Alice Bliss - Laura Harrington [56]
While waiting in the band room for chorus rehearsal to begin, Alice overhears Jennifer White and Melissa Johnson talking. She’s trying to ignore them, but they’re loud like they always are, and words and phrases keep hitting her like a punch to the gut.
“How could he do that?”
“I hate my father. I really hate him.”
“I can’t believe he did that to you.”
“He’s such an asshole.”
“Grounding you for two weeks . . .”
“I wish he’d go away, I wish he’d die, I wish . . .”
Before she can think, Alice shoves Jennifer White. She meant to just give her a little push, but it’s like she’s so upset she’s got this superhuman strength, and that little push hits Jennifer White so hard she stumbles, loses her balance, and falls to the ground. And gets a bloody nose and starts wailing. Alice looks up in time to see Stephie glance at her and then look away, shaking her head. No sympathy from that corner. Melissa Johnson is about to retaliate when Mr. Brooks, the music teacher, pushes his way through the crowd with his immense bulk. And even though Jennifer White gets a bloody nose if you just say boo to her, this looks really bad.
Next thing you know Alice is in the principal’s office. Mr. Fisher wants to know what happened, he wants to talk about it; but Alice can’t talk about it, she can’t answer his questions, she can’t tell him her side of the story. She just sits there staring at her hands or out the window. And while the principal is trying to be understanding, the longer she stays silent, the more wound up he gets until he’s forgotten all about her father and has convinced himself she’s being disrespectful and obstreperous and that she needs a nice little suspension to get her attitude in order.
When he picks up the phone to call her mother at work, Alice gets up to leave the room. He angrily waves her back to her seat just as the lunch bell rings. She knows he will not make himself ridiculous by actually chasing her, so she makes her escape in the general lunchtime melee and walks out the back door of the school and heads for home. Henry follows her for a ways but she can’t talk to Henry right now, she can’t talk to anybody.
Halfway down Highland Drive, where is she going anyway?, B.D. pulls up beside her in his old Chevy. The backseat is filled with orange plastic cones for practice, out-of-date running magazines, and empty coffee cups.
“Alice, where are you going? We’ve got practice this afternoon.”
“I can’t come today.”
“You want to be on the team, you come every day.”
“I’ll make it up. Tomorrow. I can make it up tomorrow.”
B.D. doesn’t say anything. He’s just looking at her.
“And I can run tonight. From home. Give me the workout.”
“You want to be on this team, or what?”
How can he ask her this? How can he not know?
“Yes!” she says too loudly.
“Did something happen, Alice?”
She can’t answer.
“You okay, kid?”
Alice is clenching and unclenching her hands. Her legs are so tense that her right knee is vibrating.
“You need somebody to talk to?”
“No.”
“You sure?”
“I’ll be okay.”
“You need a lift somewhere?”
“No, thank you.”
“Where are you going? Aren’t you supposed to be in school?”
“I couldn’t . . . I can’t . . .”
He rolls his window all the way down, leans out.
“I’ll let it slide this time, Alice. But come and talk to me, okay?”
“Are you gonna give me the workout?”
“Kid, you hardly look like you can stand up, let alone run.”
“I can run!” bursts out of her with more vehemence than she intended.
B.D. reaches out to touch Alice, her hand or her shoulder, and then thinks better of it. Nothing is simple anymore, he thinks, not even reaching out to a girl who is falling apart