Filed to story: Brace Face Betty Drama Story
I don’t want to hear it. Not from her. Not this morning. I hold a hand up, cutting her off. “Why are you dressed like that?”
“I have an interview at nine. I didn’t think it’d be appropriate to keep working at the firm after…”
You had an affair and slept with your boss?
I glower at her, daring her to try and play it down. She clears her throat uncomfortably.
“Anyway, I gave my notice yesterday. I applied for an auditing position at the mayor’s office. If I get the position, it’ll be a big step up. Better all ’round. More money. More time off.” She smiles hopefully, rolling the empty glass between her hands-I think she’s waiting for me to say something positive.
“Well congrats, Mom. Failing upwards. Great job. I suppose I should be grateful Mayor Reid’s a woman, right? At least I won’t have to worry about you fucking her.”
The sound of the slap registers in my ears before I feel the sting of it against my cheek. Mom’s face is a picture of rage. Her expression quickly transforms into one of shock, though. She covers her mouth, taking a step away from my bed. “I’m sorry, Betty. Shit, I shouldn’t have done that.”
“No.
You shouldn’t.”
“Let me grab some ice-“
“Why, so you can avoid having to explain the huge red welt on my face to Dad? Don’t bother. I’m gonna be late for school.” I storm into my bathroom, sliding the lock closed behind me, quickly turning the shower on. Mom calls my name through the door, but I don’t answer her. Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, I clasp my hand to my cheek, letting out a shuddering breath. There’s no stopping the tears. I sob silently, staring at myself in the mirror, my heart breaking in two as I try and figure out who I hate more this morning: My mom, for hitting me, or myself, for being such a spoiled little bitch.
* * *
“Thanks for dropping the car off again. And picking me up. And for listening to me rant,” I groan. Marcus isn’t even slightly hungover-a fact that I’m incredibly jealous of, since I still feel like I’m going to throw my guts up any moment.
We’re already at my locker, having made it successfully into school and through A.P. physics without encountering Kacey, Jake, or any of their minions. The bell’s about to ring for second period any moment. “You’re welcome,” Marcus says, leaning against the locker next to mine as I rummage around for my English textbook. “And I’m happy to listen to you rant. Families are tough. Moms are tough.”
“You think I should go easier on her, don’t you?”
He thinks about this. “No. She betrayed you and Max too, when she cheated on your dad. She probably deserves a rough week or two. But you think you should go easier on her, don’t you?”
How? How the hell can he read my mind like that? I shove my textbook into my bag, sighing heavily as I slam my locker door closed. “I really hurt her this morning. I saw it on her face. And I wanted to hurt her so fucking bad, but…”
“But she’s your mom, and you love her,” Marcus finishes. “It’s okay to forgive her, y’know. The world won’t stop turning.”
“But it’s not up to me to forgive her. That’s Dad’s job. But he can’t, he’s never even gonna get that opportunity, because I told Mom to keep her mouth shut. And now the air inside the house feels so fucking toxic, I can’t even breathe in there, and it just seems like everything going to explode.”
CRACK!
On my last word, a loud, sharp explosion sounds at the other end of the hall, and my heart fucking stops.
I frown at Marcus. “What the fuck?”
I know what that loud bang sounded like, but there’s no way…
Not here. Not at Ravenshire.
A chorus of screams go up outside the entrance to the cafeteria.
Marcus grabs hold of me by the top of my arm. His eyes are huge in his face. He’s craning over the top of the students crowding in the hall, trying to see what’s happening. That’s when the second loud crack rips through the air…and all hell breaks loose.
“Shooter,” Marcus hisses between bared teeth. “There’s a fucking shooter.”
Shooter?
“Fuck. Come on.” He yanks me by the arm, pulling me along the line of lockers, heading toward the exit. My legs follow along automatically, but my body’s twisted. I’m trying to face the other way, trying to get a clear image of what’s going on behind us. What the hell is he talking about? Marcus said shooter, but the word makes no sense. Even the panic on my classmate’s faces doesn’t make any sense, as they begin shoving down the hallway, shouting, dropping books and bags in their attempts to flee for the double doors that lead out toward the parking lot.
“Marcus?”