2019-2020
Below you'll find a collection of pieces I've written during the 2019-2020 school year. These are all original works written I've written for my Creative Writing classes, and any form of plagiarism will not be tolerated.
Constructive criticism is welcome.
The Garden
Angelica
Lightning
Peppermints
Green Eyes
Green Eyes
2027 words
CW// DEATH, GREIF, BULLYING
“Okay, Jacob, truth or dare?” Margot Allen asked Jacob Johnson. Jacob grinned. “Dare,” he challenged. Margot scrunched up her face and picked at her sparkly purple nail-polish. “Err,” She groaned, then pulled a tube of cola flavored Chapstick out of her pocket. “Eat this.”
Jacob’s face contorts. “Easy,” he muttered. “that’s my favorite flavor.”
I laugh and Margot smiles. “Do it, then.” She took the cap off and twisted it all the way up. She waved it under Jacob’s nose, and he snatched it. He took a bite of the stick and gagged. “Ewww!” Margot giggled. Jacob gagged and chewed.
“Swallow it, Jacob.” I said. “Unless…”
“Unless what?” Margot asked me.
“Unless Jacob’s a chicken!” I exclaimed. Margot slammed her hands onto the mulch. “Chicken! Chicken! Jacob’s a chicken!”
Jacob swallowed the Chapstick. “Shut up!” He shouted. “I swallowed it, shut up!”
Margot held her side and fell sideways onto the mulch, giggling. I laughed and Jacob threw a stick at me. “That’s enough!” He shouted. “I’m not a chicken!”
“Okay, okay, you’re not a chicken.” Margot giggled. She sat up.
“Parker.” Jacob asked, poking me with the twig. “Truth or dare! What’ll it be?”
“Truth.” I said.
“Parkers a chicken!” Margot said, sitting upwards. “No, I’m not!” I argued.
“Okay, where did your mom go?” Jacob asked.
“Don’t say that Jacob, his mom is dead!” Margot said, shoving Jacob.
“My mom isn’t dead!” I shouted. “She’s hiding!”
“Lies! She would’ve been found by now, she’s probably dead.” Margot said.
“Shut up!”
“Where is she, then?” Jacob asked. I shrugged. “I don’t know! She’s hiding. She wouldn’t be hiding if I knew!”
“What’s she hiding from?” Jacob said.
“Dunno. I’ll find out when she comes back.”
“When’s she coming back?”
“She’s not coming back!” Margot said. “She’s dead, Parker. Alive people can’t hide this long without being found. Dead people can stay under the dirt for hundreds of years! She’s dead!”
“Shut the hell up, Margot!” I yelled.
“Miss Welsh, Parker said the H word!” Margot screeched, standing up. I hopped up to follow her. I watched her ponytail bounce as she ran to the teacher. I ran and grabbed it, pulling her back. “No, I did not!” I shouted, throwing her to the ground. She screamed.
“Parker!” Miss Welsh yelled. She grabbed my arm and wrenched me away from Margot. “Parker, stop!”
She began dragging me away.
“Margot was being mean!” Jacob shouted after us, attempting to defend me. It didn’t work very well. The teacher did not stop pulling me. She dragged me all the way to the main office. “Parker, stay.” She commanded of me, shoving me into a seat as she walked behind the counter. She looked at me like I was an animal. I am not an animal. My mom isn’t dead.
She picked up one of the office phones and looked through a list. She began slamming numbers into the keypad and put the phone to her ear.
“Yes? Mrs. Reed?” She asked. “Oh, sorry ma’am. Well, Mrs. Reed, Parker assaulted a student today.”
A pause.
“Yes, he’s here with me. You can talk to him.” She took the phone away from her ear. “Parker come here.” She said, motioning me over. I stood up and walked to her side. She shoved the phone in my hands, and I put it to my ear.
“Parker! Sweetie what happened!” Mrs. Reed asked frantically.
“Margot said my mom was dead.” I said, sheepishly. Now that the rush of attacking Margot was over, all I felt was shame. “I told her she isn’t dead, but she said she was underground, so I pulled her hair.”
“Oh, god.” Mrs. Reed sighed. “Okay, we’ll talk when you get home.”
“Okay.” I said. I gave the phone back to my teacher.
“Alright. Mrs. Reed, this will be Parker’s third referral. If he gets another this year, it will result in a week-long suspension.”
A pause.
“Okay. Okay. Thank you for answering. I will. Goodbye.”
After that, I got chewed out by Miss. Welsh for half an hour. She dragged me back to the playground and called the class in. The rest of the day went horribly. Jacob told everyone what I did, defending me of course, but that didn’t do much. As soon as Margot preached her side of the story everyone was sold.
After an hour of math, we were dismissed.
The bus was too loud. Girls gossiping about other girls, boys teasing other boys. Too much noise. My hands press my ears closed but this does little to silence the chaos. Staring out the window numbs the edges of the sound a little.
I left my headphones at home.
The bus slows to a stop and I run down the aisle, stumbling down the steep stairs. I throw myself onto the sidewalk as a bit of laughter rolls from the front row of the bus.
“What’s up with Parker! Did you see that? He just- “ The door closed.
I exhale as the bus clamors away. My hand finds its way to my right pocket as I stand up. I relax more as I crumple the receipt, making one of the few loud noises I can handle.
A receipt for the exact target standing in front of me, next door to the hospital I was born in 11 years ago. Some things my mother wanted after giving birth. My father picked them up for her. I look at the hospital, St. Grace, and pull my hand out of my pocket. The building is a tall beige rectangle riddled with windows. Trees obscure the first two floors. I was born on the third. Which room I was born in is unknown to me, but I still look at these windows and wonder if one of them is my own.
I need to get home. I walk about a block before pulling my bicycle out of the bush I hid it in. The bike ride home was uneventful. I saw a dead armadillo in the road, that was cool, I guess. Could never make up for the horrific day I had, but I doubt any armadillo could do that, dead or alive. As I approached the driveway, I noticed a dinged-up Honda Civic sitting in my dad’s spot. I dropped my bike in the yard and ran inside.
“Hoomeee!” I shouted. If I thought I could avoid Mrs. Reed, I’d be mistaken. “Parker! Come into the living room, darling.” She cooed. When I entered the living room, a man was sitting on the couch, sipping a black coffee. Next to him, my sister Gabi was flipping through channels with the remote. In the kitchen, Mrs. Reed was fixing herself a coffee.
“Hey, little dude.” The man said. I glared at him.
“Ma, who’s this?” I asked.
“Sit down.” Mrs. Reed hummed. She came into the living room and sat down in the lay-z boy, leaving the seat next to the man open.
I sat on the carpet in front of the coffee table, across from him.
“Parker, your dad is here.” Gabi said, not looking down from the T.V blaring Cartoon Network.
“Gabriella, turn that off.” Mrs. Reed scoffed. Gabi clicked the remote and the T.V went black.
“That’s not my dad.” I said. “My dad is at work.”
“That’s not your dad. That’s my dad.” Gabi said. “This is your dad.”
“What?”
The man gave me a weak, broken smile. “Hey, Parker.”
“WHAT?!” I yelled. There’s no way this is my dad. My dad abandoned me. My dad left me to the adoption system when I was two. My dad decided he couldn’t take raising me because my mom went away.
“Inside voice, Parker!” Mrs. Reed scolded. “Gabi is right- this is your father.”
Gabi’s smile radiated across her skin, leaking pride like fog filling the room. “I’m always right,” she said. “Always, always.”
There is no way this man is my father. I don’t even know what my father looks like, but it’s not this. He has dark brown hair. My hair is blonde and matted. He has a crooked, jagged smile. My smile is flat. My teeth are straight. His are weird. I have bright, green eyes. He has-
Our eyes are the only similarity, it’s two in the same. Sometimes I look at photographs of my real mother and I see she had the same blonde hair, clean smile, and face shape as me. I take pride in knowing I look like her.
This man makes me want to gouge my eyes out.
“Listen, Parker,” The man began. “I know I hurt you all those years ago, ok? I’m sorry. I want to have a relationship with you now.”
“No!” I shouted. “If you’re here to take me back, I don’t want to go.”
He chuckled. “You’re staying here, alright? I just have something to tell you.” He said. I stayed silent. “Your-” He paused, looking at Mrs. Reed. “Ma,” She said. The man nodded. “Yes, your Ma has been telling me how you’ve been doing for the last few years. Today-”
I glare at Mrs. Reed. How could she betray me like this? All my life I've been told my father didn’t want me. That he’s living his own life somewhere exotic without me. That he is my father, but he is not my dad. Now, this man sits in my living room claiming he’s been keeping up with me all along. This feels worse than if he’d just left. Why was he even here?
“she told me that you pulled a girl’s hair about your mama.” He continued. “Why do you care?” I asked him. “You’ve never cared before.”
“Parker! Be nice.” Mrs. Reed scolded again.
“Well, I didn’t think you cared about your mama so much.” He said. Why wouldn’t I care about my mother? She didn’t abandon me. She didn’t have a choice to leave. She didn’t do anything wrong. This man, however, did everything wrong.
“This is so hard to tell you, Parker,” He said. His voice broke. He was croaking. What could he possibly tell me that would make things better? What could be making him so emotional in the first place. He’d never cared about me before.
“Parker, your mama’s dead. They found her body last year.”
This man is so stupid. Why would he think my mother is dead- she's not. If she died last year, I would’ve been told. Mrs. Reed and Gabi look at me. They’re trying to gauge my reaction. I am not crying like they expect me too. She is not dead.
“No, she’s not dead.” I said to him. “Get out of my house, she’s not dead. You’re just stupid.”
“Parker!” Mrs. Reed scolded for the third time. “Parker, he’s not lying.” She said. She too seemed sad.
The man frowned. “It’s okay. I see. I just wanted to tell you, yeah? I don’t want you living life thinking she just vanished. I’ll go.” He stood up and began towards the door. Nobody stopped him from walking out. I stood up too and ran into my room, away from Gabi and Mrs. Reed. Why did they gang up on me like this? They never do this. They betrayed me.
I have no memories of my mother, but that has never stopped me from loving her. Sometimes I am visited by aunts and uncles that knew my mom. They ask me how I’m doing, tell me I look just like her, and tell me stories. They loved her so much, it was impossible not to love her too. Nobody from my father’s side has ever visited me.
I sit on the floor in the center of my room and try to calm down. I do not want that man to have power over me. I can’t stop the tears anymore. They won’t stop flowing. I begin to sob. I hate myself for crying this hard. This is so stupid. My mother isn’t hiding. She isn’t tucked away in a mystical realm. She won’t return to whisk me away when she’s ready. I am not waiting for her.
My mother is dead.
Peppermints
492 words
CW// ABUSE, RELIGION
"Is this how God's promises to Adam and Eve to Abraham and David would end – with a whimper in the desert of the ancient Near East? Of course not. God is faithful. He sent a greeting of hope to these hopeless people-"
Christmas had never been much of a holiday to me. Once a year I was hauled off to a big, crowded room for an hour and a half to listen to some old man drone on about Jesus. Don't get me wrong, I love Jesus. I don't want to go to hell. But it's a bit much sometimes.
Kids from school tell me that on Christmas day you get presents from some old guy who climbs down your chimney, but I'm pretty sure they're lying. I have a chimney, and I've never gotten anything.
A cold hand gripped my arm. "Stop fidgeting, Lizzie. Don't be disrespectful." My mother hissed. I dropped my hands, which had been gripping and prodding at the hem of my yellow shirt. Everyone around me are wearing pretty dresses and nice shirts—I’m wearing a shirt with a cat on it and jeans. Even my mother is wearing a pretty dress. I don’t know if I’m special or being left out.
"Yes'm," I muttered. She let go of my arm.
"Let's all join hands as brothers and sisters and pray." The old man in the front of the room said, dropping his head. Everyone around me bowed their heads and grabbed one another's hands. My mom grabbed my left hand, and some old lady grabbed my right. She didn't ask, so I pulled my hand away.
The old man started saying some things, but I didn't hear them. I had to use the bathroom. I tugged on my mom's hand, and she threw her head up.
"I have to pee," I said. The people around me started chuckling, but my mom didn't find it that funny.
"Amen." The old man said.
"Amen." The crowd repeated. I don't know why they said amen again, the old man already said it.
My mom grabbed my wrist and pulled me out into the aisle. She began dragging me out the big, wide doors, and into the lobby.
She let go of me and I began walking to the bathroom, but she grabbed me again.
"Do you realize how disrespectful you're being?" She asked me. I didn't, so I shook my head, no.
She didn't speak, she just gave me the angry look she gives me when she's about to scream.
I didn't like quiet, and I didn't like it when no one was speaking, so I said, "Momma, why don't I get presents on Christmas?"
She hit me. She slapped my right cheek, so I looked to my left. There was a boy standing next to the treats table, reaching into the bowl of peppermints. He stared at me as he stuffed them into his pockets.
I began crying.
Angelica
578 words
CW// DEATH, GREIF
“Auntie, have you seen my cassettes?” Angelica asked, frantically digging through a box of her mother’s things. “I need them.”
“Hmm?” Her aunt mused, pretending she didn’t hear. She leaned against her niece’s doorframe and fingered her pearl necklace. “What was that, dear?”
“My father’s cassettes,” Angelica huffed. “have you seen them?”
“Did they have any labels?” Her aunt asked, pretending to be oblivious. She had years of lying under her belt. To her, lying to her niece was a daily routine.
“They did.” Angelica replied, pulling open her dresser drawers. “One of them said ‘For Angie’.” She began pulling out her several pairs of worn jeans and digging through the pockets.
“I believe I might have.” Her aunt said, recalling the last place she’d seen them. “Try checking the porch,”
Angelica slammed her drawers shut and sprinted out of the room, bounding for the porch. She skidded to a stop when she reached the already opened door. Dangling from the ceiling were her father’s old cassettes, undone. The guts of the cassettes were spilled out of their plastic chests, cascading down to the floor.
Angelica screamed. Her aunt caught up to her and began to admire her own art. “What did you do, auntie?” Angelica asked, shaking. “What did you do?” She repeated.
“Your father did this.” Her aunt said, putting her delicate hand on Angelica’s shoulder. Angelica jerked her body forward. “My father did nothing.” She said. “You did this.”
“You know what your father did.” Her aunt said. Angelica ignored her. She grabbed a fistful of the tape and looked up at the three cassettes. Her aunt hadn’t allowed her to have any of her father’s things after he passed. She let her keep all her mother’s, though. The earrings she wore everyday were her mothers. The tapes she listened to everyday were her fathers. She no longer had those tapes. To Angelica, it was like her father had died all over again.
“Why do you hate my father so much?” Angelica’s shaky voice asked. “What did he do?”
“You know what he did.”
“I don’t think I do.” Angelica said, pulling a chair away from the outside coffee table. She climbed on top of it and began carefully removing the cassettes from the hooks they hung from.
“He killed your mother, dearie.” Her aunt said, remaining emotionless. “He wrecked their car and killed them both. He’s a murderer.”
“He’s my father!” She said, gathering the tapes in her hands. “Does that mean nothing to you?”
“And she was my sister. Does that mean nothing to you?” Her aunt snapped. “I don’t want any of his things in this house. Go on, throw them out.”
“No.” Angelica said, prodding at the tapes. She would’ve been able to re-wound them, if it weren’t for her aunt’s messy work. The tapes were strung thin at some places and torn in others. They were absolutely destroyed.
Angelica shoved past her aunt and walked to her room. She dropped the tapes on her bed and pulled a shoebox out from under her bed. She dropped the cassettes in. Her aunt followed her and lingered in the doorway.
After making sure her aunt was looking, she took off her earrings. With her fingers, she forcibly bent the wire and pulled the jewels out. Her aunt remained frozen in the doorway as the earrings fell into the shoebox.
For Angelica’s aunt, it was like her sister had died all over again.
The Garden
1382 words
“Eve, cut that out.” My papa said, swirling his spoon around his oatmeal. “You need to control yourself.” I looked down at my hands- they were wrapped in small, green vines. I instantly pulled them back into my arms, watching them burry back under my skin and eventually vanish. “Sorry, papa.” I said. “The vines have been wandering lately.”
He sighed. “Yeah, yeah. I get it- just keep it under control.” I nodded. “I’m going to go work in the garden.” I said, hopping off my stool. “Maybe it will help.”
“Mhmm.” My papa said. “Hopefully. Don’t let anyone see you.”
“‘course not.” I hummed, turning to leave. I exit the penthouse and run downstairs. The cleaning staff smile at me on my way down, and I receive a chorus of greetings. I smile and wave back. I avoided the elevator and cascaded down the stairs. Upon my arrival on the first floor, the lobby attendant said, “There’s the princess!”
I made a big deal out of rolling my eyes. “Jordan, I’m not a princess.”
“Princess of the hotel.” He said, smiling. “Your father is the king, you’re the princess. Princess Eve of the kingdom Rivington.”
I scoffed loudly. “Heading into the garden?” He asked. I nodded. “You’re very consistent, your majesty.”
“I sure am. Here’s hoping any potential assassins don’t catch on.”
“Ah, it wouldn’t matter. I’m a secret ninja, you know.” He winked.
“Well, thank you. I feel incredibly safe.” I said, smiling a bit, then pushing myself out the doors. I follow the perfectly pristine cobble pathway to the garden I’ve been upkeeping since I was 8. I walk under the arches I recycled from a wedding held here. I remember how difficult it was to cover every inch of the arch in a thick layer of roses. I was just growing into my gift, and I didn’t have much control over its precision. There are two guests here, a mother and her young son. I sit on a bench and wait for them to leave.
I trace my fingers over the wood I hand-cut and nailed together. The bench, like all things I make without my powers, is imperfect. I don’t mind. My papa told me if everything in my garden was perfect, people would think they’d died and gone to heaven.
I watch the small family leave the garden with smiling faces. I rise off my splinter-ridden bench and make my way to the two large, perfectly symmetrical azalea bushes a bit away from blooming. They sat still, guarding over the small pond like flowery solders, hoping to keep the frogs and koi that live in the pond safe from any assailants. The bush to the right is one day away from blooming, I can tell. The bush to the left is a couple hours. I approach the right one and crouch down, running my fingers along its roots.
“Could you be a bit faster?” I asked it softly. It reacts the same way every plant does when I touch it- it listens to me. It throws all its efforts into growing. “Slow down, please. Just a little.”
The plant slowed down and grew slowly until it reached the same speed as the left bush. I pulled my hand away. “Thank you,” I said, patting the top of the plant and rising to my feet. I scan the grass field I specially designed for picnics, and my eyes land on a browning spot of land. I slip my feet out of my flats, so I don’t crush the grass with my heel and carefully walk out into the field. I crouch onto my knees and brush my fingers along the grass. “I know you’re hurting right now.” I whispered, dragging my fingers along the brown blades. “I’ll help.”
I watched the dying grass pick itself up. The green color return to the patch. I smiled. Perfect. I pulled my hand away, but the grass didn’t stop growing. “Hey, could you stop please?” I asked the grass, but the blades didn’t let go of my fingers. The farther I pulled my hand away, the farther the grass grew. The blades began working their way up my arms, slowly covering my hand.
“Please!” I pleaded. “Stop it!”
The grass didn’t stop growing. I felt my wrist lose mobility as a thick layer of grass concealed it.
“Evengale!” I heard a familiar voice call. Oh, no.
Jordan stood in between my symmetrical ficus trees staring at me. “Evengale, what is going on?” He asked me. The grass slowly let go of my hands and pulled itself back into the soil, leaving no evidence they had ever came.
“Um,” I stuttered, “I don’t know.”
His shocked, confused expression didn’t match his work uniform at all. His white shirt tucked into his black pants contrasted his worried eyes. Perhaps, in some other world, he could be attending a funeral.
He’d probably be attending mine, soon.
“I think you do know.” He said.
“I- I- I don’t know, I-”
“Take your time.” He said.
I closed my eyes and breathed in for three seconds, held for three seconds, let go for three seconds. I calmed a bit.
“I can’t tell you.” I stated flatly, standing up. I turned my back to him and returned to my shoes.
“Why not?”
“Jus’ can’t. You can’t know everything.” I said, slipping into my shoes and walking towards him. I stood facing him, obviously a lot shorter. He has two years and five inches on me.
“Government?” He asked.
“What gives you that idea?” I tried to ask as sarcastically as possible.
“I don’t know- experiments maybe?”
“Nunya.” I said. “I gotta go. This never happened.” I tried to shove past him, but he stands in front of me, blocking my view.
“But it did.” He said.
I walked around him and followed the pathway back into the hotel. I ran straight for the elevator and began slamming my thumb into the up button. The elevator opened, and I slid inside. I heard the bell ring as Jordan ran into the lobby, but I slammed the close button on the elevator before he could reach me.
I tapped my foot on the polished marble floor of the compartment and waited anxiously until I reach me and my papa’s penthouse. When the doors opened, I burst into the hallway and bounded towards the penthouse. I shoved the door open and slammed it behind me.
“Eve? Back already? What’s wrong?” My papa asked me, walking into the hallway where I stood, shaking a bit. “Is everything all right?”
“I-” I began, clutching my arms to my chest so they’d stop shaking, “Jordan saw me. With- with grass all over my hands,” I said. My papa grabbed me and pulled me into a hug.
“I’ll fix it.” he promised. “I swear.”
I nodded into his chest. “Okay.” I said. I wasn’t really thinking. What did he mean by ‘fix it’? What was he going to do?
“Eve go take a nap,” he said. “It’ll calm you down.”
“Mhmm.” I sighed. “Okay. I’ll see you in a bit.”
When I awoke a couple hours later, I found my papa sitting in the den, sipping coffee and watching sit-coms. I sat down next to him.
“What happened?” I asked him. “What did you do?”
My papa seemed to take his precious time sipping his coffee and picking up the remote to pause his show. “I fired the boy.” He finally said.
“Why?” I demanded. Jordan had been my only friend in this hotel for the few months he’s worked here. Every morning, I pass him. Every morning, he makes some dumb remark. He’s part of my daily routine. Knowing that he got fired because of me makes me feel sick to my stomach.
“You were careless. You let someone see you. These are the consequences.” He said.
“But it wasn’t my fault, or his-”
“And what would have happened if he’d stayed?” My father snapped. “Would you let him know the truth? Or would you leave him confused? He needed to get out of here before something bad happened.”
“But-”
“No buts.” He said, ending the argument before it even began. He picked up his remote, quicker than ever, and pressed play.
Lightning
1795 words
(A/N-- yes, I use the name Scarlett because of one of my OC's. This story is not about me)
Scarlett’s eyes darted around the cramped gymnasium, moving from student to student. Her eyes fixed on the double-doored exit across the gym. “Can’t you see?” She asked Parker. “They’re keeping us trapped in here.”
The gymnasium Scarlett was referencing felt like an oven. Students from every grade level were packed in, so it was practically shoulder-to-shoulder, save for Scarlett, who everyone naturally scooted away from. The school had kept all of the students who had to walk home in the gymnasium, due to the raging lightning storm.
Parker looked up from his book to glance at her. His nose scrunched up. “Scar, I know you hate to hear it, but-”
“Don’t call me overdramatic.” She said, glaring at him. As aggressive as Scarlett seemed, Parker couldn’t bring himself to be afraid of her. That’s probably one of the only reasons she let him in to her circle in the first place- because he wasn’t scared of her.
“I wasn’t going to call you overdramatic,” Parker lied, “I was going to call you superstitious.”
“What do you mean?” She asked him, not looking away from the door.
“I mean,” He began, looking for a good way to word things, “you’re always looking for ways to accuse our school of these horrible acts. You see us being in this gym as the school trapping us for something. Trying to keep us from our parents.”
“Which, I’m certain, is what they’re doing.” She interrupted.
“But I see it as a horrible thunderstorm.”
“But why would they keep us here?”
“Lightning.” Parker huffed. He slammed his book closed. Though he may not be afraid of Scarlett, that never stopped him from getting frustrated.
“Well,” Scarlett said, ignoring Parker’s outburst, “I’m not afraid of lightning. I’m leaving.”
“What do you mean you’re leaving?” He asked, stuffing his book into his backpack.
“I mean, I’m walking home.” she said, finally looking at Parker directly.
“You can’t.” He said, pulling his backpack over his shoulder. Even though he would never admit it, he was already getting prepared to follow Scarlett wherever she went, be it in trouble or outside.
Scarlett stood up, pulling her messenger bag over her shoulder. “Seriously,” she said, “what’s the worst that could happen? They tell me no, and I walk past them. Legally, school staff can’t touch me.”
Parker didn’t know how to respond. “Legally, the school can’t touch me” is Scarlett’s philosophy. She does whatever she wants, and legally isn’t allowed to be touched. They don’t want to kick her our because her test scores bring the school average up 3%.
Scarlett looked down at Parker. “Coming, or not?” She asked.
Parker hesitantly stood. Scarlett grinned at him. She stepped over the other students siting down and slid past the standing teachers. By the time they’d reached the door, two teachers were following them.
“Scarlett, what on earth are you doing?” a chemistry teacher asked her.
“Leaving.” Scarlett said.
“You can’t.” The teacher said.
“We can.” Scarlett said, stopping only to shove the double-doors wide open.
It was as if Scarlett had opened the gates to hell. Wind grabbed her hair and wrapped it around her face. It shoved Parker’s hair every which way. Rain pelted down on both of them, and in the distance, thunder cracked loudly.
“Scarlett! Mr. Reed!” the teacher shouted. They knew Scarlett on a first name basis, Parker noticed, but not him. He was glad.
Parker turned to face Scarlett. “Your house is too far.” He said.
“Nonsense.” She said. “Just two miles.”
“Two miles of this?” He asked her. “I’m not so sure.”
She smiled. Teachers began to gather behind them, and there was an overlap of yelling. Parker tuned it out. Scarlett shrugged at him.
“Well, it’s too late to turn back.” She said. He barely heard her over the noise. He shrugged back.
That’s when she grabbed his wrist and pulled him out into the storm. Parker twitched as he heard the doors slam behind them.
Parker and Scarlett had a very similar route walking home, save for the split two miles down. Scarlett held her hands above her eyes and looked forward. “See?” She shouted, “It’s not that bad.”
“It’s pretty bad.” Parker shouted back, opening his backpack. Scarlett looked at him curiously. He pulled out an umbrella. Scarlett laughed.
“It’s pink.” She laughed. Parker glared at her. “So? It’ll keep us dry.”
“A bit too late, now.” Scarlett said, watching him unwrap the umbrella and flip it open. Within seconds, the wind had flipped it inside out. Scarlett laughed again as Parker yelped. He jumped backwards and fumbled to close it. Eventually, Scarlett pulled it out of his hands and snapped it into place, closing it with ease.
Scarlett turned to face the sidewalk they would be traveling, and as she did the wind picked up her hair, whipping it around her face. Parker shook his head and began walking. Scarlett stumbled to keep up with him. She grabbed his shoulder and used her free hand to shove her hair into her shirt.
Parker sighed. “I shouldn't have come with you.” He said to her, “My mom will be so angry.”
“So?” Scarlett asked him. “Who cares what your mom thinks.”
“I do!” He said. “I’ll be grounded for a month.”
“Grounding really doesn’t stop you from doing anything. If she takes your phone, take it back. If she tells you not to leave your room, leave. Pretty simple.”
“Morals are a thing, Scarlett. Maybe I care about others.”
“I do care!” She argued.
“You don’t act like it.”
“I try!” She said. “I try so hard! People just suck.”
The storm began getting worse.
“Maybe you just suck!” he snapped, whipping his head around. “You don’t try at all!”
Scarlett let go of his shoulder “I do! People either look down on me in disgust or fear me—like I’m some insect! They pretend to care, but I know they’re lying, so what’s the point?!”
“I-” Parker began,
Thunder interrupted him. Rain pelted down on them so bad it began stinging. Neither of them said anything about the pain.
“You probably don’t care either, huh. You’re probably just lying to me, so you don’t upset me!”
“Scarlett! I don’t-”
A wind gust knocked them both back. Parker went stumbling, and Scarlett caught him.
Scarlett began slowing down next to the library. Parker turned to look at her. He opened his mouth to say something to make her realize that he did care about her, but he didn’t say anything. She looked scared. She leaned into his ear so he could hear, and said to him, “I’ve been counting the time between the thunder. We’re in the center of it right now.”
“Meaning?” He asked. She grimaced. “Lightning.”
“Lightning has been striking the whole time, Scarlett.”
She didn’t hear him. She grabbed his arm and began pulling him towards the library. When they were within feet of the door, Parker began feeling strange. His arms felt tingly. His mouth felt sour, as if he’d drunken pool water. He heard a sparking noise and looked at the metal bench a couple yards away, which was sparking like crazy. Scarlett screamed.
He had hardly been paying attention as Scarlett grabbed his body and launched both of them through the library doors. Everything around him was loud- Scarlett was screaming, and the boom of the thunder was more than he could handle. Everything was white around him, and for a second, he thought he had gone blind. But his eyes opened again, and they both were safe. The bench outside was sparking still, and parts of it were burnt black.
He began laughing. Scarlett began laughing too. He looked at her. “How did you know?” He wheezed. “Um,” Scarlett said, “Your hairs stand up on your arms, and things start sparking, and you taste chlorine, and your skin starts tingling,”
They were silent for a few seconds They could’ve died back there, but Scarlett saved him. Her words from earlier kept ringing in his head. I do try, I do try. Maybe she does. Maybe he just doesn’t see it. Maybe it’s harder for her.
“Where did you learn that?” He asked her, standing up.
She shrugged. “Just one of those things I know.”
“You know a lot of things.”
She stood up, too. “Shut up.” She said to him, looking back outside. “No way I’m going back out there.” she said. Parker followed her into the library, which only had one man working behind the counter. He was asleep. Scarlett sat down on top of one of the tables and Parker pulled himself a chair.
“Scarlett?” He asked her, after a bit of silence, “Why do you get yourself in trouble?”
She shrugged. “Maybe I don’t like school?”
“But you’re smart.”
“Predicting lightning doesn’t make me smart.”
“Yeah,” He agreed, “it doesn’t. But having the highest test scores in the school does.”
She scoffed. “How do you even know that?” She asked. “I never told you.”
“Yeah,” Parker admitted, “but a couple months ago I was called into the office.”
Scarlett narrowed her eyes at Parker, leaning towards him. “You? Called into the office? No way.” She said sarcastically. He sighed. “Scarlett, it was about you.”
She pursed her lips. “They asked me to reason with you. I said no, but they showed me your tests scores anyway.”
She stomped her foot on the table. “Why would they-” She began, but never finished. “I’m forced there every day, you know?” She huffed. “And I’m tired of it. I purposely failed a test once,” She said, “I got every single answer wrong. The teacher handed it back with a 100. Told me he knew I was faking it.”
“Scarlett, I know you don’t want to hear it, but-”
“Don’t even start,”
“You’re ruining your own life!” He exclaimed. Thunder clapped outside. “What happens after high school? You can’t live with your father your whole life!” She stayed silent. “You have great things ahead of you, and you’re throwing it all away.”
She didn’t speak. “I do care about you! You know it, too, I know you do. I care a lot, and I don’t want to see you throwing your life away.”
“I’ll figure it out.” She said. She didn’t look at him, just at her sneakers, which rested on a chair next to him.
“You always say that, and you never do.”
Scarlett paused to think on what he had said. “I don’t want to live with my dad.” She admitted. Parker sighed. Of course, she wasn’t giving up. Not at this point, but the fact that he had made progress with her was enough for him to believe he could save her from the self-sabotage she longs for.