Where We Stand

3 | Where We Stand

Chapter 3

I'm a dying vengeful star wreaking havoc in the universe, spitting debris and elements into space. I'm a violent supernova burning brighter than a million stars. I'm a deadly black hole sucking everything in its pa-

Music blasts from the inner pocket of my coat. My bag slips from my grasp, landing on the doormat with a soft thud. I toss the edges of my scarf away from my prying hands. My fingers close around the phone in my pocket and I silence the ring tone. I look through the glass on the kitchen back door. No sign of Mom.

Unlocking the door, I sneak in and continue my inner monologue. I'm a master of stealth, a silent shadow as black as night, a ghost invisible to all. I tiptoe my way up the stairs, imagining myself as the violent supernova melting the smile off Mrs. Davis' face and setting Charlotte's hair on fire. A loud bang startles me. It takes me a moment to realize it's only a gust of wind blowing the window at the end of the hall.

Damn, distracting myself with gory images isn't helping.

When I was six, I watched a space documentary and saw Jupiter for the first time. I remember the feeling of fear that gripped me and at the same time, the intense wonder that claimed my soul. I was afraid and awed. It was huge and strange and so far away. I asked Dad if we could take a plane to Jupiter to which he'd answered:

"You can't, Nana. You need a rocket."

So I'd asked why a plane wouldn't take us and he had to explain about rocket propulsion, liquid fuel, gravity, Newton's Third Law of Motion and other terms my six-year-old mind was eager to learn. Afterwards, I made it a habit of watching space documentaries every time I needed a distraction.

Lately, I've been distracting myself by blurting any space-related strings of words. I mentally cringe. What kind of a teenager calls herself a "dying vengeful star" or better yet a "violent supernova"? I must be getting really creative these days.

I reach my bedroom, shut myself inside and sigh in relief. Mom is not in the house. I found no note on the fridge which only means she's busy working. I take out my phone and check the call log. There's one miss call from Megan. No text from my mother. She does not like to be disturbed during working hours. I expect by now, she knows about the community service. My face contorts into a cringe at the thought of her reaction.

Carlos is so going to pay for this.

Mrs. Davis didn't let us pack our things, walk back home in shame and save us any public humiliation. Oh no, she made us walk back to class (still in shame) so that we could spend the rest of the day continuing our studies like good old seniors while contemplating the weight of our actions and the consequences to follow aka the pity looks, the jeers, the barrage of questions on what our punishment entails, the rocketing gossip, the impending you're grounded and whatever other punishments our parents had in mind and well, the obligatory public humiliation.

Leaving my room for the bathroom, I undress and turn the tap. Warm drops of water drench my body. I close my eyes and let the events of the day whirl away from my memories like images leaking out of a photograph, leaving behind plain white paper. By the time I'm out of the shower and back in my room, I am ready to face the mandatory volunteer activities. I am ready to face my Mom.

A thwack thwack sound on my window jolts me from my thoughts. I dress up in haste, throw a shawl over my shoulders and peer outside. The sky is a bruised parchment, darkened in places by slates of grey clouds and bleeding orange at the western horizon. My gaze shifts to where our garden is, pausing over a boy with windswept hair standing in the midst of blooming autumn flowers. He lifts his right hand and flings a pebble in the air. Out of instinct, I drop to the floor. The pebble smacks against the window with another thwack.