Smile

"I hope you know," I said, slamming my satchel beside Sam's head as he slept at his desk, "that I had to get a ride from Tom on Friday night." Sam sat up, a frown on his face. "Yeah, don't give me that look mister 'I'm going to take my own damn time with this damn show.' The one I didn't even want to go to in the first place."

"Calm down, Laura," Sam whined. "You know how long it takes to get shit all set up."

"You knew I had to be home at midnight. Now I'm grounded." I crossed my arms, glaring at him. Sam rolled his eyes and stretched his arms over his head.

"Well at least you got home safely, right?" He raised his eyebrows.

I scoffed, pulling out my sketchbook and pencil. "Hardly. Valerie Mason was with him, and she could hardly even remember my name. Her car smelled like pot, and I almost threw up."

"Doesn't sound that bad." He straightened his legs.

"You weren't there."

"Suck it up. Things happen. I would've taken you home, except by the time I got done packing up you were gone and it was almost one." He made a face. Mrs. Willis came in the room, shaking the floor with her huge frame. Mrs. Willis was probably the biggest woman I had ever seen, and I couldn't imagine the number on the tags of her clothes. She was just ... so huge.

"Take your seats," she said, her voice booming. Even though she was the target of about a thousand jokes, we still listened to her when she spoke. You just didn't mess with Mrs. Willis. "We'll start off the day with a practice quiz, and I expect nothing lower than a one hundred on each of your papers. This is very simple arithmatic and I assume you all can handle it."

She began to hand out papers, and I glanced over at Sam, whose proper seat was one behind me, in the next row. He shrugged his shoulders, and I just rolled my eyes. Of course Mrs. Willis would give us a pop quiz on a Monday.

"Mr. Allison, do we have a problem?"

I didn't even have to look -- Sam was sinking so far down into his seat that you could probably only see from his nose on up. "No, Mrs. Willis."

"Then wipe that damn expression off of your face and start your work." Mrs. Willis glowered at all of twenty-three of us. "If I catch any one of you cheating, it's straight to the principal's office. Understood?"

"Yes, Mrs. Willis," the class answered.

I had already started my quiz by now, and was overwhelmed by how simple it was. Sixty-four divided by eight was eight. Twelve squared plus eight squared equals one hundred seventy eight. God, I thought. This is fourth grade math.

*

"God, Tom drives me nuts," I complained to Sam as we walked out to his car. "I have English with him, right? Out of nowhere, he decides he wants to be my partner. Then, he doesn't even know any of the answers." I sighed heavily, kicking a rock. "He stared at my boobs the whole time, too."

Sam rolled his eyes. "He's a twat."

"Yeah, and I hope he gets hit by a car. He's such a douche-bag." Tom's douche-baggery had been deducted maybe half a point because he gave me a ride home Friday night, but ever since we were small, he has been calling me names and making fun of the way that I dress. But, Tom had been my only mode of transportation home before I got into any more trouble, and beggars can't be choosers. I threw my bag into the backseat of Sam's Firebird and slumped into the front passenger seat. My day took a giant shit on me and I wanted to escape to my bedroom before my father could find me.

Sam didn't respond. Instead, we drove in this kind of awkward silence where you expect the other person to respond to your previous comment, but they never do.

"I'm fucked if my dad is home," I groaned as he pulled into my driveway. "God. If I don't call you tonight, you can have my CDs. 'Cause my dad'll have murdered me and buried me in the backyard."

"Shut up, Laura. You'll be fine." Sam gave me a sympathetic look, like sorry. But I can't help you there. You're own your own. Damn him.

"Just letting you know."

I got out of the car, and forced myself up the sidewalk, dreading every step that brought me closer to my demise. If I couldn't get the kitchen cleaned up, and find my midterm, then Dad was going to unleash his wrath. When the screen door closed behind me, it nudged my ass a little, pushing me forward. I listened closely for any signs of life in the house. Nathaniel was still at school, and I would have to pick him up later. Mom was probably still at work, which meant that Dad was either outside in the shed or taking a nap. That's what he did when no one was home. Hell, that's all he did anyway.

I threw my satchel into the front closet and kicked off my sandals, just in case a quick escape was in order. Nathaniel had left the kitchen a mess last night, and refused to clean it up. By force of habit (or just because he could), Dad would take it out on me and I would get the verbal beating. Fuck that.

Coming to the conclusion that Dad was gone, I collapsed onto the couch and flipped the television on. Watching TV had become some what of a guilty pleasure for me, and only Sam knew this. Ever since Dad started getting mean, I'd started spending less time in the house and more time outside reading or riding around on my bike. I'd ride miles and miles and miles, until my legs couldn't push the pedals down and I wasn't able to keep going.