I just want to run.
***
After school, I dart to Coach Neill’s office, hoping to catch her before she leaves for the day. The sunlight streaming through the window behind her desk casts a sparkling glow over the simple office, catching specks of dust that float through the air. I stare at the cushioned chair across from her desk, the same one I sat in with a blanket wrapped around my shoulders just a few days ago.
She told my mother everything, I think as I drop my bag next to the chair. The sound of books clapping together draws her attention—and a sweet smile. I relax my features as I settle into the chair. She also stopped that shit from continuing.
“Alex, I was just going to call on you,” she tells me, sunflower yellow eyes alert and sparkling like the midday sun. “What brings you to my office?”
“You were going to call on me?”
She waves her hand. “You first. You know you can tell me anything.”
“Anything?”
Why did I come to her office? It certainly wasn’t for the view of the lush field behind her, the meticulously maintained soccer field, the terrace overlooking the miniature man-made pond. My lower lip quivers as my recollection of Saturday night spills from my lips.
All of it. Word vomit. It lands on her desk, splashing in every direction. If the walls had eyes, they would surely be round with surprise, and maybe even slanted slightly out of disgust. Such a powerless little girl getting assaulted left and right by four silly high school boys. How could she make herself so available and never bother defending herself?
By the time I’m done, her lips are drawn in a tight line and the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes have deepened significantly. She actually looks pissed off. Silence passes for a minute. And then two minutes. Three. She stands with a determined gaze and turns to the bookshelf on her left. Novels, instruction manuals, rule books, and historical texts line the massive black shelf, lines of dust marking the areas where books have been removed or relocated.
Her thin fingers flutter over a long black case. “What timing,” she says almost reverently. “Alex, I have something for you.” The locks click out of place, and the lid lifts easily on oiled hinges. Inside rests a brand-new fencing blade. “You’re my best student, and you’ll need the best equipment if you’re going to keep advancing.”
I stand from the chair and walk tentatively toward the case. My fingers shake slightly as I reach to stroke the handle. “It’s…beautiful…”
“I think it’s time we teach you a different kind of defense.”
My brows furrow together as I look at her. God, she’s short. I always forget how short she is. She’s practically my height, all skin and bone with slightly toned muscle. She doesn’t wear a ton of designer clothes like the other teachers, choosing instead to wear more practical clothes like a peach Polo shirt with a pair of khaki slacks and brown Sperry shoes.
I shake my head. “I don’t understand.”
“You need to stay strong, Alex,” she says while taking my shoulders. “Come with me to the gym. I’ll show you how to throw a punch.”
I smile.
That definitely sounds like one more thing I can control.
***
I’m still elated when I get home. Coach Neill is far fiercer than I expected, showing me the ropes on simple self-defense techniques that can help protect me. I’m still worried about the future, but I feel like I’m regaining control, my fingers twitching with excitement as I reach for the banister of the staircase.
“Alexandra.”
My mother’s voice elicits an eye roll. It’s second nature at this point.
But I control my reaction as I turn around. “Yes, Mother?”
Her eyes widen at my appearance. “God, you look disgusting.”
I huff. “I was working out in the gym after school.”
“Why the hell would you do that? It makes you look gross.”
“I’m not doing it for appearances, Mother.”
She waves her hand dismissively. “Whatever. Go shower. I can smell you from here. God, you’re covered in sweat. Disgusting.”
I don’t hide my rolling eyes this time.