The Rules of Life

“Mr. Hardacker?” My mouth kind of dropped open slightly at seeing his tall form there, and dressed in street clothes. He didn’t look like a teacher at all, but some college frat boy. He wore jeans and a gray, worn college sweatshirt and his hair stuck up oddly, like he’d repeatedly run his fingers through it. The only thing that reminded me that he was indeed an adult, and my teacher, was the tired look in his eyes, the weary expression on his face. “What are you doing here?”

His eyebrows arched up in question. “What do you mean? You called me, McKinley,” he told me. Which was true. I had called him but that had been hours ago and I’d long since given up hope that he’d come help me.

“Yeah, but that was hours ago,” I reminded him. “I sort of thought you’d blown me off or hadn’t gotten the message.”

Mr. Hardacker shook his head. “No, Miss Miller,” he said, “I got your message an hour after you sent it. But it took me a while before I could contact the judge and your father. Now come on. I’m sure the police want you gone just as much as you want to be gone.”

I lifted a finger, the universal ‘hold up’ signal. Then I turned to the officer behind the front desk. He was old, with snowy white hair and glasses perched on a large, crooked nose. I approached his desk and tapped my fingers on the desk but the old man must have been deaf cause he didn’t seem to hear me. Behind me, Mr. Hardacker sighed but he didn’t say anything. I tapped louder. Still nothing and by now, I was getting annoyed with the noise.

“Excuse me!” I said loudly. The old man jumped and looked up at me.

“Can I help you?” he asked in his croaky old man voice.

I smiled sweetly, my legs crossed as I stood, trying to cut off any urge to pee. “Yes,” I said, “Where is your bathroom?” The old man pointed to a hallway. “Thank you.” I turned to Mr. Hardacker. “I’ll be right back.”

“Can’t you wait?”

“No!”

Peeing was fabulous. God, there aren’t any words to describe how wonderful peeing is when you’ve held it in for so long. It was like eating apple pie, fresh from the oven, and it melting in your mouth. Or, if you’re not into apple pies, it’s like seeing that person, the one you’ve always crushed on or loved or whatever, and seeing that they return that feeling. It’s like that. Wonderful. Perfect. And over all too soon. I washed my hands, taking extra care because who knows what germs I had just been sitting in? None of my cellmates looked too into hygiene so maybe none of the ones before me did either. I shuddered at the thought, dried my hands on some paper towels, and went out to meet Mr. Hardacker and get the hell out of here.

But he wasn’t alone.

My father stood, towering over even my tall teacher, a look of annoyance on his otherwise perfect face. Or so I’d been told. After peeing, all my good graces had gone, leaving behind only my anger at being arrested trying to break into my own home and the sting of betrayal that it had been my dad’s call. We weren’t on good terms, this was true, but I was daughter. Didn’t that count for anything?

They weren’t speaking, Paul and Mr. Hardacker. And Mr. Hardacker even seemed a little pissed off. I wondered what they’d spoke about on the phone and if that had translated to the mood here or if they’d had an entirely new conversation while I was in the bathroom. Either way, I was about to walk right back into a testosterone battle. I was really getting tired of boys now. No good-nicks, the lot of them. When I reached them, and my dad spoke, I was weighing the pros and cons of becoming a lesbian in my head.

“McKinley, come with me,” Paul said. My arm gave a slightly painful throb at the reminder of the ordeal earlier, where ‘come on’ had meant ‘let me drag you forcefully’. I looked over at Mr. Hardacker, half expecting him to protest. But he didn’t and really, I couldn’t blame him. Who’s gonna pick a fight with an ex-football star?

I turned to my teacher though, before we walked out the door. “Thank you,” I said, meaning it. Mr. Hardacker nodded. Then my dad grabbed my arm and pulled me out the door. “Ouch. Jeez, you could at least let me run off before you start with the man-handling. Which, by the way, I got way too much of today. Thanks for that.” This thank you was laced with sarcasm and a little bit of bitterness. Paul was silent. He’d let go but the threat, though unspoken, was still clearly there: run and there’d be consequences. And all this for saving a damn cat. See if I ever do anything nice ever again.

The car ride was filled with even more tension than before. I drummed on the door to keep myself from yelling. This could wait until we got home.

“I can’t believe you called your teacher to bail you out,” Paul said bitterly. “I’m your father!”

I scoffed. Okay, maybe it couldn’t wait. “Some father,” I told him. “You’re the reason I was in jail in the first place! You called the pigs on me.”

Paul’s hands clenched around the steering wheel, the stark white of his bones standing out against his skin. If his hair grayed prematurely, like Principle Tanner’s had, then good. It was no less than he deserved, to lose his pressure looks. “You snuck out of the house,” he reminded me. “I was trying to teach you a lesson.”

I rolled my eyes. I may be a good bull-shitter but my dad was the king of it. Where else could I have gotten it? Certainly not from my mom, who used to diffuse our problems. Until she didn’t. Were we the reason she left? Because her daughter and her husband couldn’t get along for more than five seconds? The thought that my mom was gone because of me stung but instead of feeling hurt, I just felt more anger towards my father. I wasn’t the only one, if that was the case.

“I hadn’t been aware I was under house arrest,” I replied, “And I learned my lesson: don’t trust my father because he’ll just stab you in the back.” After that we didn’t talk. Paul stopped the car about two blocks from our house. “Why did you stop? Our house is a little ways further or are you already going senile?” My words, from anyone else, would have been jokey. Their father would have laughed, maybe tossed a joke back. But this was me and my dad. Everything I said, I said to hurt, so my words backed a slight bite. He hit the lock and said, “Get out.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Out. Get out.” He reached over me and opened the door. The air was cold, colder even than the jail. “Walk home and think about what you’ve just said. I expect an apology before you’re allowed to go inside.” When I still didn’t move, he clicked my seat belt and pushed me towards the door. I stumbled out, dumbfounded, and stared as he drove off.

That was how Mr. Hardacker found me, standing on the street corner, waiting for the realization that my dad had called the cops on me and practically abandoned me, to slap me in the face.

“McKinley? What are you doing?”

My teeth chattered as I spoke, “I c-could ask you th-the same question.”

He pulled alongside the curb and unlocked the door. “Get in,” he said. I forced my body to move, having to actually tell my brain what to do. Step. Reach with arm. Open door. Step. Get in. The air was warm and I put my hands in front of the heater. We sat there until the chattering had stopped and I had relaxed against the seat, the chill having left my bones.

“How’d you find me?” I asked. He put the car into gear and pulled into a driveway before backing up and turning around.

“I was following you,” was his reply. He paused at the stop sign, like a good driver, and then turned.

“Stalker,” I joked. “You’ll see me to – ” My joke fell through. I was suspended. He would not be seeing me tomorrow. Mr. Hardacker glanced at me quizzically in the mirror.

He cleared his throat. “I wasn’t entirely sure of how your father would handle the current situation and seeing him forcefully” his voice got hard “drag you from the police station, I didn’t want to take any chances. I followed to make sure you’d get home safely, and not end up in some ditch, not to be missed until far too late.”

I frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean? No one would miss me?” I knew I was hated but hey, wouldn’t any of my enemies miss my insults? This kind of thing could hurt a girl’s feelings.

“I just meant that you’re suspended so your school wouldn’t be aware of your skipping until you’re off and even then, skipping isn’t unusual for you,” he explained. Which made it a little better but not much. He didn’t really know how to tiptoe around a delicate flower, ie me. “Is this the street?”

“Yep. It’s the one that looks exactly like that one…” My voice trailed off as something outside the window caught my eye. “Stop the car!” Mr. Hardacker slammed on the brakes. I took a moment to enjoy my movie-moment. “Hey, that was kind of cool.”

“McKinley, what on earth – ” But I was out of the car, crawling through the bushes until my hand bumped into a small, quivering ball of fur.

“Kitten!” Backing out of the bush was an entirely different task. The branches pulled at my hair and my clothes. It was better than a rose bush but still painful. The kitten yowled, shivering violently in my grasp. My heart went out to it and I scooted backwards carefully until I felt something warm on my legs. They were hands and Mr. Hardacker pulled me out, being much more gentle than, say, my dad. I cradled the kitten in my arms and he mewed, pushing his head against my hands.

Mr. H sat next to me on the damp grass until the kitten had calmed itself. “All that work for a cat?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“If only this was the only work I’d put into him,” I said. This earned me not one, but two raised eyebrows. So I told the story. The rosebush and the rush to get him inside and then the story of how my dad called the cops on me. That part didn’t make him very happy and he got all broody after that. When my story was done, we still sat there quietly until Mr. H pushed himself to his feet and offered his hand to me.

“Come on,” he said. I hesitated. I wasn’t used to being helped but he’d tried to help me earlier, more than once, even though he’d called my dad which really wasn’t helpful at all. But his intentions had been good. So I made the decision, right then and there, that I’d trust my frat boy model math teacher. I put my hand in his and he pulled me to my feet. If you’re thinking some moment happened right then, like we were so close that I could see the swirling flecks of gold in his beautiful brown eyes, or that he held my hand longer than was necessary, than you’re sorely mistaken. He dropped my hand and walked back to his car. He did open the door for me, which was nice and gentlemanly. I stroked the kitten as he drove me home and when he pulled into my driveway, I spoke again.

“I’m naming him Soe,” I said.

“So?”

“No, Soe. With an e.”

“S-O-E?” I nodded. “Systems of equations? You’re naming your cat systems of equations?”

I laughed. “Who’s the math nerd now?” And I got out of my car, gave a wave goodbye and tried the door. It was, of course, locked. Ah, right. That apology.