Nevermore

Isobel launched up from the bleachers, the sudden action spurring the collective squeals of backtracking sneakers and cheerleaders. She shoved Alyssa hard, hard enough to send her stumbling backward through her backup party and straight to the floor. She hit with a jolt, landing on her backside, her glossed mouth fixed in a shocked O.

“Hey!”

The shriek of a whistle split through Isobel’s throbbing head again and in her peripheral vision, she could see Coach bustling up to them, her oval face reddening to a ripe beet color. Isobel trembled with fury. Her eyes remained locked on Alyssa, who stared up at her from the floor, her hands clenched. Coach seized Isobel by the arm and with a strong, yanking grip ended the hate-stare between them.

“What the hell is wrong with you two?” shouted Coach Anne, this time focusing her attention on Alyssa. “You know I don’t tolerate fighting on my squad!” She swung around to glower at Isobel again, her face purple. “In my office! Both of you!”

Then she spun on her heel and stormed toward her office door at the far end of the gym.

Alyssa smiled at Isobel as she picked herself up from the floor. Revolving in a slow turn, she followed after Coach Anne.

Scalding heat crawled up Isobel’s face. She couldn’t bring herself to take so much as a single step in the direction of that office. Not with everyone staring again. Not when she wanted so badly to put her fist through Alyssa’s flawless teeth, to crush that perfect button nose flat and permanently erase that conceited smile from her stupid face.

The heat of rage coursed through her veins like a deadly poison.

She had to get out of there. Now. Or she’d blow up.

On impulse, Isobel grabbed her gym bag. She looped the strap over one shoulder and started to walk hard and fast for the gymnasium doors.

“Lanley!” she heard Coach howl after her. Isobel, her head down, plowed forward. She had to keep moving. She had to, or she’d look back. She’d see everyone staring at her, thinking whatever they wanted about her, and she knew she would explode.

“Lanley, stop right there!”

Isobel cringed, covering her ears.

“You walk out that door, you’re walking off the squad! You hear me?”

She heard. But she was on autopilot now and couldn’t have stopped herself anyway.

Once out of the gym, she started to move faster, nearly jogging down the deserted hallway, her sneakers making quiet claps. She rounded a corner and would have run right past her locker if she hadn’t noticed the little piece of white folded paper sticking out of the top vent. Isobel stopped, knowing all too well whose handwriting she would find on that slip of paper. She let the strap of her heavy gym bag slip from her shoulder, and jerking the note out of the slot, she opened it.

Even though she’d known what to expect, there still came a blunt stab of hurt at the sight of dark purple ink.

We need to talk.

“No,” she said aloud, tearing the note in two. “We don’t.” She’d shredded the paper again, again, and again, finally letting the flecks flutter to the floor like ash.

Isobel twisted her locker combination in, kicked the dented bottom corner of the door, and stood back as it popped out. She delved inside and withdrew her backpack, dragging it out by one strap.

She set the bag on the floor in front of her feet and jerked open the zippers, extracting The Complete Works of Edgar Allan Poe. Then she spun around, strode to the nearest trash can, and tipped the book in, letting it fall onto a bed of papers and plastic soda bottles.

Something inside her winced, begged for her to pull it out again.

But something else rejoiced.

She ignored the urge to rescue the book and, walking to a nearby stand, picked up several school newsletters. Wadding them up, she made her way back to the trash and tossed them in, sprinkling them over the book. Like flowers on a coffin.

Thankfully, Isobel’s dad got to school a little early to pick her up that day, so she didn’t have to worry about waiting around with anyone else from the squad, or about Brad showing up and her dad finding out she’d lied about his car being in the shop.

The ride home was a quiet one, and for once her father didn’t try to pry, asking questions like, “Why so quiet?” or “Did something happen today?” She knew he wouldn’t realize it, but she was grateful for this. The last thing she wanted to do was talk about what had happened that day.

When she got home, Isobel went straight to her room. She fell onto her bed, buried her face in her pillows, shut her eyes, and blessedly, mercifully fell asleep, her body seeming to agree with her mind that she had had enough. She didn’t wake up until hours later when her mom, having returned from a PTA meeting at Danny’s school, came to check on her.

“Izzy?”

Isobel rolled over onto one side, feeling herself pulled on opposite ends by wakefulness and sleep.

She felt hot and kicked off some of the blankets. “Mm?” she murmured.

“Do you want to come down and have some supper? Soup and grilled cheese?”