This War Paint

Jane


“So what’s brought a lovely girl like you here today Jane?” Mrs Davis asked.

I didn’t miss the insinuation in her words - that normally her room was filled with students who were far from lovely. I also didn’t miss the confusion in her tone – just what could possibly be bothering Florence’s sweetheart to the point where she’d shed a few pathetic tears during calculus?

I hated calculus. It was an ugly, stupid, pointless subject which I’d never apply to my life outside of a classroom full of other equally bored teenagers. It didn’t help that it was the only class I wasn’t doing exceptionally well in, or well at all for that matter. I was scraping a pass if I stayed up studying all night the day before big tests and flat out failing if I didn’t.

My teacher was a kind old woman who would always offer me more help than the rest of the class, which I grew uncomfortably aware of. If I was struggling with a particular question (when wasn’t I?) she’d see my abandoned pencil and make straight for my desk. Even if other students had their hands waving in the air, desperate for a shred of attention, I’d be the one she’d steer for first. Calculus was my Achilles’ heel according to her. She was going to be the saviour who amended this small weakness, so I could be all perfect again. Mrs Granger liked to think her unnecessarily overdone help was curing me of this Achilles’ heel. I thought she was deluded and wasn’t helping me with any of my various Achilles’ heels, or calculus for that matter.

But today it hadn’t been calculus itself which had pushed me over the edge. The long, complicated math equation I was expected to solve hadn’t been the thing to bring tears to my eyes. Not even Mrs Granger’s overenthusiastic help and my peers’ eyes burning holes into every inch of me.

David Armstrong’s voice was replaying over and over and over again in my head as if the intercom from this morning had gotten stuck on his little speech. On the wicked words he’d said. Cutting into my like sharp nails, drawing blood again and again only to be covered by layers of skin and muscle so nobody else could see the damage. But I felt it, in my trembling lip and the way the other students looked on at me curiously.

Behind hands whispers were exchanged. Whispers which called my innocence, my very image, into question. Something I’d worked so hard to maintain was, at these moments, crumbling away from my hands. Broken down by David and his vendetta against me. I knew now he was determined to see my demise through fully, and he’d done it in such a way that made him out to be a hero. How had I ever liked the guy? All he was was desperation and hate, merged together in flesh and bone.

My mind flickered to my baby sister somewhere amid this school, listening to the words condemning me into a cheap whore. Would she be mad? Would she believe them? I didn’t share everything with her – it had been a knee jerk reaction to shield her for my entire life and my own feelings fell under a category which may hurt her. She didn’t know about my tattoo, about my shaky grades in calculus, about David and I in that bathroom, about how much Mom’s illnesses affected me. I never wanted any of that for Helen, but sitting in calculus just staring at the impossible calculation, I realised she didn’t know me any better than the curious onlookers at my elbows.

And so all it really took was Mrs Granger to ask me in her overly friendly voice if I understood everything. Of course I didn’t. I didn’t understand a bloody thing! Not socially and certainly not in calculus.

I could only imagine what would be streamed through the hallways when class ended. Jane Hathaway, yeah she just started randomly crying in calculus today. I expect it was about what David announced this morning, do you think she loves him or something? Maybe she’s just embarrassed about the whole world knowing she lost her virginity in a bathroom.

“Do you want to go to the councelor my dear?” Mrs Granger had asked just as my sobs started to become a bit too loud and distracting. Honestly she could have said anything in that moment and I would have agreed – anything to get out of that classroom and away from those burning eyes in every direction.

I shrugged while levelling my calmest stare on Mrs Davis. The woman was a sorry excuse for a councelor, there was no way I was going to open up to her about a thing.

“Period,” I attempted a wry smile “they always make me more emotional.”

She raised a single bushy eyebrow “you’ve never had an episode like this before.”

“Extra pressure from certain subjects, it’s no big deal. I just got a bit frustrated at myself in calculus and cried. It happens to loads of people – heck it happened to Julie Andrews the other week.”

Mrs Davis seemed unimpressed by my lie. Here was another woman who wanted to cure whatever ailment I had. Anything to fix me up perfect for the town again, give them their role model back in peak condition. Obviously a lacking grade in calculus and a flood of tears during class weren’t quite up to scratch.

“I think it might be a good idea to call home, maybe talk over any issues you have. Letting things fester only creates a breeding ground of problems.”

I swallowed a lump in my throat “That’s really unnecessary, Mrs Davis, because everything at home is just fine.”

Hadn’t I said that to Fraser just now? Fine. I wondered if my lie had sounded as hollow to him as it did to me now.

It had taken me by complete surprise when I’d found the boy looming over me in the hallway. His tattoos made me want to stupidly lift up my shirt and show him the one of my very own, as if hoping to prove something to him. Which was dense because I didn’t even know the guy and didn’t owe him a thing. But it was sweet of him to ask if I was alright. He obviously knew, everyone who’d heard David that morning knew, but I appreciated his asking instead of just prying into me with nosy stares.

Even if it was completely out of the blue.

It wasn’t hard to see why the entire town saw him as intimidating. He was intimidating with that muscular build and that large ear piercing and that shaven head. I should have felt appalled talking to him, or at the very least scared, but none of those things felt relevant. If I knew anything it was that looks could be deceiving, that just because someone seemed perfect or dangerous didn’t make them so.

“Okay,” Mrs Davis was wringing her hands together in a gesture I could only describe as despairing. She was disappointed that she couldn’t be the hero of today. I was just relieved that her incessant questioning was coming to an end. “Well, if you’re okay with it, I’d like to end our session here today – we’re not getting anywhere. Maybe next week when you come to see me you’ll be a little bit more open.”

I caught the meaning behind her polite pretences. Next week I’d have to divulge something juicy, maybe throw in my Mom’s illness, my Dad’s unemployment, David Armstrong and his cruel rumours. Or maybe I’d make up something more believable than simple PMS. I had a whole week to work on it now.

Quickly nodding to appease the councelor, I bolted out the door and into the still-empty hallways. At any moment the bell would ring. At any moment I would be just another face in the crown, only I’d never be just another face. If not just for my striking red hair, for the reputation I had trapped myself within, or maybe the fact that everyone believed I lost my virginity against someone’s sink. To a vulgar dick.

Something caught my eye as I brought my bag closer to my chest. I just stood in the middle of the empty hallway and stared at him. At Fraser. His silhouette was just visible from where he stood near the outside doors, sunlight casting half of him into shadow. I could tell by his posture that he was smoking, his hand stuck out slightly as he held the cigarette.

I wondered just what had compelled this stranger to ask if I was alright. If it was the same mentality which had driven Mrs Davis and my calculus teacher to ‘help’ me. Or if he, like so few others, was genuinely worried. But of course that was impossible – it was probably just common courtesy. Maybe he had a point to prove to himself and the town, that he wasn’t the devil that they tried to paint him as.

It was then that the bell chimed, deafening me. And I became submerged by the gaggle of pupils, tugged back into the burning stares and raised eyebrows. Nobody touched me as if I was a blockade in a torrent of river. I longed for it though, for another human’s touch. Being untouchable, invincible, was tiring, and I was tired of playing the perfect role.