Not a Sound

My mom is angry for me skipping school.

I couldn't deal with it, I sign.

What was it this time? she asks, frustrated. This is the fifth time this has happened.

I'm still getting A's in classes. I sit very still on the couch while my mother paces. She pulls her greying hair into a bun, something she does when she is impatient, and stops to look at me. Her gaze is not piercing, but rather tired and damp, like a rag left out in the rain overnight.

It's not about that, she says. It's about you running from your problems.

I swallow and keep my hands folded in my lap.

Eventually you're going to have to stand up for yourself, she says. I can't keep excusing you from school. It won't solve the problem in the end.

What am I supposed to do, then? I think to myself. There's nothing I can do to help solve this. I can't fight Melissa off, and I can't speak to her to tell her off. Going to the principal wouldn't help either, she's the principal's daughter...

Mom says, I need you to be strong.

I sign nothing and rise to leave the room.