All the Glory Page 7

  “What?” She scrunched up her face and pulled her chin back into her neck.

  “I mean, you just punched me in the back, so … yeah …” I waited for her to catch up, but it just seemed to frustrate her more that I had nothing else to say.

  You might think I was taking the high road here, following Bobby’s sage advice to turn the other cheek or whatever, but in reality I was just so stunned from being physically attacked by a deranged Barbie-ho that I couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  “Whatever. Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing,” she said, practically spitting out the words. “So pitiful.”

  “Ooookay …” I wasn’t sure what she was getting at, but had a strong feeling I wasn’t going to like it. I started chanting in my head silently to keep from bitch-slapping her with all these witnesses around. Be like Bobby. Be like Bobby. Be like Bobby…

  “You can’t get a real guy to like you so you bottom fish at prison, trying to hook up with murderers.”

  Tiffany looked a little uncomfortable at that, but the footballer laughed. “Yo, that’s cold,” he said, making ridiculous snorting sounds as the humor overtook him.

  I had so many things to say, so many little factoids to drop on Brittney’s head at that moment, I didn’t know where to start. I opened my mouth to let her have it, starting first with her complete lack of loyalty, when a heavy hand landed on my shoulder and everyone’s expressions went slack.

  “Are we having a problem here?” asked a female voice behind me. An adult one.

  “No, ma’am,” said the footballer, taking a few steps back and then turning around. “Gotta go, late to class.”

  “Good idea,” said the teacher, one I hadn’t had for classes before but knew to be in a freshman civics classroom across the hall from where we were standing. “You too, Tiffany … Brittney … get to class.”

  Brittney glared at me for a second before turning on her hundred-watt smile for the teacher. “Sure, no problem.” She and her evil twin disappeared into the crowd of students moving past us, leaving a cloud of perfumed lotion in their wake.

  I turned around to face my fate.

  The teacher was staring at me like she expected an explanation, one of her eyebrows arched up high into her forehead.

  “What? I didn’t do anything,” I said. “She punched me and I fell.”

  “She punched you?” The teacher raised her gaze, trying to see over the sea of students between us and Brittney.

  “Never mind,” I said, regretting saying anything. “Just let it go. I have to get to class.”

  I tried to move away, but she grabbed me by the arm. “Not so fast. Come into my classroom. I want to talk to you.”

  I looked at my watch, trying to be really obvious. “Okay but …”

  “I know you have class. If you’re going to be late, I’ll write you a note.”

  I had no idea what a freshman civics teacher would want with me other than to scold me, but if it got me out of part of my math class, that was fine with me. Scold away. Just don’t make me do any word problems.

  The classroom was empty. All of the teachers had some periods where they were supposed to work on grading papers and stuff. I guess it was just my luck that I got my ass kicked right outside her door during her free period.

  Aaaand the shit just keeps getting better and better.

  Bobby would say this was karma kicking my butt right now and I should just sit here and take it, so that’s what I did.

  “Take a seat,” she said, gesturing to an empty desk in the front row.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I DROPPED MY BACKPACK TO the floor and slid into the seat as the teacher perched one butt-cheek on her desk directly in front of me. I noted how her butt fat pushed out and strained the polyester material of her pants and felt sorry for her. She probably got mocked hard behind her back for her choice in clothing. Her blouse was of the same material and had a big bow at the neck. There were way too many flowers on that shirt, reminding me of my now-dead grandmother’s sofa material.

  “You’re Katy Guckenberger,” she said.

  I blinked a few times, trying to bite back the smartass comments that quickly leapt to mind.

  “Yeah,” I said, proud that I’d been able to control myself.

  “Do you know who I am?”

  I shrugged, letting my gaze roam the room a bit. I took in a poster of the U.S. Constitution, some pictures of some presidents, and a model of a large boat in the corner of the room.

  “You’re a civics teacher.”

  “Yes, I am. I also teach American History. My name is Melody Davis. You can call me Melody if you want.”

  That made me squirm in my seat. Calling a teacher by her first name was a serious no-no in my world. Besides, it wasn’t like she was young like some of the new teachers. Calling them by their first names didn’t seem as big an offense, seeing as how they were just a few years older than we are. But this lady? She had to be, like forty or something. No way in hell was I calling her anything but Ms. Davis.

  “Uh, thanks,” I said, trying to ease us past this awkward conversation and into me leaving.

  “Do you know why I called you in here?”

  “Because I tripped and fell outside your door?” I lifted my eyebrows up into my forehead in an effort to look as innocent as possible, playing ‘let’s pretend you didn’t catch me about to enter into a Barbie smackdown’.

  “No, not exactly. Although I am concerned that you’ve hurt yourself.” She looked down at my knees. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. Really. It’s nothing.” I moved to stand, but she held up a hand to stop me.

  “I also wanted to talk to you about this Jason Bradley business.”

  My heart stopped beating for a second and then started again, racing to catch up to its regular rhythm. Was I wearing a sign or something?

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I figured my best bet was to play dumb. I could do that pretty convincingly. All anyone had to do was ask my Algebra teacher to confirm this fact.

  “I saw you on TV going into the jail with Jason’s father. It aired on this morning’s news again.”

  I could feel the blood leaving my face. My parents were definitely going to see that. I had to at least text my mom before she found out from another source. My hand itched to pull my cell out of my pocket.

  My mind started to stray. Ms. Davis might have been saying something, but all I could do was sit there and think about what I was going to say to my parents … how I could tell my mom I was hanging out with a murderer without having her freak right the hell out.

  Hey Mom, listen, I know you wanted me to be more social and everything, find something to work on as an after-school thing, so I decided to, you know, hang out at the jail with our old neighbor.

  It was never going to work. There wasn’t a single thing I could say to my parents to make this okay with them.

  “Are you listening?” Ms. Davis said, tilting her head to the side as she stared at me.

  “Oh. Sorry. I kind of went off on my own track there for a second.”

  She frowned but continued. “I was saying that if you have any questions about the process, about what Jason is going to go through legally speaking, you could talk to me about it.”

  I couldn’t think of what to say to that, so I just sat there and waited to hear more.

  “I graduated from law school a few years back, but preferred teaching to practicing, so here I am.” She shrugged and then gestured around her room. “Trying to tap into all these young minds and get them interested in their country’s government and history.”

  “Wow. Talk about …,” I almost said boring, “… interesting.”

  She laughed. “I know, I know. You’re thinking it’s lame, but it’s really not.”

  I readjusted myself in my chair, embarrassed that she, like so many other adults, had the ability to hear my unspoken thoughts.

  “Most kids never have the
luck — or the bad luck, I should say — to see the process up close and personal. And based on what I’m hearing and seeing in the hallways, none of your friends are going to get involved. But if you’re planning to do that, I can help.”

  “If I’m planning to do what?” I was so confused at this point. Up was down, down was up. Teachers gave a shit and my neighbor murdered a football coach.

  “Get involved.” She leaned towards me, bending almost in half. “Standing by Jason during his trial.”

  “His trial?” Until then I hadn’t really thought about a trial. A real courtroom where people would be watching and Jason would be on the stand, like the countless television shows I’d seen where the guilty went to prison or the electric chair and the innocent were set free.

  Jason admitted to doing it. He wasn’t going to be set free.

  I suddenly felt sick. Standing, I reached down to grab my bag. “Thanks, Ms. Davis, that’s really nice, but I don’t think I need any help.” I threw the bag over my shoulder and side-stepped away until there was enough distance between us for me to turn around and not be totally rude.

  “He entered a plea of not guilty,” she said at my retreating back.

  I tried to ignore her and get to the door, but she kept talking.

  “But he confessed. What do you think is going to happen with that?”

  I paused at her words, my foot refusing to cross the threshold. I had no idea how things really worked in a genuine courtroom, but common sense told me this was not a good combination.

  “There are legalities, things that he’s going to have to deal with. I was just thinking that you might want some support. It’s hard to be the only one standing against a sea of hate.”

  “Okay, thanks,” I said, just before pretty much running out of the classroom. My survival instincts or something inside me that wanted to be in another life at that moment told me to get the hell away and stay away. There was way too much cold, hard truth flying around that classroom.

  I ran all the way to Algebra, falling into my chair as the bell rang signaling the beginning of class.

  Chapter Sixteen

  THURSDAY, AFTER A COUPLE OF mind-numbingly awful days at school listening to people talking not only about Jason but about me being a murderer-lover, I got a text from Jason’s dad. It was the first bright moment in an otherwise very dark week.

  Jason’s coming home tonight. Feel free to drop by. Only if you want to.

  He must have made bail. That was the talk of the town, whether he’d be allowed to wait at home for his trial to begin or whether he’d have to stay in prison. I’d said a prayer every night and every morning that he’d be allowed to come home, and it kind of freaked me out that my prayers had been answered. Or maybe it was Jason’s prayers or his father’s that had done the trick. I doubted anyone else was sending that particular plea to The Big Man upstairs. At this point the coach was being proclaimed a saint by every single news organization.

  That last line of the text, only if you want to, haunted me for the hour it took me to build up the guts to text back. I didn’t know what my problem was, but after listening to the hundredth person slander my name and the thousandth person give me the shit-eye, I didn’t have the same enthusiasm for the cause as I’d had earlier in the week. That meant I was the world’s biggest jerk, I knew that, which made the whole situation that much worse. Once again, I was back to worrying about myself and not the person who really mattered. I was at an all-time low, humanity-wise.

  I finally texted Mr. Bradley back after realizing what an a-hole I was being by leaving him hanging. It didn’t hurt seeing Brittney making out with Trace right in the middle of the hallway as if Jason had never existed for her, either. It pissed me off enough to forget about my own minor problems. The coward in me hoped Mr. Bradley was thinking it took me so long to respond because I was in class or something.

  I’ll be there after dinner, I said before tucking my phone away into my bag. It scared me to think someone would find my cell and retrieve my messages off it. It was bad enough people were speculating about my involvement. I preferred to keep them in the dark about the extent of it. As much as I felt the need to support Jason, I didn’t want to be painted by the same brush as he was right now. I know it sounds like an excuse, but I wanted to be able to focus on Jason and not on defending my choice to support him.

  I opened my locker to pull out the books I’d need for homework and a white piece of folded-up paper floated to the ground. Frowning, I picked it up. Bobby was the only one who ever left me notes, and usually they were on his favorite purple paper.

  You no what they say. An eye for an eye bitch.

  My ears were burning as soon as I started reading the words. The assholes were getting seriously bold, and they didn’t even have the decency to check their spelling. Ugh.

  I looked to my left and right, but no one was paying me any special attention. The handwriting seemed purposely weird, as if the person were trying to hide his or her identity.

  Slamming the door shut, I shoved the paper into my backpack’s side pocket. Making a big deal out of this was exactly what this person wanted, so that wasn’t going to be a part of my plan. I refused to be manipulated like that.

  Bobby told me to ignore all the haters, and until I knew exactly who was hating me to the level that they’d put a note in my locker, I was going to do exactly that. I was going to act like this didn’t scare the shit out of me and make me want to be home-schooled. Besides, if my parents found out about this crap and how I basically brought it on myself, they’d kill me; I wouldn’t have to worry about anyone here doing it.

  My parents still hadn’t found out about my involvement in this whole thing. Every time my father went to turn on the news, I jumped up with another ridiculous story about something that didn’t happen at school — a complete fabrication — or ideas about my future … a future that I honestly couldn’t really see that clearly right now. I acted like it was nothing but smooth sailing and positive days ahead. I was ready for adulthood, or so I pretended.

  I yammered on and on about colleges and scholarships and majors until my parents were starry-eyed about my total change of heart. Before, whenever they tried to broach the subject, I feigned intestinal problems and disappeared into the bathroom. Now I was all about sororities and school mascots and SAT scores. By the time Thursday rolled around I was ready to shoot myself and put me out of all our misery.

  The longer I kept them away from the reality of my life, the worse the pressure between us got. I wanted to tell them, but I worried they’d order me to stay away from Jason, and that wouldn’t have been fair to him. And in the grand scheme of things, I felt his life needed more fairness in it than mine did. I decided to do my best to keep them ignorant and I’d deal with the doo when it hit the fan later.

  I didn’t tell Bobby about Jason getting out on bond, figuring he’d lecture me about the whole thing, about my plan to visit him at home. He was on Jason’s side, but more like a silent observer type. He’d been hearing vague threats being issued against me in school and had decided that with a target already on his back, he had no hope of escaping alive if he was too open with his support.

  I was disappointed with his choice, but I got where it was coming from. It seemed like most people were interested only in self-preservation, and since it was a natural human reaction, I could hardly fault them for it. Besides, some of the truth had gotten around school along with the rumors; Jason had admitted to the murder. He was a murderer.

  It was all over the news. There was no arguing this fact and anyone who tried to would have been laughed or beaten out of school. I know I kept my mouth shut about everything. It wasn’t that I was ashamed; it was just that there wasn’t anything to say. Jason’s life was over. Now all that was left was to know if he was going to die for what he did or spend the rest of his life in prison.

  The prosecutor was calling for a death sentence. The very idea of it had me waking up in the middle of the nigh
t drenched in cold sweats. I could only imagine what it was doing to Jason.

  After dinner that night I got on my computer for a few minutes, checking to see if the news had picked up the latest on Jason’s situation. Sure enough, the reporters were talking about how he’d been granted bail and it had been paid for by his father. People speculated about how he’d come up with the money, but no one knew for sure.

  Talk turned to Jason’s mother, wondering where she was and whether she’d met an untimely end like the coach had. I wanted to punch my laptop screen reading that. Some of those news stations really pushed it too far trying to get an audience. I officially boycotted two of them that day, refusing to take part in their disgusting publicity schemes.

  Innocent until proven guilty … what a joke. I slammed my laptop closed before I could read anything else. I needed to get to Jason’s before it got too late.

  My nerves were getting the better of me, even though I was trying to act like a quick visit to my neighbor’s house was no big deal. My intestines churned and burned. Breathe in, breathe out. Relax, idiot. It’s just a visit with a friend. Forget the part about him being a murderer.

  “I’m just going outside to … uh … go for a run.” I bent down to tie one of the laces on the running shoes I never used. I felt like I was going to vomit, I was so nervous. I didn’t know what was bothering me most … the fact that I was lying to my parents, that I was about to approach a crowd of reporters, or that I was planning to hang out with an admitted murderer who called me The Constant Gardener. It was completely insane and my stomach knew it better than my brain, apparently.

  My father looked at me over the back of the couch. “You? Running? That’s a first.”

  I rolled my eyes at him, playing the annoyed teen to the hilt. “I noticed some cottage cheese on my thighs this morning.” Actually I have plenty of cottage cheese on my thighs and my butt, but my parents love me too much to ever say that. They liked to call me ‘soft and sweet’ but kids calling me fatty-fatty-two-by-four-can’t-fit-through-the-bathroom-door since I was in sixth grade kind of put things into perspective.