Breaking Her Bad by Michelle Mankin

 

 

 

 

 

Claire

Kyle?

On my knees, I was cold from the linoleum seeping through my jeans, but everywhere else I went hot as my skin prickled with awareness. My eyes burned, filled with longing as they met his. Recognition swirled in his gaze, but also shadows I didn’t understand.

Belinda yanked my braid. “Puta.” Bitch.

“Ow!” I cried.

Pain seared my scalp and shot down my neck. The ceiling tiles wavering in my teary vision, I lost sight of Kyle.

Belinda seized the advantage. Grabbing my bracelet, she broke the fragile clasp.

“Give that back!” I yelled, lurching to my feet.

“Give what back?” She sneered at me, holding my bracelet high like a trophy.

“You know what.” I planted my hands on my hips.

Belinda shook the bracelet in front of me. “Is this what you want, güera?” White girl.

“Yes.” I swiped at it. “It’s mine.”

“No.” Taller than me, she lifted it above my head, just out of reach, and laughed. “Stupid little girl.” She gazed down the length of her nose at me. “Stupid rojo boots.”

“Please,” I begged. “My dad gave it to me.”

Belinda pursed her lips, taunting me. “Aww, that’s so sad.”

She swung the bracelet back and forth like a pendulum, but when I reached for it, she jerked it out of reach again. A big cat to a little mouse, she was toying with me.

“Stay out of my sight from now on, or I might rip out the rest of your hair. Entenderme?”

I nodded, but what I understood was that I wanted to claw her taunting eyes out. “You’re a bully,” I snapped. “Picking on someone smaller than you.”

Belinda snarled at me. “You’re a stupid, weak cunt.”

“Whoa,” a deep voice boomed. “What’s going on here?”

The crowd parted, revealing a large black man who had kind brown eyes and an intimidating presence. He shook his head at my tormentor, the hair atop it wiry and the same color as his skin except for the sprinkle of gray at his temples.

“Belinda Mariposa. I should have known.

“Nada going on.” Quickly stepping back from me, she tucked my bracelet into the front pocket of her jeans.

“Not nothing.” His eyes narrowed as he glanced back and forth between Belinda and me. “First bell on the first day of school, and already you’re causing trouble.”

“She started it, Principal Garrett.” Belinda jabbed a finger at me.

“Is that so?” His gaze swung to me.

I started to deny it, but bit back my words as I watched Belinda. While Mr. Garrett’s attention was on me, she’d pulled a switchblade out of her jeans. Her eyes glittering malevolently, she pretended to slice it across her throat.

“Yes, it was me,” I choked out. “I started it.”

Mr. Garrett shook his head sadly. “Not a promising beginning at Southside High for your first day.”

“I’m sorry.” Heat hit my cheeks as the tardy bell rang.

“Get to class, everyone,” Mr. Garrett called out.

Everyone scattered. I searched among the retreating forms for Kyle but couldn’t find him.

“Belinda.” The principal brought his gaze back to her. Her blade was back in her pocket, along with my bracelet. “You need to get to class too, child.”

“Yes, sir.” She backed away.

“What’s your name?” Mr. Garrett asked, his attention now on me.

“Claire Walsh.”

“I thought so. I saw your name on the list of new students.”

He stepped closer, and I noticed he had colorful sugar sprinkles on his fire-engine-red polo, alongside white stitching that read MR. GARRETT, SH PRINCIPAL.

“I read through your transcript. Impressive. You’re Rachel Footit’s daughter, aren’t you?”

“Yes, sir.” I nodded. “Only her last name is Walsh now.”

My long braid swished between my shoulder blades. The motion reminded me, as if I could forget, that my scalp still burned.

“I was a teacher and a coach, way back when your mom attended school here.” His gaze turned unfocused as if he were remembering those long-ago days. “Rachel was a sweet girl. Talented too. Tragic what happened with her band, right when they were on the cusp of making it big.”

“What tragedy?” I asked. The way I always understood it, my mother had quit the band, quitting music entirely when she met my dad.

“She didn’t tell you?” He tilted his head.

“No,” I said.

His gaze turned thoughtful. “I wonder why not.”

I didn’t know. “I guess it never came up. She doesn’t like to talk about Southside.” I bit down on my lip. Or she never liked to talk about it before we moved here. “I think she just wanted to leave it all behind.”

Mr. Garrett nodded thoughtfully. “Understandable. That’s the way a lot of people feel once they move away. But it’s sad. We could really use some help from those who get out. But in your case . . . well.” He inhaled and exhaled through his nose. “That’s a subject for another day. For now, we’d better get you to class. Is that your backpack?”

He pointed to where it had landed after Belinda had ripped it from my shoulders. A pretty girl with long inky-black hair and ice-blue eyes stood beside it. She was the only student who remained in the long hallway lined with red lockers.

“Yes, it’s mine,” I said to him.

“Good. Glad it didn’t walk off in the wrong hands during all the commotion.” His gaze sharpened. “Don’t think for a moment that Belinda fooled me. I know who the real instigator was this morning. But in a situation like this, it’s best not to pour gasoline on an open flame, if you get my meaning.”

I nodded, thinking I did. He didn’t want me to escalate the tension. I was going to have to find some other way to get my bracelet back besides getting him involved.

“Belinda is La Rasa Prima, which doesn’t bode well for you, and Lindy’s taken a bad turn lately. She doesn’t know how to let go of her anger. She’s not going to forgive and forget.”

“Oh no.”My eyes widened. Being the new girl was difficult enough. I didn’t need an enemy who was gang affiliated and carried a blade.

“Courage. Don’t lose heart. I’m not going anywhere, and maybe I can even the odds a little,” Mr. Garrett said gently. Looking over my shoulder, he beckoned to the girl with the long black hair and pale blue eyes. “Missy Rivera. Come here, dear girl.”

“Yes, Mr. Garrett?” Missy stepped closer, twirling the silver necklaces she wore. They were long, and each had different pendants.

“You’re with Mr. Schubert first period for senior-level English, right?”

She nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“I want you to take Claire with you. In fact, I’ll rearrange your schedule to put you two together most of the day and to make your lunch periods the same.” He gave her a long searching look. “That okay with you?”

“Sure.” Missy shrugged as if his request weren’t a big deal, and her formfitting off-the-shoulder aqua top stretched tighter, drawing attention to her breasts.

“Good. I want you to show Claire the ins and outs of Southside High.” He dipped his chin. “Can you do that?”

“Absolutely, sir.”

“Good girl.” He nodded approvingly, clapped her once on the shoulder, and turned away, heading down the hallway in the same direction Belinda had gone.

“Better get your bag,” Missy told me.

I went to retrieve it before hurrying back to her, not relishing the thought of being alone. The dangers at Southside High were real, not hypothetical. My mom had been right to warn me. My scalp and my stomach hurt. My heart raced, and not all the adrenaline coursing through me was due to fear.

“C’mon.” Missy started walking fast, and I broke into a jog to keep up with her. She glanced at me. “Mr. Garrett’s cool.”

“He seems so.” I returned her glance, noting how stylishly she dressed. Though her jeans were faded and ripped, her top appeared to be new, and her blue suede ankle boots brought her whole ensemble together.

“Seeming in Mr. Garrett’s case is reality. Not in mine.” She swung her gaze forward, and a long lock of her hair over her shoulder. “He thinks I’m good. That I’m capable of it, you know. But I’m not. The shit I’m in. The stuff I’ve done. That I still do. The way things are where I live. It’s just not possible to make lemonade out of shit like he thinks.”

She glanced back to me to see what I thought, and I saw sad resignation within it that I identified with.

“My dad says . . . used to say . . .” Tears filled my eyes, and she stepped closer when I knew many would step back. “Just because something seems impossible doesn’t mean it’s not worth the effort or the risk.”

Missy’s perfectly arched black brows drew together as she gave that some consideration. “Maybe he’s right.” She nodded thoughtfully. “Guess I won’t know if I don’t even try, huh?”

“Yeah,” I said softly. “Guess not.”

She studied me for a moment. “Your dad being gone, is that why you’re here in Southside?”

“Yes.” A tear escaped. I hadn’t even made it twenty-four hours today without crying. Defeat slumped my shoulders.

Missy’s gaze softened. “So it’s just you and your mom.”

I nodded.

“Me too. I mean, it’s just me and my old lady. She’s not much of a mom.” Before I could ask about that, she had another question. “Death, divorce, or abandonment take your dad away?”

“He died. I miss him so much.” My voice cracked, and another tear spilled.

“Oh, Claire.” Shaking her head sadly, she cupped my face and gently swept the wetness away from my skin with her thumbs. “So you loved him, and he loved you?”

“Yes.” I bobbed my head.

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

The blue in her eyes turned warm, like a clear sky on a sunny day, and suddenly I wasn’t nearly as cold as I’d been before. Sympathy and gentleness were as surprising as they were welcome when given so readily in a place where nothing was free.

I had a feeling Mr. Garrett was right about Missy. And I also had the thought that my dad’s advice could apply to my situation too.

I was tired and scared. The ground beneath me trembled beneath the weight of my grief. I no longer had my knight. I didn’t want to be here. I didn’t want to start over at a new school and try to fit in.

It would be so much easier to give up, but if this girl could try to be good in the face of her impossible odds, didn’t I need to put in the effort to overcome my obstacles too?