In October, I posted the Prologue of Gwen Gladstone. This month, I thought I'd post the first chapter.
Chapter One
The Demon’s breath blasted the back of
my neck. The tips of its claws danced along my skin. Its hoarse voice whispered
in my ear.
I'm coming to get you, Gwen. I'm coming to get you.
My heart raced. I shut my eyes and made
circles with my finger on my desk, first to the right, over and over, then to
the left, over and over. This little ritual of mine was my only protection
against him.
Slowly, the Demon faded away. I let out
a sigh of relief.
“Gwen?” a shrill but familiar voice
called out.
I opened my eyes to see my math
teacher, Ms. Files, looming over me, flashing her wicked witch smile. “Earth to
Gwen Gladstone. Are you there, Gwen Gladstone?”
Everyone in class laughed. I glared at
them then at Ms. Files. She had a reputation for being one of the meanest,
nastiest teachers at my middle school.
But next to my Demon she was nothing.
She pointed a bony finger at the Smart
Board. “Perhaps you’d like to answer the question I posed to the class.”
She was already smirking, waiting for
me to get it wrong. I just grinned and crossed my arms as I leaned back in my
chair. “Do we really have to go through this tired little act? You know I
wasn’t paying attention. You know I don’t know the answer. Is your goal then to
embarrass me? If it is, then that’s not very mature of you. I thought as an
adult and a teacher you were supposed to act as a role model to us
impressionable youth.”
Ms. Files stammered then said, “Excuse
me, young lady?”
“I know your life must be pretty much suck,
seeing how you teach seventh grade math, but do you really have to take out
your frustrations on your students?”
By then, everyone in class was
speechless. They watched me and Ms. Files, wide-eyed. Half of them looked like
they were ready to cheer.
“Young lady, I’ll have you know math is
a very important subject. You use it all the time.”
“The basics, maybe. Addition,
subtraction, multiplication. I’ll even give you division. But then again, who
doesn’t have a calculator on their phone these days? As for the rest of it?
Algebra? Geometry? What use does any of this garbage you’re shoving down our
throats actually have?”
“It’s not garbage!” Ms. Files answered
in almost a high-pitched squeal. She glanced around the room as if she expected
someone, anyone, in the class to back her up. “Math is about structure, logic,
and reason! Everything this world is based on!”
I laughed. “I used to be like you. I
used to think this world made sense. That it was logical, and there was a
reason behind everything.” I narrowed my gaze. “Then a drunk driver plowed into
my mom’s car, killing her. And since he was only sixteen and didn’t have any
priors, he got to plead out. He got four years. For killing my mom. Four.
Years.”
The kids in class looked real
uncomfortable now. Some reached for their phones like they’d just got a text.
Others stared at their books, like math had suddenly become interesting.
The color drained from Ms. Files’ face.
She was already pretty pale to begin with. Now she was practically see-through.
Her bottom lip quivered like she was about to cry. She was shaking when she pointed
at the door.
“To the office! Now!” she screeched.
I shrugged and started packing my
things. I took my time, really milking it. Ms. Files stood there, trembling,
getting madder and madder, the longer I took. When I was finally on my way out
the door, I smiled and waved at her.
“See you tomorrow!”
Ms. Files groaned and leaned against
the Smart Board like she was about to collapse. I took my time, heading across
the quad, to the principal’s office. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed I
had an audience. Stephanie and Melissa.
“If it isn’t Gwen the Ghoul up to her
usual weirdness,” Stephanie started. “Careful. Don’t get too close. You might
catch whatever she’s got.”
I didn’t say anything. I just stood
tall and kept walking. I refused to let them get to me anymore.
“Nice clothes,” said Melissa. “Even
better hair.”
They both laughed and high-fived. Gwen the Ghoul was a reference to my new
look. I used to have long blonde hair and dressed in whatever trendy label was
popular that week. Now my hair was cut short and dyed black. I wore black clothes
every day, along with calf-high Doc Marten boots. I wore black make-up and was
always decked out in silver jewelry, skulls, pentagrams, stuff like that. I guess
I wanted everything I felt on the inside to show on the outside.
As I came around the corner, I noticed
Meghan on her way to meet Stephanie and Melissa. The three of them coordinated
these little trips from class each period so they could meet in the girls’
bathroom to hang out and gossip – like they didn’t do enough of that already.
I couldn’t believe I used to be like
them. Still, I had to give them some credit. After Mom died, they were there
for me. They gave me a lot of support. Later on, I don’t know, but the whole
senselessness of Mom’s death made me look at the world differently. All those
things I used to care about like clothes, MTV, Facebook, Twitter, ragging on
people we thought were losers – even if they were supposed to be our friends –
none of that seemed to matter anymore.
Things got even worse when I was
diagnosed with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. There weren’t any of the obvious
symptoms. I wasn’t washing my hands a billion times a day or turning the light
in my bedroom off-and-on a bunch of times either. According to the shrink who
diagnosed me, my OCD was centered on superstitious
fears and covert rituals. Out of
nowhere, I’d get this feeling of impending doom – like a Demon was coming to
get me.
And my friends, my good ol’ BFFs, the
same ones who were there for me after Mom died, who I’d known since elementary
school, who I thought had my back, were embarrassed by my little rituals, the
things that kept the Demon at bay.
They started keeping their distance.
They wouldn’t have anything to do with me anymore. Next thing I knew, they were
trashing me on Facebook and Twitter and sending me nasty texts all the time.
I pretty much kept to myself now. Not
even the freaks at school gave me the time of day. I didn’t blame them either,
not after the way I treated them when I was still hanging out with Stephanie,
Melissa, and Meghan.
I sat in the office, in one of the ugly
chairs near the secretary’s desk, with my earbuds in, listening to my iPod,
while waiting for Grandma to show up. She was the one who came to school when I
got in trouble.
Dad would always find out about it
later. He was hardly ever around anymore. He was this big-shot IT consultant. Businesses
from all over the country flew him out to overhaul their systems. Ever since
Mom died he’d been throwing himself into his work. He traveled at least once a
week now.
Enter Grandma. A month or so after Mom
died, she sold her condo and moved in with us to help take care of me. And
let’s just say I’ve kept her pretty busy.
She finally arrived and looked like she
came straight from the gym, in her sweats and sneakers, with her long gray hair
pulled back in a ponytail. As she approached, she gave me this tired frown – as
in tired of me always getting in trouble and her having to keep coming to
school to get me.
Mr. Warner, the vice-principal, was
ready for us. He was okay – for a school administrator. He never yelled or made
me feel like a bad person or anything. He liked to say he disciplined the
behavior and not the student.
“We meet again,” he said to Grandma,
half-joking, as he shook her hand.
“I’m down here so often I should have
my own parking space.”
I chuckled. The looks I got from
Grandma and Mr. Warner told me that was a big mistake. Grandma turned away,
shaking her head. We followed Mr. Warner into his office and sat in the two
chairs on the other side of Mr. Warner’s big boat of a desk.
Ms. Files had apparently talked to him
already, because he went ahead and filled Grandma in on what happened – from
Ms. Files’ point of view. Grandma let out a long sigh. I shrunk in my seat.
Mr. Warner swiveled his chair towards
me. “I’d like to hear your side of the story, Gwen.”
“I had an OCD attack during another one
of Ms. Files riveting lectures, so I didn’t know what was going on. She then
tried to embarrass me in front of the class, and I wasn’t going to put up with
it.”
Mr. Warner grinned. “As usual, I appreciate
your honesty, your directness.”
“Excuse me,” said Grandma cutting in.
“But I thought all of Gwen’s teachers knew about her condition.”
“They do,” he said.
“Ms. Files isn’t exactly known for her
warmth and compassion,” I added.
Mr. Warner didn’t bother arguing. I had
a feeling he knew I was right.
“I’ll speak with her,” he said.
“I don’t want anyone feeling sorry me.”
“I know you don’t,” said Mr. Warner. “Just
let me do my job, okay? And unfortunately, that means I’m going to have to
suspend you from school for a week.”
Grandma leaned forward in her chair.
“What?”
“I’m afraid it’s policy. Gwen has
racked up quite a collection of referrals.”
“Do I get a trophy?” I asked.
Grandma gave me a look. She wasn’t
angry. Just disappointed.
Mr. Warner’s secretary drew up the
papers, and Grandma signed them. Before we left, she insisted we stop by my
locker to pick up my books. My teachers posted their homework online, and
Grandma promised Mr. Warner she wouldn’t let me fall behind. We walked through
the halls. Grandma hadn’t said a word since we left the office.
“I’m getting the silent treatment, is
that it?” I asked.
“I’m just trying to figure out what to
say to you.”
“Look, I’m sorry. It’s just Ms. Files
–”
“I understand she’s not the nicest
teacher in the world. But the way you reacted, all you did was make it worse.”
I apologized again. This time I
actually meant it.
Grandma stopped short. “Gwen, do you
think your mother would want to see you acting like this?”
“I – That’s not fair.”
Grandma crossed her arms. “Well?”
My throat ached. I bit my bottom lip.
Grandma rested her hand on my cheek.
“Sweetheart, I know you miss her. So do
I. I know this last year hasn’t been easy for you. Your OCD. Your friends
abandoning you.”
“Nothing makes sense anymore. It all
seems so pointless.”
Grandma frowned. “Gwen, you know I
don’t like it when you talk like that.”
“Don’t worry. I’m not planning on doing
anything stupid.” I sniffed back a tear. “Fine. I’ll go back into counseling.
I’ll take my meds again. Whatever you want. I’ll do it for Mom.”
Grandma gave me this sad smile then
continued down the hall. “I think your mother would rather you did it for
yourself.”
So there's Chapter One for ya. I'll post Chapter Two in a couple weeks (for you handful of people who are actually reading this blog).
Best,
DT
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