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My parents respected her decision. They respected my siblings but not me. I was already blacklisted when they caught me and Zack fucking in my bedroom my junior year. At the time, I didn’t care. I was tired of being caged. I had hearts in my eyes. Zack was my first boyfriend. He said all the right things, and I wanted to know what being in love felt like even though I didn’t know what that meant.
After I convinced Veronica to take me to confront Zack when I found out he was a lying piece of shit, my life turned to dog shit. I was made fun of at school. I was threatened my senior year by the guys on the football team and the frat guys from Ohio State. I thought what they did to me right before I graduated from high school was enough. I thought it was over, and they got what they wanted. I couldn’t tell my parents. I couldn’t tell my brother. I couldn’t tell anyone. You have to be a sick group of guys to do what they did to me.
After a bracing cold shower, I settle onto the worn sleeping bag Mr. Colby lent me from his shed, a makeshift mattress in my run-down trailer. The one that had been here before was a relic, yellowed and infested with bugs from years of neglect.
My damp hair sends shivers down my spine, a reminder of my forgotten blow dryer, left behind in the rush to escape my parents' house. It's a stark reminder of the chaos that almost cost me graduating from high school, as I barely scraped by in the final weeks, missing countless days of school.
As my phone rings, my brother's name flashes on the screen, signaling the inevitable conversation ahead.
"Yeah," I answer, bracing myself for the barrage of questions sure to come.
"Hello to you too, sis," he quips in response.
"You're calling because Mom and Dad have been blowing up your phone," I state flatly, already knowing the reason for his call.
I stare at the bold words on the bill. It’s a warning. A checkmate. They haven’t forgotten, and neither have I.
I pull the phone away from my ear as my brother's voice blasts through the receiver, echoing his frustration. "They have, but I'm also calling because I care. School is important, and as much as I want to ki—kick that piece of shit's ass, it's not going to change the fact that you were kicked out of school."
I notice the hesitation in his voice, catching the word he almost said. He's probably surrounded by people; their murmurs audible in the background.
"They denied the appeal. I can't go back," I admit, cutting straight to the point. It's better to rip off the Band-Aid while the wound is still fresh.
I hear a locker door slam in the background, and the silence on his end is palpable. "Damn," he finally murmurs. "That's it, then?"
"Yep," I confirm. "I can't go to Ohio State, and because I took out school loans for the semester, I'll have to pay out of pocket somewhere else. The process of appeal caused the withdrawal date to lapse, and there's nothing they could do."
"But you didn't do anything. I don't get it. They don't have proof of anything. It's all baseless," he protests.
I glance at the cracked mirror in the bathroom from where I'm sitting. "It's obvious... I don't play football, and that's what this is all about. The team, the coaches, and people with power. And it doesn't help that they have a video of me screaming and attacking him at a party the night I caught him cheating on me. It's uploaded to social media." I inhale sharply. "I don't have to go to college, Adam."
"Yes, you do. What happened to writing? You wanted to write or teach literature."
"I'll have to wait. I can go to the community college next semester. It's not that big of a deal."
"It is," he growls. "Look, I'll figure something out." And with that, the line goes silent.
I stare at the phone, making sure the call didn't drop. The plan is thirty-five bucks a month for unlimited calling, but the service sucks. I hardly have a signal out here in the trailer.
Adam has every reason to hate Zack and is stuck in a hard place having to play with him on the field, but his future is safe, and that’s all that matters.
The following week, true to his word, Mr. Colby got me a job at the hardware store. Five days a week, from five o’clock to close. It would have been great if I was still in school, but I didn’t have the heart to tell him the truth.
My first two weeks at college ended quicker than it took to apply for admission. After speaking to Adam the next day, I called the school again, hoping they could refund my loans to the lender and make an exception, but I was past the withdrawal date and would have to pay the money back on top of coming out of pocket to retake the classes. I couldn’t return my books either. I was screwed.
I didn't have anything to do with Zack being kicked off the football team. It was Matt and what he did to Victoria. Zack was guilty by association, and I was just collateral damage.
"Will that be all, sir?" I inquire, scanning the hammer and box of nails as the man with dark hair and freckles approaches the counter.
"I'm going to need to refill two propane tanks as well," he states briskly.
I ring him up, the card reader turning bright green as he swipes his card. "I'll need your driver’s license so I can give you the key to the propane out front," I request.
With an annoyed sigh, he hands me his driver's license. I slide the key across the counter, along with his receipt. "Let me know if you need any help. Ariel would be glad to assist you out front."
"I got it," he snaps, snatching the key from the counter and crumpling the receipt along with it.
Dick.
