Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 46398 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 232(@200wpm)___ 186(@250wpm)___ 155(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46398 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 232(@200wpm)___ 186(@250wpm)___ 155(@300wpm)
He sniffs, as if he’s not surprised but I don’t know the answer.
“You cannot look at another student,” he tells me. That must’ve been one of the rules on the wall. “What did you do?”
I wrench my teeth apart.
“I don’t know,” I say. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Let me go home.”
“There is no going home.”
“But my parents—”
“Your parents know. They want this for you.”
“They don’t,” I sob.
He shifts on his feet. “That’s two more punishments. There is to be no mention of your parents and no backtalk.”
He grabs my arm, fingers digging into the bruised spot where the woman held me, and pulls me to my feet. We’re back in the dark hall in seconds.
“Please,” I beg. “Just let me go.”
“You’re adding up your strikes.”
“What?” I ask confused as my feet barely manage to keep up with the pace he takes.
“Asking to leave is another strike.”
A sound startles me. I crane my neck to see what it is.
The boys are doing jumping jacks. More jumping jacks—with two spots missing.
“That’s another strike.”
“What? I—” I looked at them. All I did was look.
Another room. Another concrete floor. A hard wooden desk. My heart is in my mouth.
The door closes with a hollow sound, and then leather slips through belt loops. He’s taking off his belt.
I turn to face the man, my arms over my chest
“What are you going to do to me?”
“The right thing.” He swings the belt in his hand. “It’s all in the pamphlet. Don’t worry. Your mother knows.”
DEAN
Present day
My dad’s had the same recliner ever since I can remember. The worn brown leather, the soft creak that’s gotten louder. The way it falls back when he drops into it. … it's all familiar.
The chair is also broken, but Dad won’t get a new one even though he sits in that chair every fucking day.
He’s the kind of guy who worries about money and decisions like that. He pinches pennies and spends forever deciding which purchases to make. The house was always the most important. Had to pay the mortgage to keep the house.
The leather on his recliner is molded to his body and shiny in the spots where he always sits. There’s a dent on the right arm where he rests his elbow when he holds his can of beer.
When he drops down into it, I let it go. He’s never getting a new recliner and it’s not like I can get him one. If I did, I don’t know if he’d accept it. He’s too damn proud.
My dad picks up the beer, balancing his elbow in that spot, and extends the footrest. The metal creaks. Probably needs some WD-40. Sometimes I think that chair will outlive me. My dad crosses his ankles, wiggling his toes and the white socks he buys in the big packs at the farm store.
I retake my seat in his living room watching whatever game is on TV. The sound is down too low to hear the announcers, and I don't’ mind. Light slants through the blinds in the living room windows onto the same carpet that’s always been here. No sense in replacing carpet when you can just have it cleaned—or rent the machine from the hardware store and clean it yourself. There’s not much pile left after all these years. The carpet is worn pretty thin.
Still better than concrete.
I stretch on the ratty sofa and try not to think of so-called classrooms with concrete floors. The floors were what reminded me for so long after I came home. If I stretch enough, I can work the soreness out of my muscles and bring my mind back to Haley. I try not to think of her when the thoughts of back then are so raw. I try… but recently, I’ve been failing.
Easy to get lost thinking about her, especially when I think this game might be a rerun. I sort of remember what the score might be, but I don’t really care. My dad isn’t paying much attention either. It’s just better to have something on then sit together with nowhere to look.
It’s comfortable, I guess. House still smells the same as it always did—a mix of old wood and carpets cleaned too many times and wallpaper glue. Not much has changed around here. Same pictures on the walls. Same disintegrating coasters on the side tables. There’s a round rug in front of the TV that used to be a mix of bright colors, but it’s faded in the sun. That’s the only sign that time has passed.
I’m the only other thing that’s different. Although when I sit here, I can almost remember how I used to feel before. If I try hard enough, I can almost pretend none of it ever happened and I’m still the same.
Like none of it ever happened. But then I never would have met her.