You'd Be Home Now (76)

“I was frustrated.” she says. “I’m very frustrated right now. I have the town council on my back about the damn Mill, I’ve agreed to pay for the Galt boy’s hospital and rehabilitation therapy in exchange for them not pressing assault charges. There’s you.”

I wince. “You’re paying for Gage?” This is all too much.

“I have to live next door to these people, Emory. I have to throw them an olive branch. I hope you’re done with that boy, though.”

I push my sandwich around my plate. “I’m done,” I say softly.

“I mean, for goodness’ sake, I’m not stupid. I read the paper. I hear things. I know what kids do these days. The photo thing. Sexting.” It’s like that word burns the inside of her mouth, because she takes a long sip of her tea. “But I never thought you would do it. We have to hold ourselves to a standard, Emory. These things can follow you for the rest of your—”

    “I said I was done. I said I was sorry.”

“Abigail, please,” Nana says. “No more today.”

My mother sighs.

“Fine. Now, what are you going to do with the rest of your accidental day off? You don’t even have to go to Hank’s Hoagies with Joey today. You’re free.”

“I guess…I guess I’ll read my book for American Classics and make some notes for my paper. And I have to look at the monologue packet for Drama Club. The performance is in two weeks.” Great. Now I have that to go through. Standing up in front of god knows how many people, blaming me for Gage, maybe having seen the photos. My head spins. It’s too much. I wish I could just go upstairs and sleep forever.

Nana claps her hands. “Oh, a play! How nice!”

“No, Nana, it’s just short pieces all night. Like a kind of variety show.”

My mother nods in approval. “That’s very nice. Make sure you tell me when it is and what time, so we can all be there. I’ll put it in my calendar.”

When she turns around to rinse the dishes, I pull out my phone and text Joey.


Don’t stress about your grades. It’s going to be okay. It will.





Mis_Educated


I see you. All of you.

Reposting and snickering and sharpening your high school blades.

I know each and every one of you.

I’ve known you for years.

You didn’t much notice me, though. You often don’t notice girls like me.

Smart (boring). Doesn’t dress sexy (boring). Too opinionated (boring bitch).

I could go on and on but while you were busy not noticing me, I was taking notes on you. I know more than you think I do.

And if you think writing nasty notes on her desk Leaving them on her voice mail

Texting them

Whispering in the hallway

Sharing pictures of her again and again Is funny. Or payback. Or justice. (For what, even?) I’m going to show you how wrong you are.

I want to talk about addiction.

My parents are gone. Poof. One day there, One day not. But when they were there, I propped them up. Made dinner. Took care Of my brothers. Shopped. Counted pennies.

Hid what I could so they wouldn’t sell it.

They sold all our shoes once.

I mowed four lawns to earn enough money To buy us more at the Salvation Army thrift store.

Mowed those lawns in bare feet.

That’s the thing about loving an addict.

You don’t want to lose them.

You’ll do anything to keep them with you.

Keep them alive.

You’ll lie, beg, cheat, steal.

But you start to feel invisible.

Because everything is about them.

Never about you. You can’t even think about you, You’re so busy taking care of them

Because you don’t want to lose them.

But it’s hard to be invisible.

      You just want someone, sometime

To see you. Look at me, you beg

Inside your head. Notice me.

Love me.

Love me.

You’ll make up your own minds.

The wrongheaded often do.

But remember this:

What would you do to be seen?

How would you feel if a boy asked you To recite poetry and didn’t snicker at you?

What if he called you Perfect

And Beautiful

And was nice to you in all those ways but one: No one could know.

But you felt loved, so you went on.

People will do anything for love.

I know I would.

It’s an addiction.

I would do anything

If it would bring my parents back to me.

I’m guessing this girl isn’t the only one With a story like this. Or a version of it.

The story of a boy and girl and kisses And hookups and secrets and lies.

So why are we shaming her?

Tell me. Tell me your stories.

Tell me who wronged you.

Boys don’t get to make the rules

About what girls can be

And if you’re tired of being shamed

And tired of shaming others

Meet me in the shitty science lab bathroom Tomorrow before first bell.

Let’s give them something to talk about.



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