Blame The Weeds (gxg)

4

Lamprocapnos spectabilis, the bleeding hearts, were lovely, fragile things with branching stems and hanging fuchsia heart flowers. Too beautiful. I sighed, pencilling in a note at the bottom of the sketch.

Skin contact can cause irritation due to isoquinoline alkaloids.

"Kareena!"

The pen jerked in my hand, creating an ugly streak across my page. I glared at my overfull notebook. I wasn't going to have room to redo this one.

"Kareena! I expect you to answer me!" Miss Reddi had two hands on her hips and aged hair puffed up on her head. She narrowed her eyes in my direction as I met her glare. I faked a slight cough, resisting the urge to look in Freya's direction.

"I'm listening," I croaked.

"Oh," she sighed. "You need me to repeat it, don't you. Because you weren't listening." I drew blood from my cheek with my teeth as she recited, "These woods are lovely, dark and deep, but I have promises to keep," and waited for me to finish the rest, but I had no idea. "Kareena!" Miss Reddi snapped again. Her voice was like splinters under my fingernails.

"And miles to go before I sleep," someone declared from my left. My face surged into flushed agitation as I scowled at Freya.

"Miss Cameron," Reddi said, "I believe I was asking your classmate, not you. I'd appreciate it if you'd refrain from speaking out of turn. Now, Kareena, you have a second chance here: who wrote the poem?"

My knee bounced against the bottom of my desk. Would it have been far-fetched to guess Shakespeare?

"It's Robert Frost," said Freya. There were snickers from the football players at the back and giggles from the girls at the front. I couldn't tell if they were laughing at me or the rage on Reddi's face as she huffed like a bull, folding her hands over her white blouse.

"Freya, this is your final warning," she said, returning to me. "Kareena. Name the title of the work. Now."

I wracked my brain for anything we'd gone over these past weeks, but nothing floated to the surface. In my sea of a mind, memories drifted on waves, but no poems, never any poems.

Freya said, "It's called Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening."

Steam shot out from Reddi's ears. "Office! Right now!"

Freya collected her bag and books, and walked toward the front of the class. Miss Reddi heaved hot breaths as she pointed towards the door. Before walking out, Freya turned around and met my gaze.

"Get out!" Reddi seethed. "I have had enough of you, Miss Cameron!"

Then Freya was gone.

Reddi jabbed a finger in my direction. "I highly suggest you open a book once in a while, Miss Barone, should you want to pass my class." She shot me a look, then returned to the blackboard. "Now, as I was saying..."

I zoned out as a boy behind me whispered, "I didn't know Freya was such a moron."

"I did," another responded. They both laughed. I'd bet they didn't know that when Freya was fourteen, her dream was to be cast as an extra in the next Star Wars movie. They didn't know she'd collected Yodas, had them all taped to the back of her locker in the dark. They didn't know she held the highest GPA in our graduating class—and the entire school. They didn't know that she cared what they thought about her. But it didn't matter. They didn't know her, and neither did I.

~

Leaning out my window into the fog, I watched the Hoffmann's van roll in. Luke was out first, not bothering to shut the door, and stalked into the backyard. He shuffled between the houses and slipped through the unlocked gate. But he almost tripped, limping on the leg that didn't quite work right. Frank was out next, calling after him while Ida hit the steering wheel before breaking down in vexed tears.