over again. I shake my head, stuff the offensive scrap of paper into my backpack where I can't see it, can't bear it.
"Grace, Grace, it's okay. When you're ready."
"Mrs. Reynolds, I — oh, Grace, honey, are you okay?" My mom rushes in, crouches next to my chair, and takes my clammy hands. "You're so cold."
"Mrs. Collier—"
"It's Birney now."
"Sorry. Ms. Birney, Grace had a panic attack. I can give you the name of a good therapist."
"No."
"Grace—"
"I said no. I don't need a therapist. I'm not crazy. I'm not lying. And I'm not a slut, either."
Mom presses her lips together into a tight line and stands up. "Of course you're not. Come on. We'll talk about this at home."
Oh, home. Where there are no laughing classmates pointing at me, whispering behind their hands. Where there's no Lindsay and no Miranda calling me a bitch. Where I could curl up, throw a blanket over my head and pretend nothing happened. Yes, take me home. Take me home right now, as fast as you can.
I want to say that. But when I glance at Mrs. Reynolds again, none of that comes out of my mouth. "I'm staying."
"What? Grace—"
"Mom, I have to stay. I can't let them see I'm afraid."
She opens her mouth to argue and then abruptly closes it, running a hand down my hair. I left it loose today. Didn't feel like bothering with it. "Oh, honey. You don't have to brave."
I consider that for a moment and decide she's wrong. I can't let Zac get away with what he did, and I can't let Miranda or Lindsay see how badly they crushed me. That means I have to be brave. "Yeah, Mom. I really do."
She sighs heavily and then smirks at my feet. "Well, you're wearing your costume, so I guess you'll be okay."
I manage a sad laugh. My dad hates the way I dress — which is probably why my mom lets me get away with it. I glance down at my favorite boots — black leather, covered in metal studs. She calls these my ass-kicking boots.
She turns to the guard. "You'll keep Zac MacMahon away from her, right?"
The guard and Mrs. Reynolds exchange a look. I sigh because I've gotten to know it so well since Friday. First, the detectives when they said there's nothing they can do because it's Zac's word against mine and apparently, his word is worth more. Then, my parents... and today? My friends.
"Grace, if you feel the pressure in your chest again, take a deep breath, hold it, and count. Concentrating on counting helps keep your mind from spiraling into panic."
I nod, not at all convinced, and when the bell rings, I jerk to my feet. Mom hugs me and Mrs. Reynolds smiles. I grab my stuff and just before I reach the door, I remember to lift my head up. I step into battle, survive my next couple of classes but the cafeteria is a an obstacle course — tables I'm not welcome to sit at, glares and snide comments and even food tossed at me. I grab a sandwich and hide in the library, sneaking bites behind my huge calculus textbook. At dismissal, I make sure I'm early for the bus ride home. I snag an empty row, plug in my ear phones and pretend not to hear all the people who refuse to sit in the empty seat next to me.
It's not so bad, I tell myself over and over again, squeezing back tears.
I don't believe me.