• Outcasts in Love

    July 2012

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    Prologue
    I gently placed the two envelopes on my dresser, one addressed to Rayman and the other to Ben. My fingertips skimmed across the envelopes, taking in the feel of their contents. My grateful heart melted away the last remnants of a cold fear that gripped me far too long.

    I took one final moment to saturate my memories with the two greatest loves a girl could ever have. I placed the photo frame of the four of us face down and the soft click resounded like a bullet through glass, breaking the last window of opportunity I had. I couldn’t stop now, but I felt regret ripple through my thoughts, thoughts that were a decade old and shouldn’t be reexamined.

    I grabbed my car keys and the weight of them sent my heart into a rapid pitter patter. How could I choose? Or was it never a choice?

    I glanced into my mirror for the answer and I saw the truth that was always there.

    Chapter One: An Outcast, Among Other Things

    I collapsed onto my bed partially out of exhaustion and partially out of frustration. I thought I could walk off my growing panic attack, but going in circles only made me dizzy and sent me further into an endless tunnel of self-pity.

    “I can do this. I got this.” I said to my stuffed rabbit, Jackson; however, his saggy body and lazy eyed gaze towards me told me he was in his own thoughts of self-pity.

    Today was the first day of my senior year at Rivernauk High School. While most were excited about the blow off year to come, I was trying to convince myself that this year would be the year I would be somebody. The clock was ticking and seemed faster than ever, for me anyway.

    I had to face the fact that I was like Father—and proud of that. It just meant I was extremely shy and made better friends with my paintbrushes than my classmates. And talking to my stuffed rabbit only proved this, hence the reason I was currently having a panic attack.

    I twitched rather than make eye-contact and had a terrible streak of objects obstructing my path. This led to collective laughter of on-lookers who only knew I existed when I involuntarily provided this entertainment. My looks were by no means outstanding; in reality, I was a human example of a chameleon. Long black hair, pale skin, and stone gray eyes…not exactly a head turning combination.

    Though I was colorless, my paintings were anything but, and reflected Father’s vision of kaleidoscope inspiration from the world around him. He spent hours in the attic sifting through brushes and mistakes as I sat by with my finger-paint creations. He was always with his permanent marker which he deemed “God’s Proof”. I was too young to comprehend the importance this marker’s power had over any of his creations, and revered the paintings worthy of ‘X’ as if God created it himself. It was odd, but so was Father and I never gave it a second thought.

    Not until I stood in front of his grave, and Mama’s, did I come to understand his obsession for the need to be remembered not by someone, but to be remembered for all time. With their lives nothing more than pieces of dusty furniture and lonely rooms, the people stopped placing flowers for them, stopped speaking of them, and removed their existence from their hearts. Suddenly I was afraid to be nothing, too, and continued Father’s ritual of proving to eternity that I was here.

    My alarm clock buzzed, warning me I had twenty minutes until school. My mind scrambled to prioritize what needed to be done first, and arriving on time topped having a panic attack. I made a mad dash down the stairs, jumping over the last crooked step, and ran straight into the refrigerator door. Magnetic alphabet letters fell off the faded fridge and popped like fire crackers against the wooden floor.

    Grandma looked over the door and down at me, the laugh lines deepening as a smile stretched out her red stained lips.

    “Ella, Ella.” She chided my clumsiness.

    I liked my Grandma’s husky voice and I loved everything she was. In our introverted and rigid family, she was the earthquake that rocked our security and forced us to be exposed. She drank whisky faster than coffee and smoked a pile of cigarettes a day. When the news came on she switched to Comedy Central because, I quote, life is too short for belated irony—a reasoning I almost understood.

    “Ow, Grandma!” I exclaimed and winced when I touched the tender area of impact. “What are you doing in here so early?”

    She closed the door and hoisted me off the floor with unnatural strength for someone her age. The mornings for her consisted of an early rise at 5:00 a.m. for a cup of coffee until it was light enough for her to prune the flower gardens. The flower gardens were a second heart to her and she spent hours nourishing them to perfection, so much that I rarely saw her before lunchtime.

    “We have a visitor. Your sister wanted some opinions for the flower display for the wedding.” She cracked an egg against the counter and poured the yolk in the bowl, a couple bits of white shell floating amongst the yellow.

    “I was just whipping up some breakfast for all of us.” She looked at the bowl with a grimace and took a swig from her coffee cup, which I suspected was filled with whiskey. I heard her mutter ‘or something’ before sloppily whisking the bowl’s contents.

    “I’m running late so I can’t join you, but thank you.” I let my hair fall in front of my face so that she didn’t see my smile of amusement at her terrible cooking skills.

    “NO!!”

    Grandma and I both jumped at the exclamation that echoed from the porch. She threw a glance at me and reached for the whiskey bottle that glimmered in the sunlight, pouring a small amount of its honey contents into another cup.

    “It’s ‘The Jitters’.” She said a matter-of-factly, shoving the cup in my face with a wink. “One shot, one kill.”

    I shook my head as my fingers nervously intertwined with one another. “It’s the last thing she needs. She can’t hold liquor like you can and it will only make her…ideas more twisted. Please, let me talk to her instead.”

    With soft steps I walked into the living room and across the beat up foyer floor, hesitating in front of the door when Tiffany passed by. Judging by the quick head bobbing I guessed she was in one of her ‘trances’, a habit she picked up from Mama.

    While I was a replica Father in looks and personality, Tiffany followed in the footsteps of our whimsical and eccentric writer of a mother. Mama lived her life in a fantasy of everlasting love and burning passion. Sadly, she only let that world come to life on our small porch where a weather worn rocking chair served as her perch, and where her musings were mumbles to her characters and no one else. Day after day she would bob her head and walk a trench into the rotten boards; unfortunately, like I was attached to Father, Tiffany was connected to Mama and sat on the stoop with a child’s desperation to gain Mama’s attention. All Tiffany could do was watch and learn from Mama, discovering that the two of them shared a similar thought process. Bother were misunderstood creative beings.

    “Tiffany?” I whispered as I slowly opened the front door, trying to keep the loud creaking to a minimum. “Are you alright?”

    She continued on with her pacing, grumbling under her breath. “I can’t help you. Why? I know, Al.”

    She was the ghost of Mama’s past in looks. Her hair was a platinum blonde that fell in the softest waves against her slender figure and her baby blue eyes were unfocused, yet eerily zeroed in on some space next to her. She turned her head and mumbled something to another character that seemed to stand on the other side next to her.

    I knocked on the siding of the house and finally caught her attention. With a jolt she glimpsed at me before giving a haughty tilt of her head.

    “Why are you here? Go to school and leave me alone.” She stomped over to Mama’s rocking chair, throwing herself into it with an irritated huff. She swatted at the air. “Leave me alone, too.”

    Knowing she was in the grips of some creative breakthrough, I treaded lightly and quietly took a spot on the stoop. I fiddled with a thread that hung loose on my PJ bottoms.

    “You still have a story to tell me.” I reminded her. A promise from years ago telling me before she published anything she would write a story, just for me.

    She gave me a weak smile and rested her forehead against the tips of her fingers. “That is a promise I haven’t forgotten. You’re a hard girl to please when it comes to storytelling, and there’s just been so much to do. The time just hasn’t come yet.”

    I returned her smile, relieved that the storm had passed and delighted to see her act friendly towards me. She hardly was after our parents’ deaths.

    “Um…well, I do need to get ready. So…I’m going to go change. Not that I don’t want to talk!” I stood up and scurried to the front door, suddenly feeling bashful. These sisterly moments were far and few anymore and I treasured the simplest exchanges.

    I made a dash for my bedroom and headed into my closet, throwing on a jacket and jeans for the uncommonly cool summer day. With Poptart in hand and my worn out book bag thrown over my shoulder, I said my goodbyes.

    I walked to my car just as Grandpa pulled up in his truck next to me. Like Grandma, he loved the quiet moments of the morning and would sometimes drive to the river to watch the sunrise. He was sweet, a thin man with a romantic heart and always had a sparkle in his eye.

    “Off already?” Disappointment weakened his cheery tone. “It’s been so long since we’ve had breakfast as a family.”

    Guilt pricked me like a thousand needles at seeing his happy-go-lucky expression turn slightly sad. I gave him a kiss goodbye on the cheek and tried not to cry, avoiding his gaze. When I pulled into the school’s empty parking lot I inwardly cheered that at least one thing was going well today, and blinked away the tears that wanted to fall.

    I enjoyed scouring the empty hallways like a tiny mouse exploring an abandoned house. I snuck past teachers in their classrooms because I was too nervous to attempt small talk, and entered the art room. With a spring in my step I opened my book bag and pulled out my art supplies as I found a seat in the back row; but, then I was utterly horrified.

    A boy tucked away in the corner was staring at me with a curious expression and a friendly smile. Behind his chocolate colored bangs were just as tempting brown eyes that examined me with the intense gaze of an artist who saw the soul. With his smooth tan skin and perfectly shaped lips, he looked like a foreign model blended with an artistic flare.

    I dropped my sketchbook and colored pencils, feeling my stomach lurch with the realization that someone not only saw me prancing around, but that that someone was a he. A very handsome he. A very handsome he whose first impression I totally ruined.

    I fell to my knees, whispering I was sorry and haphazardly threw the color pencils back into their case. Color pencils started disappearing before my eyes and I looked up to find the boy was helping me clean up and admiring my supplies.

    “These are very expensive. You must really love art.” He chuckled, by-passing my eccentric behavior. “I’m Ben, by the way.”

    He looked at me expectantly and it took a moment before the basic social skills switched on. “Ehh…Ella. I’m Ella.”

    I shot my hand out and gripped his stiffly in a poor attempt of a ‘hello’ handshake. People had always avoided any interaction with me so I was extremely rusty and useless when it came to being…friendly and confident.

    Still, he seemed unfazed by my awkwardness and even helped me off the ground as he placed my belongings on the desk next to his. My stomach did another lurch knowing that I had the opportunity to make my first friend and was utterly unprepared to do so. I stumbled into the desk before making it to the seat, praying that I didn’t mess up anymore as I tucked my hair behind my ear.

    “W-what are you doing here?” I stuttered, mentally slapping myself for sounding accusatory. “I mean, most people don’t come here so early. Not that it’s wrong with me…or anything…really.”

    My hands were shaking violently and I tried to hide them under the protection of the desk; however, Ben had already settled back into his seat and was unaware of my spazzing. Whether he was oblivious or polite, I was grateful either way.

    His smile widened even though he pinched the bridge of his nose in a headache-like gesture. “This is the only time I get peace and quiet. That, and I happen to love art myself. So…I come here to be inspired.”

    I smiled back with quivering lips, happy that a conversation had started, but terrified at what to do next. “Me, too.”

    There was a pause and a sudden ‘thunk’ against the window. Already hypersensitive to my surrounding, the noise made me jump and I turned to see a boy’s face pressed against the window, his fedora hat sliding towards the back of his head. Another boy came into view, dragging the watcher by the collar of his shirt away from the window as if this was an everyday occurrence.

    “The quiet before the terror.” I heard Ben complain under his breath.

    The classroom door was thrown open and slammed against the wall as the fedora boy came skidding in. “Aha! I knew you would be here, you liar. Trying to pick up a chickadee already?!”

    Fedora boy was decked out in a black vest and black skinny jeans, his white undershirt decorated with a purple tie. Within a blink I found his face in mine and was startled by his delicate features. Though one eye was covered by black bangs, the exposed eye and nose indicated he was of Asian descent.

    “I’m Memory Yung, protector of the innocent and a disaster in the eyes of authority.”

    A boy. With a girl’s name. I furrowed my eyebrows, confused as to who was standing before me.

    “Wait for it, waiiiit for it.” Memory grinned with mischief, his finger making a whirling motion. “I can see the gears turning. You know what? Never mind. Not that I don’t think that’s hilarious, but you have no trace of po-po-ri on you so you’re a cute girl.”

    “Thank you,” I giggled, twisting a strand of hair around my finger, feeling elated by his happy mood.

    Then it hit me. He…was a she, and she was flirting with me which meant she was lesbian. I blushed, feeling foolish that I hadn’t noticed sooner and placed my sketchbook in front of my face.

    “I’m really, really sorry but, I don’t go that way. Not that I’m not flattered!” I added in a flustered rush.

    Memory cackled and high-fived herself.

    “You’ve got it all wrong.” A different voice interjected with amusement, the tone deeper than Ben’s and with a slight twang.

    In the chaos that was Memory I had forgotten about the other boy. He sat behind me with his boots crossed over the desk, clearly at ease. He wore a plaid shirt that hugged him enough to show the slightest definition of muscle, and the two undone buttons revealed a flawless farmer’s tan. In contrast to Ben’s foreign like looks, he was pure Southern farm boy charm with ocean blue eyes and blonde hair long enough to be spiked.

    “Memory is as straight as an arrow, yet hell bent on messin’ with any and all her cross her path.” He shot a mocking glance towards her.

    I lowered my sketchbook and tried to compose myself. I wasn't going to mess up another introduction. “I’m Ella.”

    “Rayman.” He said with an inclination of his head.

    Outside the classroom there was a small collection of footsteps and greetings as students began to fill the school. There was a loud crash and a teacher shouted for someone to go to the office. Said teacher stepped into our classroom with an armful of art supplies and an irritated look before taking note of the four students occupying his classroom. Instantly, he smiled as he took us in and the moment his gaze landed on Memory he cussed.

    “Hi, Avery!” She gave a friendly wave, but the gesture was not reciprocated. “Can’t wait to hang with you.”

    Mr. Avery let out a defeated sigh and sank into his chair, deflating under Memory’s unrelenting energy.

    “Please, Yung. I beg you not to get detention anymore. I can’t handle another year of you starting riots among the other juveniles.” His big hands covered the entirety of his face as if he were trying to disappear. Or at least, deny the visual existence of Memory.

    Memory slid across a desk and grabbed my hand as she pointed to me. “Don’t worry, A! I have a responsibility to corrupt the untainted now, instead of causing more chaos among the demented.” She wrapped an arm around my shoulder. “Isn’t that right?”

    I stared at her like a deer in headlights. Before I could answer, the teacher pointed a stiff finger towards the door and still refused to look at us.

    “We’re drawing nature, so go outside now and I’ll send the rest of the class later. And God help you if you do anything stupid, Yung.”

    “I always rise to people’s expectations.” Then she whispered to me out of the corner of her mouth. “Especially when they expect the worst.”

    She hooked her arm with mine and we were out the door, me in a daze and the other two rolling their eyes as she pranced through the crowded hallway. The looks on our classmate’s faces were of disgust and disbelief, unlike the expressions of snickering amusement I was used to.

    “Be smart and be safe!” She yelled at a couple making out against the lockers with a fervor only seen in movies. “I certainly don’t want to deal with more people like you.”

    I continued to remain astonished as she paraded the three of us down the hall, making it an exhibition of clichés of the groups that clogged the hall. The jocks, the band geeks, the geniuses—she had something to say about all of them. When we finally reached the outside I was glad to be away from everyone and out of the suffocating crowd. I ran to sit under the tree and quickly folded myself together. Oh my god, I hoped I would not be hated because of guilt by association.

    Noticing my discomfort, Ben and Rayman each filled the space next to me as a barrier between Memory.

    “See what I meant about needing peace and quiet?” Ben smiled and gave me a little nudge as he placed my art supplies in my lap. “It’s not immunity, but a tolerance.”

    Rayman was lying on the ground, an arm thrown over his face and I could see the rise and fall of his chiseled chest slow down. How he could even manage a nap under these conditions was beyond me.

    “Between Memory and my girlfriend, I don’t get much sleepin’ done, trust me.” A faint smile graced his lips and I was a little more than freaked that he could read my mind.

    Memory lunged at the ground with a tattered baseball in hand, having no consideration for her nice vest and tie. “Ewwww, I don’t want to hear about that. Even I don’t want to touch that subject.”

    She dodged what would have been a well-earned boot to the face and gripped the leather buckle strap, yanking the boot off in what was a tremendous effort on her part. She tossed it, but he made no attempt to get it back.

    Tired from her onslaught of perky and kooky behavior, I moved a little closer to Ben for some emotional reprieve and watched him sketch the backdrop of tress from across the street. With the delicacy of a flower arranger, yet the precision of a long time artist, he sketched the small birds that brought the trees to life, the faintest sway of the branches, the hue of the early morning darkening the dewy grass below.

    Unconsciously, I had moved so close that I felt my hair tickle his ear and froze at the unfamiliar sensation. I caught a whiff of woodsy cologne, finding it a tad masculine, yet a pleasant contrast to his personality.

    "You look enthralled." Memory tugged my jeans, acting like a kid in a candy shop. "He's drawing naked dudes, isn't he? Isn't he?"

    I jerked back with a blush, expecting her vulgar language, but embarrassed all the same.

    "You should know all about it, you serial dater." Ben's lips were a thin line as he pressed his pencil a tad too forcefully into his paper. "And I had to be a first hand witness to it."

    For the first time, Memory became somber and the baseball in her hand rolled free, stopping at the tip of my gym shoes. The air around us was overpowering me with the tension, even disrupting the bubble of ease around Rayman. One blue eye opened and I gave him a panicked look, begging for his divine intervention. Instead, he gave a small shake of his head, a silencing finger on the smirk on his lips, before sitting up against the tree.

    "Ben's a bit of a romantic crusader," He leaned in and whispered in my ear. "If you ever have boy trouble he's the shoulder to cry on and I'm the fighter you send in. And Memory...Memory is just the bomb to bring the deadly shrapnel."

    "That's absolutely right!" Memory interjected and grabbed Ben's sketchbook, much to his dismay. "These two are the perfect example of a glass of milk."

    She began to scribble across the whole page, helping herself to my color pencils. I felt a twang of possessiveness over my color pencils since they were important to me and I didn't think she would be gentle with them. “This is the story of Samoa, the stalker girl in Ben’s church group—she clearly does not know not interested—but, for all intensive purposes we will call her ‘Tagalong Stalker’.”

    Rayman coughed to hide his laughter as I held my hand over my mouth to hide my amusement as well. Ben was anything but entertained and the air turned frigid. Oblivious to Ben’s reaction, Memory held up his sketchbook and Rayman and I burst out laughing at the doodles that decorated the page.

    “In this world,” Memory began, seeming enchanted by the sound of her voice. “There are Tagalongs who must decide how their delicious existence will end. Ninety-nine percent of the male population is vicious and addictive cookie monsters who devour the naïve Tagalongs.”

    She pointed to what looked like a furry Spaghetti O being eaten by a blue bubble with stick arms. She scribbled again. “Then there are tall, cool glasses of milk. Or skim milk if you’re anorexic. These glasses of milk let Tagalongs soak in their sexiness and chivalry. And you, my sweet Cinderella—“ She swept a hand over Ben and Rayman, “—are in the presence of two glasses.”

    I clapped, amused by her analogy of men. She had the same sense of humor as Grandma and I was beginning to like her because of it.

    “Look at the loser gathering!” A girl shouted at us from the school doorway.

    Her bleached hair was as blinding as the amount of light reflecting off her collection of jewelry. She bounced over to us, or rather her assets did, flipping her hair over an exposed shoulder. “Find a new leech to join you already?”

    Her once-over of me was filled with such repulsion I half-expected her to pinch her nose in disgust. I felt a couple of tears trickle down my cheeks, destroyed with the only sentence she said to me. I clenched my fists in frustration at myself for taking such offense and tried to clear my mind, pretending her hair was falling off from all the bleach.

    Ben stiffened beside me and draped a protective hand across my lap as Rayman swiped the back of his sleeve over my tears, giving me a consoling smile. Memory, on the other hand, calmly stood up and was nearly toe-to-toe with the blonde. She was extremely pissed, the lines around her eyes tightening like my Grandma’s whenever she was getting ready to throw something. Recognizing the danger, I shrank into my jacket for protection from the oncoming slaughter.

    “What?” The blonde taunted, her arms crossed over her chest as she leaned into one hip. “Are you going to cry, too? Go ahead. I’d love to see you escorted away and behind bars.”

    Memory’s hand twitched, but she kept her calm expression, her lips twisted in a leer. “If I touch you I’d never get rid of the stench of whore.” She angled her head towards the school’s door. “I suggest you go back now. The more time you spend here, the less you can put out and we wouldn’t want to stop your only means of income, would we?”

    I gave an inward applause, cheering on Memory, but quickly lost momentum when the boys remained silent. I took that as a very bad sign if they weren’t willing to step into the fight.

    The blonde’s face was animal-like, her eyes narrowed in her examination of her prey and her lips curled back over perfect teeth. I held my breath, waiting for the claws to come out, yet she turned away.

    And with a quick glance over her shoulder aimed and spat right in Memory’s face. We were all frozen as Memory slowly wiped the spit off her cheek. I stared in wide eyed shock at the crude gesture and was horrified that things like that happened.

    With the blonde’s back still turned, Memory carefully reached for the baseball at my feet and gave me a wink. Puzzled, the three of us watched as she positioned herself into a pitcher’s pose.

    “Incoming, b***h!”

    The blonde turned at the obscenity, taking a fastball to the face, and there was a resounding ‘crack’ as her nose broke and blood spurted all over her top. She fell to the ground in one fluid motion and there was a pause before Ben and Rayman leapt to their feet to aid her.

    On shaky legs I trailed behind them, frightened of Memory’s strength and the trouble that awaited us. A crowd had gathered at the windows and I nearly puked at the unwanted attention and bloody mess in front of me. Ben was speaking in soothing murmurs in a vain attempt to gain the blonde’s attention. She remained in a state of shock and the blood began to look darker as her face paled to a ghostly white. Rayman dug around in his pockets for something.

    “I’ve got nothin’ for paddin’.” He cussed and Ben glared at Memory.

    She glared back. “What?”

    “Your vest. Now.” Ben spat, holding out an expectant hand. When she did nothing he commanded through clenched teeth, “NOW.”

    “Ugh! Fine! For the sake of etiquette!” Memory motioned a cross over her chest and ripped her vest off, tossing it on the blonde’s face. “God burn her in Hell.”

    Ben yanked it off the blonde’s face and tucked it under her head instead. He scowled at her still as he adjusted the vest for comfort. “You just don’t know when to stop, do you?”

    Memory shrugged her shoulders. “For the sins she’s committed she ain’t going to the Blessed Place, if you know what I mean.” She said out the side of her mouth and then pointed to the sky in contempt. “Not like the Guy in the Sky is going to listen since I don’t pray and such.”

    “YUNNNNNG!”

    My hands clamped over my ears at the shout and I looked past Memory’s shoulder to see the principal stalk across the lawn like a bull in a china shop. He was a tiny man lost in a muck of brown suit with a balding head and chubby fingers ready to strangle Memory.

    “Oh, geez.” Memory fell onto her back, her head resting on her arms as the fedora slid off and landed on top of a trail of unsuspecting ants. She was evidently bored despite the circumstance she had put herself in. “Here comes the po-po-ri, whee-woo, whee-woo. That jerk thinks that because he wears smelly cologne and holds a position of authority, he has as much scare power as the police. Puh-leze!”

    “All of you, to the office this instant!”

    The nurse came running out, ready for action with the first aid kit dutifully at her side, her reading glasses barely hanging onto the thin strap around her neck. “Oh, my goodness! So much blood for such a petite girl!”

    The principal grabbed Memory’s arm, yanking her forward as we followed behind him like the prisoners we were. I had never set foot into his office for any reason and the reality that I was about to under negative circumstances had me seeing a rain of white spots. Ben had collected our items and seemed to consider chucking them at Memory with full force as his eyes zeroed in on the back of her head.

    “Hey.” Rayman saddled up beside me, holding my arm to steady me. “Don’t worry, doll. You’ve got no record to speak of and won’t be gettin’ one anytime soon.”

    “I-I don’t…I think I’m going to be sick.” A wave of pre-puking heat washed over me, flushing me with color.

    He chuckled under his breath and wrapped an arm around my waist, pointing towards a pack of cheerleaders receiving news of the blonde. “Make it a worthwhile shot.”

    I laughed nervously for a brief moment then closed my mouth in fear of projectile. I would live through this, I chanted in my head, I would live; but, most of all I would not get sick.

    He steered me into the office and a blast of a/c hit us square on. We settled in the seats in front of the principal’s desk and were stared down by pictures of previous principals that hung on the wall behind him. I held the arms of the chair with a white knuckle grip and my feet bounced uncontrollably as I waited to be scolded. Or puke. Whichever came first.

    “You!” The principal glowered at me with a questioning stare, his eyes dilated with accusation. “Are you the one who encouraged Memory? I’ve never seen you before and I’ve learned in the past that the quiet ones are the masterminds. Give me your name.” He commanded as his chubby fingers searched for a piece of paper. I felt like he was a mob leader signing a hit on me.

    I gulped the bile working its way up with renewed vigor. “Robinson. Ella Robinson, sir.” My voice cracked with fear. I sniffled in an attempt to stop the oncoming breakdown.

    “Stop your crying.” He waved a dismissive hand as he added the others’ names to his list. “You’re an adult and need to act like one. If you think crying will get you out of trouble in the real world, you’re stupidly mistaken.”

    Ben scooted his chair towards me ever so slightly so that he was close enough to place his fingertips on the top of my hand. The gesture was sweet, but did nothing to abide my nerves.

    “The three of you are nothing but thorns in my side!” He slammed a fist on his desk and his face jiggled and reddened with the effort. “I am sick and tired of you punks acting like you’re superior! You are irresponsible and small-minded people who don’t know when to shut their mouths. All four of you are suspended!”

    I was down for the count at the word ‘suspended’. I buried my face in my shaking hands, denying that this was happening to me. There was no way I could be in trouble, any trouble at all.

    The sound of a chair being thrown against the floor stopped my sob mid-choke, and I gawked at Rayman who was on his feet, fists curled. He took a step forward but then Memory caught his arm in a loose grip and, with a coy smile, stood up and placed him in her seat.

    “I’m going to tell you how this—“ She sat on the edge of the principal's desk with a overconfident air about her and gestured to the group using his nameplate as a pointer, "--is going to happen, fatass."

    My mouth fell open. She had sworn at him! I didn't know whether to feel relieved that the attention was off me or worry about the consequences of her action. My grip had finally loosened and the tears had stopped falling, but only because I was in a state of disbelief. I eyed Ben for an answer, yet he only shrugged his shoulders and mouthed, "I don't know."

    Rayman acted like he was lazing in his chair and had his hands folded comfortably on his stomach; however, the set of his jaw and intense glare claimed otherwise. The principal was actually smiling, seeming pleased as he opened his desk drawer and placed a tape recorder under the lamp for all to see.

    "Continue to your heart's content, Yung. I've already caught you on tape."

    Memory applauded before snatching the item and dancing away with it, the principal dumbfounded at his precious recorder's absence.

    "Ohhhhh, this is perfect!" She squealed, examining it at all angles. "Yep, it really is on."

    She placed the recorder close to her mouth and she was smiling so hard I thought her lips would tear apart from the effort.

    "Attention faculty and police. I am going to give you proof that the principal of Rivernauk High School, Nigel Stanson, has committed the crime of statutory rape."

    We were all floored. To toss around the word 'rape' so lightly and accusing the principal of it made me want to run screaming from the room. The thought made my skin crawl, the images making my throat contract in disgust as my mind tried to explain to me that I was sitting across from a potential *****. Rayman and Ben exchanged stricken looks. Neither of them seemed capable of words and I couldn't blame them--it wasn't possible to vocalize such a thing.

    The principal remained calm, only a flicker of confusion causing his eyebrows to rise.

    "Exhibit A. Please take note of the lack of screens on the windows in the principal's office. Every window but the two located here have screens." Then she turned to the huge cabinet with a spring in her step, throwing open the metal doors. "We also have an empty cabinet so that Amy Goldren could sneak into here through the windows and hide. All to make sure that principal was going to get blow--below average grades assigned to her, because that's the best he could do for someone with her IQ."

    The principal was dripping sweat now and he wiped his forehead, leaving a darker brown stain on his sleeve. My fingers and toes curled as if rotting from the very presence of the principal and thoughts in my mind, and I gave a slight shake of my head to rid anymore unspeakable images .Though I was still reeling from the horrible accusation, Rayman was smirking and Ben was watching Memory with bemused curiosity. I felt like I was the only one taking this situation seriously and abhorred by her explanation, rather than fascinated by it.

    "Exhibit B. Look at the mirror placed on his desk. We all know that no amount of primping is ever going to fix his ugly mug, " She snorted her pleasure when his lips curled in offense, but continued on. "So that only means one thing. He used this as a signal to flash Amy. Coincidently, her classroom is located across from his office."

    Memory pulled something tiny and black from her pants pocket, gingerly holding it her hand. "Exhibit C. Ruby Red lipstick, the color that Amy also happens to wear, found by his computer by yours truly."

    The principal sputtered something incoherent. I remained still, a spectator along with Rayman and Ben, and held my breath in anticipation of more evidence as my credence of his innocence quickly soured.

    Memory fiddled with the tape recorders buttons. "Ya know, I like mine better."

    "Enough!" Spit splattered his desk from the force of his word. "You have caused physical harm to one of my students! Falsely accusing me will not distract others from the punishment you deserve."

    She flipped the tape recorder into the air, juggling it, and smiled as her free hand began patting the interior of the cabinet. "Well, being the narcissistic optimist that I am, I'd like to think my fastball killed her."

    I snorted awkwardly, for the first time finding amusement in this situation, but quickly covered my mouth when the principal eyed me with a warning. I sank into the seat under his gaze, fearful of punishment.

    "Ah, here it is." There was a ripping sound as Memory pulled something from the cabinet. It was a silver tape recorder that had been taped and tucked away in the upper corner. "Exhibit D."

    She pressed a button and obscene moans and noises filled the room. Shaking with laughter, Ben covered my ears with his warm hands as he rested his head against my shoulder to hide himself. Not that it was a problem because I was doing my best to block out the sounds already.

    When she pressed the 'stop' button we waited in silence, watching the principal switch between shades of red and white; evidently, he was caught between a rock and a tight space. Memory had tied his hands and, no matter what, he was not walking away spot free.

    She placed the tape recorders on his desk and stood beside him, latching on to a bit of fat on his face. The sight resembled more of a teacher disciplining a child rather than blackmailing.

    "Do as I say, and I will not turn this in." Her threat was concealed by her chipper tone.

    "You b***h of a grudge holder!"

    "Hey!" She tsked, pinching his skin hard enough to make him wince. "I don't hold grudges, I just can't forget stupidity. Now, place your hands palms up under the desk."

    When he didn't submit she let her gaze fall to the recorders. He then obeyed, but with defiance, and slammed his hands under the desk. For some reason, he appeared confused and moved about, hard enough to rattle the objects on his desk. Bending into his lap, Memory busied herself and I nearly passed out at the sight. What was she doing?!

    We heard his pants hit the ground with the loud clunk of his buckle and I covered my eyes from the indecency. There was rummaging and I dared a glimpse through a small gap between my fingers, befuddled as I watched her place a bottle of lotion and crumpled tissues on his desk. Rayman and Ben nearly fell out of their chairs laughing, though I was still oblivious to what she was doing.

    With vigor, the principal was moving forward and backward with more speed than I could fathom from a man his size, and that brought a stronger bout of laughter from the boys.

    "What have you done?!" He huffed as he tried to free himself.

    "My own brand of Krazy Glue." Memory sang, picking up the recorders. She came to stand behind me and wrapped her arms around my neck. There was a click by my ear.

    "Don't mistake me for a fool--" Her scratchy voice from the recorder echoed in my right ear before his recorded sounded off in my left. "Fatass."

    The boys gave a round of applause and she bowed gratefully in return, her face alit with childish mischief. I just turned to stare up at her, knowing she had done something epic, yet not quite sure what it was.

    "If you'll excuse us, dear Nigel, we have no school today." Memory motioned towards the door, sliding the recorders into her pockets. "And if you try to do anything like this again, I promise to hand deliver you in a pine box."

    Stunned for a second time by her threat, Ben had to assist me out of my chair and hurried us out of the office while Rayman checked to make sure the hallway was clear. I was a little giggly despite the haze of worry swirling in my thoughts, part of me relishing in the high that came from rebellion. Never in my life I had ever acted 'the bad girl' and the rush was rewarding, if not draining at the same time; but, the worry slowly stopped eating me as I gazed at the joyful faces of these three outcasts, caught up in their own world.

    I felt like I belonged in that world too, one I wanted to be in forever.

    We didn't stop running until we reached the parking lot. Bursting with energy, Rayman leapt into the bed of a beat-up, dirt caked truck with unnatural ease and turned to high-five Memory who had to jump to reach his hand.

    "How the hell did you know Amy was doin' the dirty with him?" He asked in wonder, his face still glowing from his laughter.

    Memory shrugged, blasé about the whole thing. "I didn't. I just assumed she was putting out for him like everyone else, and that he was willing to take it. She's stupid enough to try to get better grades by doing him. So, I thought I'd just record some porn and use it against them." She curled her fist under her chin in a faux Plato pose. "I asked myself, how awesome do I want to be when this s**t goes down? So I planted all that evidence just for my entertainment. And, yeah, I was hella awesome in the end."

    "I don't want to ever think you were a leader." Ben chuckled, lowering the flatbed door. Without hesitation, he wrapped his hands around my waist and hoisted me up where Rayman was.

    I felt flustered at the intimate gesture, struggling to not pass out. I became hyper aware of each finger that grasped me gently, the faint pulse traveling through them sending a shiver down my spine. I softened the gasp that escaped my lips so that I didn't sound like a heavy breathing pervert and nibbled at my lip to stop anything stupid from leaving my mouth.

    When I was lifted I instinctively latched onto his shoulders to keep my balance--I hated it when I was not on solid ground. Only my Father could do that without me pitching a fit.

    "Sorry! I'm so sorry!" I burst out, embarrassed by my rough handling of him. Oh.My. God. I was such a ditz. I should have been swooning instead of acting like a drowning man clinging to a piece of straw.

    He raised a playful eyebrow. His attention remained on me, but I could tell he was confused and the faint smile reinforced that. "For what? Memory got us into this mess, not you."

    I shook my head, inwardly cringing at my paranoid behavior, glad he didn't read into it.

    "Never mind." I said on a sigh. I really needed to do something about these nerves of mine before they put me into the ground.

    "C'mon, c'mon!" Memory jumped up and down, whining. She stood by the side of the truck and was trying to shake it side to side. "Let's celebrate what I did! I put that pig into the 'Position of Shame'!"

    Sheepishly, I twirled a strand of my hair as a dreadful feeling washed over me. I was going to have to ask what she did...I was the odd man out. "Um...what is it...that you did to the principal?"

    Her eyes widened in surprise and then sparkled with amusement. She threw herself forward and her ribs banged against the truck. I nearly fell of the bed with the force and Rayman grabbed my shoulder to steady me.

    "No. Way." She gaped at me, far too excited by my question. "You don't know what masturbation is?! Oh, am I going to have so much fun with this. Okay, so a guy--"

    Ben clamped a hand over her mouth, playfully dragging her away from the truck as he gave a hearty laugh. "Let sleeping dogs lay."

    Frustrated by the restraint, she stomped her foot and missed his toes. She continued on like that, a spastic dance between the two as they horsed around, each determined to one up the other. Rayman muttered something that sounded like, 'here we go again', but, his exaggerated eye roll told me that they weren't actually fighting. I took relief in that since tomboyish Memory seemed much stronger than the gentle Ben, who was surprisingly holding his own ground.

    I rested my chin in my hands and let my legs swing freely as I watched them play, intrigued by their behavior. The two acted more like brothers than friends and that affection was sweet in my eyes, even if they displayed it in a somewhat violent manner. Tiffany and I avoided paths often as children, not because we were forced to, but that we were attached to different parents. I felt my lips fall into a small pout, envious of their bonding that was so strong outside of blood, and remembered how few precious moments I had with my sister.

    "Still want to hang with us?" Rayman asked warily, mistaking my frown for displeasure rather than envy.

    I perked up as he came to sit beside me, feeling shy about having to declare my feelings. I nodded my head furiously so that he couldn't doubt my enthusiasm at being with them.

    "Absolutely." I closed my eyes shut so that I wouldn't have to see his reaction to the question I was about to ask. I didn't want to see the disapproval or have him see tears of rejection gather in my eyes. Taking a deep courageous breath, I raised my hand like a child waiting to be called on. "Can I join you?"

    I felt him slap me a high five. I let one eye peek open, taken aback by the instant answer. I expected a 'no way' at the very least, and in the worst case scenario, literally kicked to the curb--Rayman was a good head taller than me. It wouldn't take much effort on his part to push me down.

    He gave me an approving grin as he gave my hand a squeeze. "Welcome, doll. You are now saddled up with us."

    I giggled, feeling a strange tingle in my heart. It was a spark of love that would surely grow to a blazing fire that could warm the ones around me. Father would have been very happy knowing that I could finally understand him in his desire to give happiness, no matter what, in every form. For a moment, in the shining tunnel I had been sucked into, I could see why he wanted to give everything to Mama.

    And why he was forever damaged when he couldn't.
        

    Because I was too chicken to go home and unable to come up with a good excuse for my early arrival, I went to swing in the park until school let out. I had made plans to meet up with friends later. I was going out! I nearly threw myself off the swing from the exuberance of the thought.

    After twisting the swing around tightly for the fourth time in a row, and feeling a bit too dizzy, I checked my watch. I gave an impatient huff, surprised for once that I wishing for time to speed up instead of staying in a standstill.

    I hopped into my car and had to keep myself in check when I pulled into the driveway so that I wouldn't dash into my house like a madwoman. The fact that I would act so obnoxious would have thrown Grandpa and Grandma into delirium--the ever quiet and soft spoken Ella bursting at the seams with excitement!

    I hummed a song to have some outlet for my energy and jiggled the knob on the door. I was going to shout 'hello'; but, instead, the greeting caught in my throat and my book bag fell to the floor with a loud thump and pencils rolled in every direction.

    In horror, I examined the chaos in front of me through blurred vision.
    Ch.1 End