Dare You To (Pushing the Limits, #2)(33)

But this...this is beyond what I am. I toss the papers down      again. I need to stay focused on what’s important and writing isn’t it.





Chapter 18

Beth

GYM IS AN       ABOMINATION to self-esteem. While changing out of the white ruffled      shirt into the required gym attire of a pink Bullitt County High T-shirt and      matching shorts, I take stock of the other girls. They gossip as they change.      Most brush their hair. Some fix their makeup. All thin. All fit. All beautiful.      Not me though. I’m thin enough, but I’m not pretty.

The girls who really irritate me are the ones God gave      everything to: money, looks, and a C-cup chest. Gwen is the worst. The moment      she enters the locker room, she strips her shirt and walks around freely in her      lace bra. Her nonverbal reminder that us B-cups are inferior.

Busting out of the locker room, I relax when I see the gym      is empty. Most of the school is a no-cell zone, but not the gym. I desperately      need to speak to Mom. It’s been two weeks since the last time I talked to her      and her last words to me were that pathetic “please...probation” in the parking      lot. Trent wouldn’t permit her to say goodbye to me at the police station. God,      I hate him.

I duck under the bleachers, pull the phone out of my shorts      pocket, and dial Mom’s number. I’ve called several times over the last two      weeks, but she’s never answered. Anytime after four she’d be at the bar. Mom      told me once that you’re only an alcoholic if you drink before noon. Good thing      for Mom she never wakes before three.

The phone rings once then three loud beeps answer. A calm,      annoying voice states a message of doom: “Sorry, the number you have dialed has      been disconnected.”

Regret becomes a weight in my stomach. Last month, I could      pay the electricity bill with Mom’s disability check or I could pay the phone      bill. The electricity company sent a disconnect notice. I thought I had more      time on the phone. I picked the electricity bill.

My throat becomes thick and my eyes burn. Crap—my mom. I      messed up. Again. Imagine that. I should have paid the phone bill. I should have      found a way. I could have taken on more hours stocking at the Dollar Store. I      could have sucked up my pride and asked Noah or Isaiah for money. I could have      done so many things and I didn’t. Why am I such a screwup?

I suddenly wish it was ten at night. Isaiah and I talk      then—every night. Usually, it’s not for long. Just a few seconds or so. He’s not      a phone talker by nature, but the first time I called he asked me to check in      nightly and I do. His voice is the only thing keeping me sane.

I slip the phone into my pocket as everyone files into the      gym. They chatter and laugh, oblivious to the real problems of the real world. I      need to find a ride into Louisville and I need to find one fast. A sharp pain      slices through my head and threatens to form into a headache when Lacy breaks      away from Chris and Ryan to join me. I’m not in the mood for this—not today.

“You changed quickly,” Lacy says. “Are you okay? You look      upset.”

“I’m fine.” But I itch to wipe my eyes. Somehow, they’re wet      and full, and I refuse to touch them around Lacy or anyone else. I never cry and      I’ll never let anyone believe that I’m capable of the moronic act.

“Five-minute round up!” Mr. Knox, our health teacher,      calls.

He wears a shiny whistle around his neck. “On the bulletin      board is every exercise you are required to perform in order to receive credit      for this class. We will be spending three days in the gym and two in the      classroom. Some exercises you can do on your own. Others require teamwork. You      have two opportunities to impress me, so I suggest that you use your time wisely      and do not come to me for credit unless you have practiced the item to      perfection.”

We stare at him in silence. Mr. Knox jerks his thumb behind      him. “Get to work.”

I lag behind the others, praying that most of the exercises      can be done on my own. My insides twist as I watch people pair off into twos and      threes to complete their assignments. Left alone, I sidle up to the board and      sigh so heavily that the posted paper moves. Surely I can convince Mr. Knox that      I am, within myself, a four-layered pyramid.