The Way You Make Me Feel(7)
I sank deeper into the green fiberglass chair facing Principal Sepulveda. She frowned from behind her desk. “Clara, you’re getting blood all over my chair.”
The chair squeaked when I sat up straighter, another smear of blood appearing as the sleeve of my jacket rubbed the armrest. I looked at her with a shrug. “I think it’s a lost cause. You can hose them down later, right?”
“Or you can just sit like a human being,” Rose muttered next to me. She was perched on the very edge of her seat, her back straight, chin held up high, and her ankles crossed like royalty. A very bloody royal. There was a smear of blood on her cheek, bloody handprints on her neck, and her dress was an abstract study in blues and reds.
“Shut it, you two,” Principal Sepulveda snapped. “I don’t want to hear anything out of your mouths until your parents get here.” The stern tone was at odds with her appearance—she was wearing a fleece vest over a thin floral-print nightgown. When the fire department had called her an hour ago, she had been home in bed watching true-crime shows.
The fire was out now; luckily the firefighters got to it before it spread beyond the cafeteria. Everyone had gone home, but Principal Sepulveda had shown up with guns blazing and had trapped Rose and me in her office. Mr. Sinclair sat in the corner, trying hard to stay awake. She wanted him there as backup, I guess.
“Principal Sepulveda,” Rose started with that bossy tone of hers, “wouldn’t it make more sense to discuss this on Monday? We’ve had quite the scare.” What the heck, who talked like that. Did grown-ups really fall for this act?
“No.” The word sliced through the air like a knife.
I smirked. “Nice try.”
Rose ignored me, looking down at her cuticles. Oh, so now she was above it? Where was all this poise when she was losing her mind attacking me onstage? When I looked at her, resentment oozed out of my pores—she was the reason for me being stuck in the principal’s office at midnight. I couldn’t believe Rose had gotten me into this crap again.
Because in ninth grade, Rose Carver got me my first suspension.
It was the first time I had smoked. As I nervously lit up the cigarette in the bathroom stall, I heard someone come in and froze mid-puff. A second later, the door I’d forgotten to lock slammed open—and there was Rose. She ran out to tell on me before I could stop her. First cigarette, first suspension.
After that I had a reputation for being someone who got into trouble. At first it worried me—did I want to start high school with this label? But it stuck before I could really do anything about it. My teachers had low expectations, and I, well, I went with it.
It was easy and almost always more fun than actually trying. I saw old friends from middle school get sucked into that rigid college track. The more we drifted apart, the closer I got to Patrick and Felix, who were way more on the same wavelength as me.
And Rose? She was the epitome of all this high school drudgery. Everything about her rubbed me the wrong way: her inability to chill; her uptight, follow-the-rules compulsion; her stupid narc tendencies; and her need to get ahead in life. So, whenever I could, I made life very untidy and chaotic for her. Where I saw an opportunity to poke and irritate, I did. Like the time I coordinated a flash mob during her first dance competition. Or the time I added sugar to all the lettuce in the salad bar where she got her lunch every day. Any punishment handed to me was always worth it.
An eternity went by. I was dozing off with my neck bent at an impossible angle, my knees tucked under my long dress, when the office door flew open.
“Rose!” An elegant black woman ran over to her. She looked exactly like Rose except shorter, with long, wavy hair that was perfectly styled even in her harried state. Rose clearly got her height from her dad, a tall and ruggedly handsome black man with a little bit of dignified gray in his black hair.
“Are you okay?” Her mother grasped her by the shoulders, then widened her eyes. “Oh my God, why are you covered in blood?” She looked over at me. “Why are both of you covered in blood?”
“It’s fake, Mom. I’m fine, it’s not a big deal,” Rose said, with that arrogant self-confidence that usually drove me mad. Right now, however, I actually appreciated it. I hoped that it would get us out of this.
But her mother wasn’t fooled. She raised a thin, arched eyebrow, and her words came out measured and careful. “Not. A. Big. Deal?” For the first time ever, Rose was visibly uncomfortable and squirmed in her seat. Her hands stayed clenched.
Before anyone could react, the door opened again, and my dad’s cap-covered head popped in. Yessss, time to bust out of this joint.
“Come in, Mr. Shin,” Principal Sepulveda said, waving at him.
“Call me Adrian,” he said before stepping in reluctantly. My dad had gotten into so much trouble as a kid that he hadn’t graduated high school. So he never felt comfortable having to set foot on a high school campus.
He did a double take when he saw me. “What happened to you? Are you okay?”
“It’s fake blood,” Mrs. Carver said before I could answer. Bossy genes in full effect.
The adults stood around us awkwardly.
“So…” Rose’s dad started, clearing his throat.
Principal Sepulveda stepped around her desk and leaned against the edge of it, arms crossed and facing all of us. She was a tall woman who used to be an athlete—even in a nightgown she was an imposing presence. “Your daughters caused quite a scene at the prom tonight.”