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I flipped the page over and picked out a gray pencil from the cup. And then I drew my own picture. Used my own imagination.
I drew mountains and waterfalls and sunsets and birds free to roam the vast, endless skies.
“It’s beautiful,” Sophia said. “Have you been somewhere like this before?”
I felt a tightness in my chest as I drew the birds’ wings, but I didn’t respond. I didn’t tell her that the scenery wasn’t the focus. I’d just created the backdrop so the birds had something beautiful to look at, somewhere to call home.
I wanted to be the birds.
I wanted to fly.
Far away from everything in the world that kept me grounded.
I drew, and I drew, and I drew some more, and soon enough, the lead was gone from the pencil, and so I picked another color as close to black as possible.
The entire time, Sophia continued to ask questions—questions that were left unanswered.
It wasn’t until the she stood up and moved toward my teacher that I stopped focusing on the drawing—or at least pretended to.
My ears filled with their hushed tones and whispered words, and my pulse beat to the only rhythm it knew: fear. Thunder pulsed in my rib cage, echoing off the emptiness inside me. Isolated. And then the Principal spoke, looking directly at Miss Holland, “Neglect is a form of abuse, Alice.”
At eight years and two days, I learned two things:
one: Mrs. Holland’s first name was Alice, and Alice would be the new cause of Beaker’s hatred toward me.
And two: I would forever see myself through the eyes of others.
11
Holden
Turns out,Jamie offered to buy me an early dinner the first time we went to the truck stop because she didn’t have to buyanything. Yeah, the food was free, and when I found that out, I made her take me again.
So, that’s where we are now, sitting in the same booth as last week, playing what might possibly be my most favorite game ever: The Staring Game.
My phone vibrates on the tabletop, and she flinches just a tad. I hold back my smirk because I know she’s about to lose the game in three… two… “Answer your fucking phone.”
“No.”
“What if it’s an emergency?”
“It’s not.”
“How do you know?”
Because my parents and Mia have specific ringtones. “I just do.”
There’s no affect in our tones as we sit statue-still, playing The Staring Game. “What if it’s important?”
I raise a single eyebrow. “Define important?”
“More important than sitting here staring at me,” she answers after a beat.
I laugh once. “Well, when you say it like that…” I still don’t look at my phone. Not even when it stops ringing, starts again.
“I’m going to answer it,” she says, and it comes out as a threat.
I chuckle under my breath. “Go ahead.” Did I mention that I’m really enjoying this game? Because I am. And I don’t know if it’s because I’m able to scrutinize every one of her features openly,brazenly. Or if it’s because I like the way she’s doing the same. Or, maybe I just really fuckinglovethe way she challenges me.
