Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chenoa stared atthe graffiti on her school locker as nausea assaulted her. Behind her, chuckles and whispered insults engulfed her as she felt as though she was on display. “Injun whore” in red block lettering glared at her, shattering her thoughts. Further down on her locker, “Reservation Trash” in neon yellow reached out, clawing at her. She opened her locker, took out her backpack, and slammed it shut. She turned around slowly, her hair covering her face. Through the dark strands, she spotted Hannah and Morgan smirking at her. Flashes of hate burned her, but what crushed her was the smugness on Josie’s and Michela’s faces, who were standing next to Chenoa’s nemeses.
For the past several days, Josie and Michela had ignored her, sitting with Hannah and her clique during lunch, not acknowledging her when she’d wave or call out to them, and laughing whenever Hannah would hurl insults at her.
“What’s going on here?” a deep voice asked as several students scampered away. “Chenoa?” She craned her neck and saw the principal, Mr. Alvarado, darting his eyes between her and the locker. “Who did this?” She shrugged. He glared at the students. “Who is responsible for this despicable behavior?”
All of a sudden, the amused eyes turned from her and focused on their shoes, the walls, and the drinking fountains. She pushed her hair back, her gaze meeting Josie’s, who then looked down at the books in her hands. Chenoa raised her chin. “It’s okay, Mr. Alvarado. Small minds do small things.” She focused her gaze on Hannah, who rolled her eyes.
The principal put his hand on her shoulder. “I’ll get Mr. Barkley to clean it up. And this won’t be tolerated in my school. I will find out who did this and there will be consequences. Now, everyone go back to your classes or you’ll all have detention.”
The students cast sidelong glances at Chenoa as they shuffled away.
“I have a class,” she said as she moved away from her locker.
“I’m sorry this happened, Chenoa. Do you have any idea who may have been responsible? Have you had problems with any student?”
She shook her head. “No. It’s not a big deal.”
“Yes, it is. I’m on this. If you have any problems, please come see me.”
She nodded and walked off. Instead of going to her class, she kept walking until she was well past the school grounds. She walked all the way to Squire’s Drugstore, where she went in to buy a pack of cigarettes from Jared. The clerk had a crush on her, so she used that in order to buy cigarettes.
After her purchase, she went to the alley and lit up.The first drag always feels so good.She leaned against the brick wall and sank down onto the cold pavement. Then the tears she’d been holding in spilled out.I hate it there. I’m never going back. Never!A cold sweat broke out over her and she wrapped her arms around herself to quell the trembling.
A long while later, she wiped her face and nose with her jacket sleeve and called her dad. His voicemail came on. “Dad, I need to talk to you. Call me back.” She waited. No call. Again she called his number, leaving a message. For over an hour, she called and texted him repeatedly, her despair mounting. All she could see was the glaring racial slurs exposed to the whole student body, and the way they all laughed at her. No one had stood up for her.
She lit another cigarette and dialed one of her friends from the reservation. “Anthony? Hey, you wanna hang out?” A few minutes later she’d made arrangements for Anthony to pick her up. She knew her dad would be pissed at her, but she didn’t give a damn. All she wanted was to be with peers who accepted her and who she felt comfortable with.You made me go to that fuckin’ school, Dad, and you’re not even fuckin’ picking up your phone?
As she waited for Anthony to come, she tried her dad a few more times, to no avail. Liquid fire coursed through her veins, and by the time Anthony pulled into the alley, she was climbing the walls and feeling worthless.
“You’re in a fucking bad way, sweetheart,” Anthony said as Chenoa slid into the passenger’s seat.
“No shit.”
“You want something?” He reached out and stroked her face.
She batted his hand away. “Don’t start that shit up with me.”
“You liked it when we’d get high together.” He laughed. “Remember?”
“Yeah, well, that was then.”
“You wanna get high. I got some fuckin’ good stuff. Not the shit you were taking. This is high quality. Pure. Fuckin’ rocks.”
She shrugged and tried her dad again. No answer. “Okay. Once won’t hurt.”I need to feel better. Heroin makes me who I wish I was. Heroin makes life worth living. Heroin is better than everything else.“Maybe I’ll smoke it.”
He laughed. “Sweetheart, you’re so beyond that.”
He was right. When she first started using over a year ago, she’d popped pills and smoked it. At that point it never seemed like a problem, because she’d used daily for weeks and had no withdrawal effects. She never had the cravings either, but then, somehow, the switch had flipped and she’d become a slave to the drug. Smoking it wasn’t doing it anymore, so she went to the needle. “You got it on you?”
“Yeah, but this shit’s expensive. You got money?”
“Some. How much?”
“A hundred bucks.”
“Fuck. I have forty and my grandma’s and mom’s food stamp cards. I’ve been staying with them for the last two days.” She had taken them “just in case.”
