Nurse Nancy frowns. “Do you do that often?”
“No,” I lie quickly.
Her eyes narrow before she grabs her clipboard. “You’re free to wait here until your dad shows up.”
She disappears behind a curtain, and I plop back down on the bed. I rub my hands over my face in an attempt to wake myself up as I wait. My anxiety feels like it’s going through the roof as my foot taps on the floor.
Dad could be in any mood. I haven’t seen him in weeks, and there’s no telling who’s about to pick me up.
I wait for an hour, counting the stupid motivational posters on the walls and rereading the tacky sayings out loud until I have them memorized. Our trailer isn’t that far from here, so I have a few theories.
Either he lied and said he was on his way when he really hadn’t moved from the tattered sofa in our living room, or he fell asleep and completely forgot about picking me up.
Either one of those is good. It means I won’t be subjected to being dragged through the halls with his hand wrapped tightly around my bicep.
When another hour slowly passes, the nurse returns. “Still nothing. I tried to call him again, but there was no answer.”
“Can I just go back to class?” I ask with a pleading look. “It’s obvious he’s not coming.”
She sighs in resignation. “Fine, but if you feel like you’re falling asleep or anything happens, report straight to me, okay?”
I nod, shoving off the bed. “I will.”
She gives me some medicine for a building headache that’s starting in my temples before sending me off to my last two hours of classes. I make it to Music with a few minutes to spare, and Charlie pinpoints me from across the room. She frowns before leaving her chair and walking over to me.
“You’re back?” She asks quietly so the other students lingering around can’t hear us. “I thought you had a concussion…”
“I do,” I shrug, hiding my face as I pull my books out of my backpack. “The nurse said I was fine.”
My friend doesn’t believe me as her head tilts knowingly. “Okay…”
Keeping my home life from Charlie has been a feat. She’s naturally inquisitive and wants to know everything about me. I can’t blame her for being curious, but it’s better if she doesn’t know about the nasty parts of my life.
I don’t want her to look at me the same way everyone else does—with pity.
“Class will be starting soon,” Mrs. Christie, the music teacher, announces to the half-full room.
Charlie motions with a hand towards our usual chairs in the back of the room. She’s careful not to touch me as she guides me to our designated spots. Since my episode when we first met, she’s respected my no-touching rule, and it’s another aspect of being friends with her that makes me appreciate her. She doesn’t push when she notices my discomfort, and I’m thankful for the easy connection we share. She makes this effortless, never pointing out when I flinch or curl into myself.
We take our seats as more students file in. I notice that Jordan doesn’t saunter in with her usual entourage. The guys are down a member as they take their seats across the room from us.
I sink further into my chair, keeping my eyes on my lap so I don’t get caught staring at them.
“Today, we’re doing a band march!” Mrs. Christie claps her hands excitedly as agonizing groans fill the room. “Don’t make that tone with me. Everyone, grab the instrument you’ve been practicing with.”
I peek over at Charlie. “Help me.”
“Grab your tuba, and I’ll help you get situated.” She smiles.
Easy for her to say. She gets a fucking flute, and I have a god damned tuba that’s half my size.
I leave my chair before grabbing my designated instrument and cursing under the weight of it. As I plop back down in my chair, I jostle the brass before sending it into the back of the boy’s head who’s seated in front of me.
He whips around, scowling as he touches where he was hit.
“Sorry,” I wince.
“Watch it, Dirt.” He seethes.
