Bad Teacher

Run. Run. Run. That’s all I’ve ever done.

* * *

Three years ago

Every time I enter my house, it feels like I stepped into a funeral without knowing someone died.

The closed curtains block the sunlight, with only the light of the lamp in the kitchen lighting the house. It smells of burning cigarettes and alcohol, mixed with a hint of spices.

I find my mother in the kitchen, putting her blood, sweat, and tears into creating the perfect tomato soup.

“Hi,” I say quickly, trying not to interrupt her, but she still looks my way.

The big bruise on her face makes me stop in my tracks. “Hi, honey! Where’ve you been?”

“Just hanging with friends,” I say, tucking my hair behind my ears because I don’t know what else to do when I see the black mark on her face.

I make everything I do sound as casual as possible, so I don’t draw attention to the fact that I’d do pretty much anything, even if it’s boring as fuck, just to stay away from home.

She smiles awkwardly, only to cover up her bruise with a bit of her hair.

We’re both in denial.

Suddenly, the front door slams open, inviting in the dark air of rage.

“I’m gonna go to my room,” I say without looking back.

“Margaret! I’m hungry!”

His voice alone makes me speed walk.

I only just manage to slam my door shut before he explodes.

“Fuck! Why’d you make this crap? You know I always fucking want chicken soup!” I hear him yell.

“I thought I’d make something different today … to surprise you,” my mom says with her soft voice.

“I hate tomato soup!”

I hear something metallic clatter on the floor, and I just know it’s the pan.

“Look what you made me do!” His voice is louder than anything I’ve heard before.

So loud, it makes me want to scream.

“Clean it up and make something else before I throw you and your filthy rat outta this house!” he yells.

Tears fill my eyes, but I don’t want them now.

I feel so helpless.

I wish I could go to my mom and fight for her, even when she refuses to fight back.

I would hit him if I knew I had the strength to match his.

In a haze, I grab my iPod and earplugs and put them in. They don’t drown out the noise until I turn on the music. “Teen Idle” by Marina and the Diamonds blares through.

Loud, so it drowns out their fighting.

Louder, so I don’t have to hear her cries.

So loud, my ears almost feel like they’re going to burst, but I don’t care.

This music is the only thing I have.

It makes me feel alive in a world that died a slow, miserable death.

* * *

Thomas

Now

One empty seat.

Hers.

Does she think she can play around with me?

When I say she needs to be there, I mean it.

I give my class an assignment to focus on so I can get to work in peace. I open my laptop and type in her name on Facebook. Luckily, I don’t need to friend her to be able to private message her.

Thomas: Where are you?

It takes her a while to answer, and I tap my fingers on the desk, annoyed at the fact that she defied my rules.

Thomas: Answer me.

Hailey: Nowhere.

Thomas: Nowhere in class, that’s right.

Hailey: Since when are you on Facebook?

Thomas: Since I met you.

I’m not afraid to admit I’ve been watching her. I know it’s against the rules, but I already broke them, so being careful now isn’t of much use. I just want her to be here. I don’t care what I have to do to make it happen.

Hailey: Stalker, much?

Thomas: Maybe if you got your ass back into class, I wouldn’t have to.

Hailey: Sorry, but I’m really not feeling up to it right now.

Thomas: Are you sick?

Hailey: I’ve been sick all morning. I never left bed.

Thomas: Really now? Because I could have swore I saw you standing near the school door this morning.

It takes her a while to answer, so I guess she didn’t expect me to know she wasn’t actually sick. I see right through bullshit. Students try that all the time, but it isn’t going to work on me. Especially not when she tries it.

Hailey: Fine. Yes, I was there. Now, I’m not. Just leave me alone.

Thomas: No. You will come to school. Now.

Hailey: Why do you care so much? Got a crush on me or something?

Thomas: Don’t test my patience, Hailey.

She’s pushing me to my limit, but I won’t let her go over it. If she won’t listen to me, I’ll teach her to listen … my way.

Hailey: Isn’t this like ‘strictly forbidden’ or something?

Thomas: Oh, we’ve already gone way past the forbidden line … You know, I’m curious. Tell me who you’re running from? Because it’s obviously not just me.

Hailey: I’m not running from anyone, and certainly not you.