Sobbing harder, I reached under my skirt and lowered my panties. He pushed me forward and once again held me down as he whacked me six times with the belt.
"You don't go to any boy's room alone," he said. "And stay away from that retard, hear?"
I couldn't talk. I bit down on the blanket and waited. I felt him run his palm over my rear, and then I heard him march to the door and leave, closing it behind him. It took me a while to catch my breath and pull up my panties. I lay back in the bed and cursed him over and over, praying he would fall down the stairs and break his neck. I fantasized standing over his corpse, spitting on it, kicking it. I didn't think it was possible to hate anyone as much as I hated him.
My door opened again, and I turned in terror. It was Jennifer. She stood there shaking her head.
"Clarence Dunsen? You walked out on Jimmy Freer and went to Clarence Dunsen?"
"No," I said.
She smiled and shook her head. "Wait until everyone hears about this. If I were you, I would crawl under that bed and stay there," she advised, and walked away, laughing.
I lay there, my body like an empty glass filling with red liquid hate. Nearly two hours later, I heard them all go upstairs to sleep. I waited a little longer, and then I went to the door, my hands clenched in fists, my chest so tight my heart had trouble beating. Quietly but determined, I marched up the stairs. It was dark and still. Uncle Reuben and Aunt Clara's door was shut, as were William's and Jennifer's. I could hear Jennifer talking softly on her telephone and then laughing.
I opened the door, and she looked up from the floor where she was curled.
"What do you want?" she demanded.
"If you spread that story about me," I said, "I will tell your father what really happened the night of Missy's party."
I closed the door and walked down the stairs, somehow forgetting and ignoring the pain from my belt beating.
9 I'm Not Going to Take It
Jennifer was so quiet the next morning, she made me nervous at breakfast. She wouldn't look at me, and if she did have to gaze my way, it was as if she was looking right through me. She looked tired, her eyes dark. I imagined she had been sleeping on my threat, and it had played like a pebble under the sheet, causing her to toss and turn, flitting through her nightmares.
My hands fluttered around so that I nearly dropped a dish. Uncle Reuben was poised to pounce if I did. He kept looking at me with sparks in his eyes when I rattled cups and saucers. Jennifer kept her eyes down. Every once in a while, she would lift her chin, and I saw her puckered little prune mouth drawn up like a drawstring purse. She ate and gathered her things together with barely a syllable escaping from those tight lips.
"Are you feeling all right, Jennifer?" Aunt Clara finally asked her. I wasn't the only one who noticed a marked difference in her behavior. Usually, she didn't shut up, blabbing like someone who loved the sound of her own voice and expected everyone else to adore it as well.
Jennifer stabbed me with her nasty glare immediately after Aunt Clara's question. I half expected her to burst out with new accusations, revealing my threat. I braced myself in anticipation.
"I'm fine," she said. "I'm just tired." "I hope you're not coming down with
anything," Aunt Clara said.
Uncle Reuben's eyebrows jerked upward as if pulled by strings. "Everyone's been healthy in this house up until now," he muttered.
Did he really see me as some sort of walking, talking germ, a carrier of disease and illness, someone full of infection and decay?
"Maybe you should stay home today," Aunt Clara suggested.
"Oh, no," Jennifer said with a deep and painful sigh, "I have tests to take, and I just can't afford to miss any work."
Please spare me, I wanted to say. Since when did she care one iota about her work? She either cheated or borrowed other people's homework, and if she could find a way to get out of a test, she wouldn't hesitate. Suddenly, poor Jennifer was going to be the martyr? Now I did think what I ate would come back up. I rose from the table, clearing off dirty dishes.
Jennifer was out of the house ahead of me as usual. With the chores I had to complete--helping with the breakfast dishes, cleaning the table, organizing and fixing my little room--I nearly missed the bus. Aunt Clara hurried me along, and I charged out of the house, running down the sidewalk just as the last student boarded. As usual, there was an empty seat next to Clarence. He looked up timidly, and I smiled and sat beside him. Jennifer was in the rear with her friends.
"I'm sor. . . . sorry about my. . . my . . . stepfa fa . . father," Clarence said. "He's a jerk."
"It's all right, Clarence. Don't worry about it. I didn't think much of him," I said.
"He's got a nas . . . nasty mind. He made a lot of jokes after," Clarence said.
"Where's your real father?" I asked.
He shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe he's in California. I can't hardly remem . . remem . . ber him anymore," he said sadly, and looked out the bus window.