Teen Fury: Unleashed Page 4
Have mercy? Who says that?
I sigh. I can’t believe I snapped at Corey that way. I am in a rush, my appointment starts in less than ten minutes and it’s all the way across the school, near the voc-tech wing. My mind ping-pongs, trying to make sense of everything. Corey didn’t deserve that treatment, but there’s nothing I can do about it right now, so I allow Ryder to walk me to the guidance office, where interviews are being held.
Chapter Nine
After checking in with the receptionist, I sit in the outer waiting room, flipping through my folder of information to be sure everything is in order.
My heart refuses to stop pounding, and my foot has developed the annoying habit of shaking relentlessly. I can’t stop swallowing, although my mouth is getting dry.
Nerves, nerves, go away.
I leap up the second they call my name. I introduce myself to the committee, then take my seat among the three adults.
“Congratulations on making it to the interview stage, Ms. Murphy.” The pretty lady in the business suit speaks directly to me, and her smile is warm and welcoming. “We were impressed with your ideas, particularly since you had already been implementing them before the grant was announced.”
I feel myself blushing and look at the table, where I’m fiddling with the corner of my folder. I remember how important it is to project confidence, so I sit up straight in my chair and look her in the eye.
“Thank you for your kind words. I am honored and encouraged to have been chosen. I look forward to answering your questions today.”
“Wonderful.” She shuffles through some papers. “Can you please tell us a little about your goals for the group?”
“Absolutely. My goal is to build community for abandoned and troubled kids in our area, and to provide a safe place for them to spend their free time. I’d like to give them opportunities to feel part of a positive group, where they can participate in community service activities as a way to develop self-esteem and self-worth.” I glance at all of the adults, whose expressions are inscrutable.
“I also want them to know they can overcome anything thrown their way. That they have the support of others who will accept them unconditionally.”
“Can you give an example of what community service your group might perform?”
“Sure.” I take a deep breath, then pull out a handout I had prepared. I pass three copies across the table. “As you can see, I have a list of activities planned. For example, the kids I am currently working with have asked to plant trees in the public common. We can also organize shelves at the food pantry, visit the nursing home, and we’ve even been talking about how to start a community vegetable garden. The owner of The Sugar Shack is willing to donate some land behind his building for the garden, if we can get the funding to create the garden.”
“Impressive.” The other adults nod in agreement.
The rest of the interview is a blur, but even though my hands are sweating and I can feel hives developing on my chest, I think I did all right.
“I think that’s all we need for now, Ms. Murphy.” She closes her folder and folds her hands in front of her, leaning forward on the table. She looks at the other adults, smiles, then looks back at me.
The adults ask me to step out into the waiting room for a few moments. I oblige, staring at the clock on the wall for what feels like an eternity, but in actuality is only three minutes (and twenty-six seconds, if you must know.)
When I’m seated at the conference table again, I wonder if they can hear my heart pounding.
“I want to be the first to tell you that you will be advancing to the final round. We admire the fact that you have already laid the groundwork for this organization, and are not motivated merely by the opportunity to use this project as credit for social studies.”
I am speechless. And afraid that if I speak, I’ll cry.
I manage a smile, which I hope they will read as “I’m psyched!”
“For the final round, we would like to observe you in the field, working with the kids. We’ll be in touch to set up a time. Thank you for coming in.”
I push my chair back, stand up, and lean forward to shake hands with the committee. “Thank you so much for this opportunity. I look forward to introducing you to the kids.”
I’m walking on air through the halls, tuning out the banging lockers, the squeals of drama queens, and the shuffle of bodies. All that worrying about life unraveling was for nothing. Life couldn’t be more perfect. I’m about to get everything I want. And why shouldn’t I? I’ve worked hard.
I stop short, remembering how I treated Corey before my meeting. He’s the one I always share things with first, the one who feels my joy as keenly as I do.
I start to text him, then hit “Cancel.” Maybe I should let him have some time. Let him come to me when he’s ready.
But is that the right strategy?
Honestly, I have no idea how to handle this. I’ve never, ever fought with Corey before.
Chapter Ten
“I still can’t believe how freaking lucky you are.” Jade kicks a pebble for emphasis. I look around to make sure no one else on the short cut is within hearing distance.
“What are you talking about?” But my stomach clenches because I know.
Jade bumps her shoulder into my arm, knocking me off balance for a moment.
“Don’t play coy. You totally know what I’m talking about. Mr. Ryder Poo…”
“You’re delusional.”
“Ha, whatev. You don’t think it’s a little strange that he’s always around?”
Well, yeah, I do find it strange, but so much is going on with me that I can’t even explain to Jade. I guess the mini-flood of gorgeous guys only scratches the surface.
My thoughts immediately turn to Corey, who is conspicuously missing from our walk home.
“Do you know where Corey is?”
“Don’t you dare change the subject. But no, I don’t know. Guess he got caught up in his computer stuff.”
Corey always walks home with us on Wednesdays. He’s incredibly predictable.
I try to push Corey and his wounded look out of my head. I focus on the good that happened today—I'll deal with the other stuff when I have to. Or when I figure out how to.
“Hey, Felicia. As excited as I am about these guys, I wouldn’t be doing my duty as best friend if I didn’t warn you.”
My stomach tightens. I stare at her, waiting for her to continue. She gazes at the ground, and I’ve never seen her look so unsure.
“I did some investigating, you know, because of what Zane said about Ryder.”
“And? What did you find?”
“Absolutely nothing.”
I exhale, unaware that I had been holding my breath.
“That’s the problem, Felicia. I found nothing. No records, no Facebook, not even an old Myspace account. Absolutely nothing. That’s kind of weird, don’t you think?”
I bite my lip hard. Something isn’t right.
“He seems okay. He’s very protective.”
“Yeah, and I hope he is. Just please, please, please try to avoid being alone with him until I can uncover something about him or his family.”
“Ha. No plans to be alone with any stinky boy.” I bump into Jade playfully, happy to shift the conversation away from Ryder, Zane and all of their insanity. “Speaking of which, have you heard from Cam yet?”
After getting the update about her flavor-of-the-week's rejection and what it says about his lack of taste, Jade and I say goodbye at the end of the shortcut, because she lives to the right and I have to go left.
I enjoy having the last few minutes to myself. Time to breathe and process the day’s events.
When I get home, a flutter of excitement—then unexpected fury—hits me when I see a suspicious red convertible parked in my driveway.
Ryder.
Only he’s not in the car. Which could only mean one thing…
I bound into the house, slamming my
backpack onto the floor in the entranceway.
I can’t even speak when I see my mother sitting at the table with him.
He looks up at me and smiles. He lifts his coffee mug and sips from it, peering at me through long lashes as he drinks. I notice the book on the table between Ryder and my mother.
Oh no, she wouldn’t.
Oh yes, she did!
“What are you doing with my yearbook?” I grab it away, snapping the hardbound cover closed.
My mom pulls back like I slapped her in the face. Good, she deserves punishment. What kind of mother would mortify her only child this way? I had braces for crying out loud! Why would she be letting Ryder see this?
And what is he doing in my house?
“I was just letting your friend here get acquainted with the high school staff and some of the students, since he’s new and all.” She pushes away from the table, reaching for me. “Sweet pea, are you okay?”
I back away toward the doorway, clutching the yearbook to my chest. So many questions race through my head. Why is Ryder here? Why this sudden interest in me? Why is my mom so buddy-buddy with him?
I glare at Ryder.
“I told you I’m busy. Can’t you listen?”
My mom gasps. Rudeness is about as acceptable as animal sacrifice in her mind.
“Don’t be mad, sweet pea. He came looking for you, and I invited him in to wait. Figured you wouldn’t be long.”
“I would have given you a lift, but I didn’t see you walking home.” Ryder continues to sit, relaxed as a cat in a sunny window.
“I took the short cut home. Not that it’s any of your business.”
My mom wrings her hands, clearly uncertain how to handle my behavior. I don’t even care about the consequences of my hostility—I just want my life back to normal. Predictable and mundane. Just the way I like it.
I make the mistake of glancing at my mom, who looks completely horrified. I start to feel bad for putting her in this situation. I suppose it wouldn’t hurt me to be polite.
“I’m sorry you came here for nothing, Ryder, but I must excuse myself. I have lots of work to do.” Sweetness drips from my voice.
I turn to go, and am stopped by a hand on my shoulder. I whip around, raising an eyebrow at my mom.
“Oh, hon. Ryder offered to bring your schoolwork home for you tomorrow. I was able to get you an emergency appointment with a neurologist—friend of your dad’s from college. We have to leave early and testing may take a few hours, so you’ll have the day off from school.”
Is this supposed to make me happy? Does she even know me?
“Thanks, but no thanks. I’m fine. I don’t need a neuro. I’ll be at school.” This last part I direct toward Ryder.
“It’s best to have you checked out, make sure you’re okay. I insist.”
I sigh and saunter off to my room. My mom gasps again, but I have a really hard time caring.
I throw my miserable self on my bed, listening intently for signs of Ryder leaving. I take out my notebook and start jotting down ideas for ways to showcase my group of kids. I’m on idea number five when Mom knocks softly on my door, then opens it without waiting for permission.
I don’t look up. Just wait for her to speak.
“Felicia?”
“What?” I snap.
I can feel her withdrawing from me. She doesn’t even step into the room. I need space from her and everyone else who is trying to suffocate me with their needs. I have things to get done, and can’t deal with their emotions just now.
“Felicia, are you still going to tell me you’re not bothered by the separation between your father and me?” She pauses, and I answer her with a glare. “Sure seems like something is going on with you. You’ve never snapped at me, let alone been rude to anyone.”
“Yeah, well, things change, Mother.”
Silence has a strange humming kind of sound. The tension in my room is so thick, I can barely breathe. I know I need to rein in my attitude, but something inside me is driving me to be… mean. And it kinda sorta feels good, so even though there’s a part of me screaming for good behavior, there’s another part reveling in this negativity.
That horrible pain returns to my head, and my scalp begins to itch. I feel my body temperature rise, and I know I’m about to lose my temper. My mom starts to walk into my room. I can’t have her see me this way.
As the pain intensifies, I grab my head, desperate to make the feeling go away. My mother’s voice drifts in and out, but I have no clue what she’s saying.
I feel her getting closer, reaching out to comfort me. I also feel something sprouting from my head. I tighten my grip on my head and scream, “Get out!” My mom rushes toward the door. I sense her disappointment, can hear her sobs amplified through my throbbing head.
Three drops of blood land on my notebook. The pain recedes, and I feel normal again.
Chapter Eleven
I have to make amends to my mom, but need to be sure I’ve got my act together first. I’ve never heard her cry before. Well, she cries during those sappy love stories or family dramas on TV, and maybe even the occasional sad song, but I never even heard her cry when Dad left. I have definitely never been the source of her sad tears.
I decide to veg out in front of my computer for a few. Something mindless before I apologize.
No new emails. Nothing eventful in the school news.
And then I check Facebook.
Jenny Jones’s post is first on my news feed.
“OMG. So excited! Going to be a big sister! I wonder if it will be a boy or a girl? Let the betting begin!”
If someone thrust a knife into my back, it wouldn’t hurt as much. If a plastic bag was tightened over my head, I’d be able to breathe easier.
If Jenny’s mom is pregnant, there’s a very good chance that my dad is the father.
I rip the keyboard away from the computer, throwing it across the room. Picture frames from my bureau tumble to the floor, leaving shards of glass littering the hard wood.
How dare he do this to my mother?
Does she know?
And if he’s having a baby, his first biological child, where does this leave me?
Chapter Twelve
My alarm clock screams at me, signaling the start of a new day. I groan when I remember my mother intends to drag me off to have my head examined.
The car ride with my mom is awkward. I keep choking on the words I know I need to say. She’s trying to act like nothing’s wrong, but I can’t play along.
“Mom…” My voice trails off as my courage flees. Does she even know about dad and his girlfriend getting pregnant? Did he have the decency to tell her before little miss know-it-all?
I feel the stinging in my head, and try to think of something else. I play with the radio, hoping to tune into something that will subdue my snakes and ire.
“Did you want to say something, sweet pea?” Mom glances at me from the driver’s seat. I turn up the radio.
“Guess not,” she mumbles, but I pick up on the defeated tone.
The neurology appointment goes well—I get a clean bill of health. The neurologist, a tall, skinny guy with the whitest hair I’ve ever seen, tells my mom that I’m “A-Okay,” and that there’s no physical reason that he can see for my sudden personality change. He even says he likes my personality, so maybe she should keep me.
I kinda like the guy, until he mentions that my increased agitation and irritability may be due to hormone overload, late bloom, or something psychiatric, and maybe I should see a shrink or something.
Bye-bye approval rating! Is there someplace online to rate doctors? Give scathing reviews?
I slink out of the office, mortified at his insinuation. I’ve already suspected that maybe I’m going crazy, but hearing it from this cheerful old guy with the singing fish on his office wall makes my fingers curl into my palms.
I sit in the backseat of the car, needing space away from my mother.
When she turns off the radio, I know I’m in for another lecture.
“Felicia.” I develop a sudden interest in my cuticles. “Felicia, this is serious. We need to talk. And since you’re trapped in my car, we are going to have this conversation.”
Out of nowhere, an image of Ryder fills my mind. His long legs, his sleek, muscular build. His wide shoulders, capable of lifting me with no effort. His luscious, kissable lips.
His annoying habit of appearing everywhere, even in my imagination…
Damn it!
Will my mind go to any dark place to avoid listening to my mother? Yikes.
Mom rattles on about my father, the separation, the obligatory “It’s not your fault” talk, my behavior, my need to be responsible for my actions, blah, blah, blah. I hear what she’s saying, but none of it really registers. I mean, yeah, many teens have lived through their parents’ breaking up, but how many have had snakes move into their hair follicles? How many teens get to experience the oh-so-lovely joy of having blood drip from their eyes when angry?
I know many people have issues with rage, but how many have this driving need to avenge any wrong doing? How many attack their classmates in the cafeteria, then black out?
The words are nearly out of my mouth when my mom pulls up in front of my school. I realize more than an hour has passed since we left the doctor’s office, and I haven’t heard her voice droning at all for over half the trip. I guess she gave up on trying to get through to me.
“You only have another two hours left of school, but you were pretty clear about not wanting to miss any full days, so go ahead.”
I smile at this unexpected little gift.
“Oh, crap. I don’t have my backpack.”
“If you’d rather come home…”
“No, I’m good.” I jump out and slam the door before she changes her mind about letting me stay.
I acclimate myself to the mid-day schedule within minutes, and rush off to English class as soon as the bell rings. I do my best to focus on the class discussion about The Odyssey, but I’m having trouble focusing. Partly because I can feel Jenny Jones staring at me, even though she’s about three seats diagonally behind me. My luck that she’s in so many of my classes. I don’t know how she qualified for Honors.