Repent (The Disciples 3)

I told her not to get her hopes up. But she’s so good and always tries the hardest. Does the best so her stupid parents will notice her.

“Edge Daniels, what on earth are you doing?” My teacher Mrs. Temple scowls at me. She hates me because of my dad and the way we are. She doesn’t even try to hide it. If she can be a bitch, she can.

“Sorry, but I was asked to pick up Dolly’s award, so I did.” I shrug. Her eyes narrow on me and I wish she was nicer. She’s like a mean old witch. I mean, she’s got to be close to forty. You know: old and grumpy.

“Next time you need to pick up an award for someone, I expect a note. Who is this child? And which class is she in?”

I’m saved by Mr. Garrett who walks by and asks her a question. The assembly is over, and we make our way back to our classroom. I’m a couple doors down from Dolly’s classroom.

David and Jason are in the big kids’ area. Chuckie is already in middle school, which I guess is a big deal. But all of us go to the same elementary school. Makes it easy for one of the moms to get us since we need to carpool a lot.

Mrs. Temple starts to tell us that it’s time for science. Though I like science, I need to fake a stomach bug. Dolly needs me more than science.

I raise my hand, only to get confused when Mrs. Temple ignores me.

“Umm, Mrs. Temple?” I kind of bend over.

“Did I call on you, Edge?” she snaps.

“I don’t feel good at all.” I look at her, but she ignores me and picks up a textbook.

I guess it’s time for drastic measures. Leaning over my desk as far as I can go, I stick my finger down my throat like I see my dad’s current girlfriend do after every meal. I blow chunks all over the tile floor. It’s super gross.

Everyone is screaming, including Mrs. Temple, as it runs down the floor causing my classmates to try to get away.

“Edge!” Mrs. Temple points to the door. “Go to the nurse.”

That’s all I wanted to hear as I grab for my backpack, almost smiling. Half the kids in my class are either crying or gagging. Toni, who sits next to me, starts to heave and I shut the door in time to hear Mrs. Temple saying, “No, not on the floor. In the trash can.”

If I wasn’t supposed to be sick, I’d be full-on laughing. This is epic.

Racing over to the office, I make sure I’m huffing as I ask to see the nurse. The woman who works in the office looks concerned and rushes me right in.

One hour later, I’m squirming because I need to pee. It adds to my “sickness,” although it’s time for me to get picked up. Where’s my loser dad?

“Mrs. Douglas, I’m not feeling so good. Can I use the toilet?”

She glances up, a sad smile on her face. I hate that look. I get it all the time. All of us do. I asked Jason about it, and he said it’s because they feel sorry for us.

Whatever. Besides my dad being mean, my mom is a stripper who travels. Like all the time. This time, I don’t think she’s coming back. I haven’t seen her in so long I barely remember her.

“Of course. Let me try your father again. He said he was on his way.” She chews on the end of her pen, which grosses me out because it’s a chewed-up mess.

I take a quick piss and as I open the nurse’s door, I hear my old man.

Geez, he’s brought his latest girlfriend. I’m embarrassed. They look so out of place. My dad has bright red hair that’s curly, kind of like Ronald McDonald’s, and a lot of freckles with a long red beard. And he looks scary, probably because he is scary.

He’s always angry, telling me I’m bad like my mom. He smells, and this time my face turns red.

“Took you long enough,” he grunts as I walk in.

“Oh, well yes. Um, he doesn’t have a fever, but he’s been throwing up and—”

“Let’s go.” My dad jerks my arm causing the poor nurse to gasp, her hand going to her chest.

“Yes, well… feel better, Edge.”

The girlfriend is dressed in high heels and a skirt that makes my cheeks burn again. I’m happy it’s not recess. Otherwise, I’d get teased.

It’s happened before, the way they look and dress. I have to beat anyone up who tries to make fun of me.

Of course, I always get blamed. Usually, I have to take the belt or my old man’s fists when I get home, depending on his day, mood, and what he’s drinking.