nothing
but a bra and panties falls into the hallway. K.T. swings after her
on crutches then tosses them aside and pounces on top of her.
Locked together, they roll across the floor, K.T’s cast thumping
with each rotation. The gang of six jams together in the doorway,
yelling and waving what the girl had been wearing.
The stripped girl screams
as K.T. rips off her bra. The hoots from males in the area are
deafening. Mr. Icky pushes the growing crowd aside and plucks up
the nearly naked blonde by the arm. With his foot he pins K.T. to
the ground. Principal Bins is suddenly there, his jacket off and
wrapped about the victim whose face streams with tears.
Mr. Icky hands K.T. her
crutches and marshals her down the hall toward the office. The
principal follows, keeping the girl close to his side. “Show’s
over,” he calls to the gawking bystanders.
The gang of six trails
after the rest of the students jostling toward the exit. “K.T. got
her good,” Big Teeth says. “That’ll shut her down.”
One of the gang who has
beads knitted into her hair sends them chattering against each
other as she swings her head. “That skinny witch shoulda knowed
better.”
Another, the shortest one,
scurries to stay up with the rest. “What’ll happen to K.T. this
time?”
“She’ll get some time off
school that’s for sure, but maybe not as long. Bins is gonna see
what’s on that wall in there.” At the exit Big Teeth separates from
the others. “Catch ya tomorrow.”
When the door closes on the
last student I exhale.I’d been holding my breath and I’m still
pressed against the wall biting my lips, staring at the open door
to the girls’ restroom and letting the sudden eerie silence crowd
around me. The surveillance cameras hover like vultures overhead,
scanning, patient; I don’t want to alert them to my being here, so
on cat feet I step inside to see what provoked K.T. into ripping
off someone’s clothes. The peeling gray paint is covered with the
same initials, phone numbers and gross poems about body parts that
I’ve seen since day one. The first stall door droops from a single
good hinge, and one mirror has a crack from corner to corner. I
don’t get what that fight was about.
But I turn to leave, there,
next to the light switch by the exit, is a crude drawing that sends
my stomach into spasms. A chair is tipped on its side. Dangling
over it is the lifeless form of a woman hanging by her neck from a
thick rope.
I escape into the
hall. What did that drawing mean? Was it
some kind of gang code? Doesn’t matter.
It’s a terrible thing that will make going to the annex bathrooms
much more appealing. I hurry outside.
Keith’s at the curb, but
he's not alone. Chico, standing a couple of inches shorter than my
brother, has his hands in Keith's face, flipping him off. Keith
shoves him and Chico's hands ball into fists. He's about to take a
swing when a police car, lights flashing, drives up to the front of
the school and two officers get out. Chico turns the swing into a
wave and jogs off.
Chapter 22
Our dented Tercel sweeps up
to the front of the school and parks behind the police car. Mom’s
out almost before the car stops rolling.
“Are you all
right?”
“It has nothing to do with
us, Mom,” I say holding both hands up as if that will calm her
down. “Some kids got in a fight.”
Still she’s shaking as she
puts her arm around my shoulder. “Let’s go.” Mom’s Las Pulgas
Market uniform has perspiration stains under both arms and if she
combed her hair today it was early this morning.
My brother doesn’t say
anything when we climb into the car. He avoids eye contact with me,
leans back against the seat and does his ostrich impression.
Nothing’s wrong so long as he closes his eyes.
The last thing I want to
talk about is K.T.’s fight, so none of has anything to
say.
When we reach the
apartment, Mom starts for her room. “I need a quick shower and—”
She opens the door and closes it
but a bra and panties falls into the hallway. K.T. swings after her
on crutches then tosses them aside and pounces on top of her.
Locked together, they roll across the floor, K.T’s cast thumping
with each rotation. The gang of six jams together in the doorway,
yelling and waving what the girl had been wearing.
The stripped girl screams
as K.T. rips off her bra. The hoots from males in the area are
deafening. Mr. Icky pushes the growing crowd aside and plucks up
the nearly naked blonde by the arm. With his foot he pins K.T. to
the ground. Principal Bins is suddenly there, his jacket off and
wrapped about the victim whose face streams with tears.
Mr. Icky hands K.T. her
crutches and marshals her down the hall toward the office. The
principal follows, keeping the girl close to his side. “Show’s
over,” he calls to the gawking bystanders.
The gang of six trails
after the rest of the students jostling toward the exit. “K.T. got
her good,” Big Teeth says. “That’ll shut her down.”
One of the gang who has
beads knitted into her hair sends them chattering against each
other as she swings her head. “That skinny witch shoulda knowed
better.”
Another, the shortest one,
scurries to stay up with the rest. “What’ll happen to K.T. this
time?”
“She’ll get some time off
school that’s for sure, but maybe not as long. Bins is gonna see
what’s on that wall in there.” At the exit Big Teeth separates from
the others. “Catch ya tomorrow.”
When the door closes on the
last student I exhale.I’d been holding my breath and I’m still
pressed against the wall biting my lips, staring at the open door
to the girls’ restroom and letting the sudden eerie silence crowd
around me. The surveillance cameras hover like vultures overhead,
scanning, patient; I don’t want to alert them to my being here, so
on cat feet I step inside to see what provoked K.T. into ripping
off someone’s clothes. The peeling gray paint is covered with the
same initials, phone numbers and gross poems about body parts that
I’ve seen since day one. The first stall door droops from a single
good hinge, and one mirror has a crack from corner to corner. I
don’t get what that fight was about.
But I turn to leave, there,
next to the light switch by the exit, is a crude drawing that sends
my stomach into spasms. A chair is tipped on its side. Dangling
over it is the lifeless form of a woman hanging by her neck from a
thick rope.
I escape into the
hall. What did that drawing mean? Was it
some kind of gang code? Doesn’t matter.
It’s a terrible thing that will make going to the annex bathrooms
much more appealing. I hurry outside.
Keith’s at the curb, but
he's not alone. Chico, standing a couple of inches shorter than my
brother, has his hands in Keith's face, flipping him off. Keith
shoves him and Chico's hands ball into fists. He's about to take a
swing when a police car, lights flashing, drives up to the front of
the school and two officers get out. Chico turns the swing into a
wave and jogs off.
Chapter 22
Our dented Tercel sweeps up
to the front of the school and parks behind the police car. Mom’s
out almost before the car stops rolling.
“Are you all
right?”
“It has nothing to do with
us, Mom,” I say holding both hands up as if that will calm her
down. “Some kids got in a fight.”
Still she’s shaking as she
puts her arm around my shoulder. “Let’s go.” Mom’s Las Pulgas
Market uniform has perspiration stains under both arms and if she
combed her hair today it was early this morning.
My brother doesn’t say
anything when we climb into the car. He avoids eye contact with me,
leans back against the seat and does his ostrich impression.
Nothing’s wrong so long as he closes his eyes.
The last thing I want to
talk about is K.T.’s fight, so none of has anything to
say.
When we reach the
apartment, Mom starts for her room. “I need a quick shower and—”
She opens the door and closes it
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