With every step she took across the hard, gray concrete, Robyn Lockhart wondered again why her mother insisted on being so unreasonable. Getting divorced was one thing, but moving half a continent away in the middle of junior year was downright cruel.
Robyn hugged her three new notebooks to her chest as she climbed the steps to James Madison High School. How could she expect to catch up with only three months of school left? This was truly the most selfish thing her mother had ever done, and that was saying a lot. She yanked the door to the school open and was met by a gust of stale, dank air.
Ugh. She hated the place already. With reluctant steps she forced her feet to carry her down the dim hallway. “Right now Jill and Lisa are meeting at the lockers to talk about the weekend.”
In her mind Robyn could see them standing at the lockers, and she wondered what new stories Lisa had to tell today. She was always coming up with something to keep them laughing and shaking their heads at the same time. But now, thanks to her mother, Robyn was here 600 miles away from the wild stories, walking into a principal’s office, and wishing only that she could vanish into thin air.
“May I help you?” the prim receptionist asked from behind the counter.
“I need to see Mr. Findley.” Robyn willed her soft voice to stay steady. “He’s the principal.”
“I know who Mr. Findley is, Dear,” the lady said not altogether kindly, and Robyn clutched her books tighter. “May I ask what this visit is in reference to?”
“Oh, I’m Robyn Lockhart, I just transferred from Iowa.”
“One moment, Miss Lockhart,” the lady said and disappeared through a door at the back of the office.
Somehow Robyn felt as though she were outside of herself looking in as her gaze traced the lines across the back wall of the office. She was here, but she really wasn’t. It was someone else standing here, asking for the principal, she was 600 miles away living her real life.
“Right, Mr. Hudson, I totally believe you.” A very tall, very authoritative-looking man pushed a dark-headed vagrant by the collar into the office behind her, and Robyn spun, willing herself to disappear.
“I’m telling you, Mr. Tucker, I had nothing to do with it.” The vagrant twisted, trying to look up at Mr. Tucker, but it wasn’t working.
“Tell it to Findley.” Mr. Tucker deposited his prize into one of the waiting room chairs.
“Why, Mr. Tucker,” the receptionist said, resuming her position behind the counter, “I didn’t think we would see you until at least 10 o’clock.”
“What can I say, Mary Ann?” Mr. Tucker threw his hands up. “It’s spring.”
The receptionist breathed a tired sigh and nodded. Then she seemed to remember Robyn. “Mr. Tucker, I’d like you to meet our newest student. This is Miss Robyn Lockhart.” The words were far kinder than any Mary Ann had said up to that moment. “She’s going to be in your English class.”
“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Robyn.” Mr. Tucker extended his hand, and she shook it quickly and just as quickly let it go. “It’ll be nice to have some new points of view in class, won’t it, Hudson?”
The dark-headed criminal in the chair by the wall just grunted, and Mary Ann shook her head in annoyance.
“I take it that Mr. Hudson is not here about his placement onto the honor society,” Mary Ann said, handing Mr. Tucker a form.
“In his dreams.” Mr. Tucker hurriedly filled out the form.
Mary Ann surveyed Robyn long and hard. “Miss Lockhart, why don’t you have a seat? Mr. Findley will be with you shortly.”
Robyn looked around, and suddenly the office seemed very, very small. With reluctance holding her back, she pushed her feet over to the remaining chairs and took the one with the most seats between her and the criminal. It really shouldn’t surprise her, she reasoned. It was, after all, what she had expected when she’d been told she’d be transferred to a school with five times more people in one class than had attended her entire previous school, and yet nothing had really prepared her for outright criminals to be attending classes with her.
Tentatively she peeked through her eyelashes at the criminal, but the moment her gaze met his face, her heart tripped over itself. He didn’t look like any criminal she had ever seen before—he was gorgeous. He had abandoned the slumped over look in favor of the leaning back looking at the ceiling look, and from her vantage point, he looked like he could be a model in a GQ magazine. The straight nose, the slightly long, black hair brushed back from his high cheekbones. He looked like a god—a god in a black leather jacket.
“Mr. Findley will see you now, Miss Lockhart,” Mary Ann said, breaking into Robyn’s racing thoughts.
“Oh, okay.” Somehow she pushed her legs under her, took a deep breath, and forced herself to walk by the unmoving figure in the chair. ‘He’s trouble,’ her mind repeated as she measured her steps into the principal’s office. ‘He’s trouble. I’m telling you, don’t even go there.’
Five hours later Robyn yanked the schedule out of her pocket again and scanned it as the crush of bodies around her bounced her from side to side. English, Mr. Tucker, Building B, Room 417.
English was good. Mr. Tucker was good. Mr. Hudson, however, worried her. Maybe Mr. Tucker was kidding with the crack about new points of view in class. Surely, she wouldn’t be in a class with troublemakers. She had, after all been at the top of her class at Lakota. But Lakota and James Madison were two very different places—that much was supremely obvious.
Making herself as small as she could, she squeezed her way up the stairs and found herself in a near empty hallway at the top the second the bell rang.
“Well, I’ve been late for every other class. Why spoil a perfect record?” she said to the emptiness around her.
With a tired sigh, she trudged down the hall and finally found 417. She put her hand on the doorknob and then stopped. What if he was on the other side of that door? Her face went hot at the thought. What difference did it make? she scolded herself. It was obvious during their brief encounter that his scope of caring did not encompass many things and she was quite sure, that certainly included her.
“Miss Lockhart,” Mr. Tucker said suddenly opening the door for her. “Glad you found us.”
“Oh, hi,” she stammered, glancing up only briefly before she returned her gaze to the squares on the floor. “Sorry I’m late.”
“No problem, just don’t make a habit of it. Please, come on in and join us.”
He pushed the door open for her to enter, which she did on lead feet. She could feel every gaze in the room on her so she kept her own glued to the floor.
“Why don’t you take a seat over there? We were just discussing ‘A Worn Path’ page 424.” Mr. Tucker handed her a book, and Robyn took it, breathing only a small sigh of relief that at least she had already read the piece they would be discussing.
“Now, Kathryn, I believe you had the floor,” Mr. Tucker said, turning back to the class as Robyn buried her head into the pages of the well-used textbook.
“Well, I was surprised by how courageous Phoenix was—I mean even though she was old, she didn’t back down, even when the guy held a gun on her,” a young girl with the most beautiful, long, sand-colored hair Robyn had ever seen said. Kathryn was sitting directly across from Robyn in the front row, and it was obvious by her placement in the room, and the intent look on Mr. Tucker’s face, that she was no flake.
“And why, do you think she had that courage, Mr. Mayes?” Mr. Tucker’s focus shifted only slightly as he leaned against the desk and crossed his arms.
“I don’t know,” the young man with a nice face and curly black hair directly behind Kathryn said.
“Come on, Chad. This isn’t brain surgery,” Mr. Tucker said, goading.
“Well, it’s kind of trite.” Chad’s words came slowly as if he was apologizing for them. “But I think it means she did it for love.”
Mr. Tucker cocked his head to one side. “Why is that trite?”
“It’s a little over done, don’t you think?” Chad stretched his long legs into the aisle. “I’m in love, therefore, I will brave the lions and tigers and bears—oh my!”
“I see.” Mr. Tucker nodded. “Miss Layton, do you have a rebuttal?”
“I think that to some extent Chad has a point,” Kathryn said thoughtfully, “but I still think that in the end, it’s true. We’ll do things that put our own lives in jeopardy to keep those we love safe.”
“Come on, Kat. It’s a cliché, and you know it,” Chad said in annoyed exasperation.
“That’s interesting,” Mr. Tucker said. “Now, correct me if I’m wrong, Mr. Mayes, but aren’t you and Miss Layton going together even as we speak?”
Chad’s face constricted like he’d eaten a rotten lemon. “Yeah, everybody knows that. So?”
“So, is there anything you wouldn’t do for her?” Mr. Tucker asked with just the hint of a smile.
Robyn suddenly felt sorry for Chad as she watched him squirm in his seat. He was stuck, and every student in the room knew it.
“What are you saying? Would I die for her? Lay down my life so she could live?”
“Something like that,” Mr. Tucker agreed.
“I don’t think any girl is worth that,” a smooth voice directly behind Chad said.
Robyn turned in her seat, and her heart stumbled for the second time that day. It was him. The vagrant. The god.
“Ah, Mr. Hudson, I thought you might have an opinion on the subject,” Mr. Tucker said with a smile and a nod. “Would you care to elaborate?”
Slung low in his chair, the vagrant never bothered to sit up. “Love isn’t worth risking your life for. I mean, okay, you risk your life, and she says she loves you, and then what, six months down the line you hate each other’s guts?” He crossed his arms. “What’s the point?”
“The point is that you put someone else above yourself, Sean,” Kathryn said, visibly irritated.
“Other people only let you down,” Sean said with a dismissive shake of his head.
“Not all people are like that.” Kathryn turned in her seat to take him on square. “What about Chad, here? You two have been friends forever. Has he ever let you down?”
“That’s different.” The head shaking became more noticeable. “That’s about friends—not about love.”
“Oh, I beg to differ, Mr. Hudson,” Mr. Tucker said, breaking into the conversation. “I think that’s exactly what this piece is about. Let’s say for instance that Chad here needs your help with something, but it’s going to really put you out. You’re really going to have to go out of your way to do it. Would you put aside something you think is important to help a friend?”
“Probably,” Sean said with half a shrug, “but that’s different. That’s not love. That’s friendship.”
“Is there a difference?” Mr. Tucker asked.
Chad held up a weak hand. “Let me just say, I think there is a very big difference.”
Several students snickered, but Mr. Tucker never wavered. “Well, I think that love comes in a lot of different packages—sometimes in the form of a man-woman relationship, sometimes in the form of a parent-child relationship, or a grandparent-child relationship like in ‘A Worn Path, ’ and sometimes in the form of a relationship between friends. What do the rest of you think?”
Robyn tried not to be obvious as she watched Sean listen to the others expound on the truth of Mr. Tucker’s statement, but it was difficult not to attract attention because she sat in the front, and he sat in the back, an entire abyss between them. Nonetheless, even from that odd vantage point, she could see the edge around him. Yes, it was clear that Sean Hudson had weathered his share of storms, and they had made him very, very sour on life.
She wondered what he had done this morning to get into trouble. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out this morning wasn’t his first trip to the principal’s office, and her thoughts wandered back and forth from the conversation in the classroom to the desk behind Chad. He had an edge, a thin, razor-sharp edge that kept everyone else at a distance, and she knew she would never have a chance with him even if she was the last girl left on the planet.
The bell startled her from her daydream, and she stood awkwardly as the other students rushed past her out of the classroom.
“Miss Lockhart,” Mr. Tucker said. “It’s nice to have you in class. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Thanks,” she said shyly and followed the herd into the hallway.
The crush of bodies was still unbelievable to her. She had never seen so many people in one place in her life. She pulled the schedule out of her pocket and scanned it. Only two more classes and she would be free again. Trigonometry, Mr. Rascoe, Building B, Room 251. One thing was for sure she would get her exercise doing this.
By the time Psychology was over at 3:30, Robyn was exhausted. It had been seven and a half hours of lugging an ever-growing number of books up and down stairs and hallways, to rest a few minutes in a classroom, only to find that she had to do it all over again.
Slowly, she let the overstuffed backpack slide to the floor as she pulled out her schedule. Locker number 2117, Floor 2, Building C. Whatever that meant. She leaned against the wall as the hallway emptied out around her. This school was like a labyrinth, and she had the sinking feeling that by the time she figured it all out, it would be time to graduate.
“Miss Lockhart, staying after school, are we?” Mr. Tucker asked, surveying her curiously as he walked up.
She looked up and smiled at the only friendly face she’d seen all day. “No. I thought now might be a good time to find my locker, but I don’t even know where to start.”
“Oh, well, let’s see.” He took the paper from her and scanned it. “Building C. That’s where the newspaper is. I was just headed over there. I can show you if you’d like.”
“That’d be great.” Robyn hefted the backpack onto her shoulder.
“So, how was your first day?” he asked as they started down the hallway.
“Okay,” she said and then sighed. “A little overwhelming.”
“I can imagine. Was your last school this big?”
Robyn laughed as they pushed out the door into the sunshine. “The whole school kindergarten through 12th grade only had 275 kids in it.”
“Oh, so this is like culture shock, huh?”
“You could say that.”
“So, what kind of things did you do at your old school?”
“The usual, band, student council, track, the newspaper, yearbook…”
“Wow, when did you find time for school?”
Robyn laughed. “I was in line to be either valedictorian or salutatorian.”
“I’m impressed,” he said, opening the door to Building C.
“Yeah, well, it’s no big deal.” She shrugged to emphasize the point, but the words burned her throat.
“So, you say you wrote for the newspaper?” he asked as they trekked down the dimly lit hallway.
“Yeah, for two years.”
“But you didn’t sign up for the newspaper staff here?”
“I wasn’t sure I could cut it here. I heard they print a paper twice a week. We were lucky to get one out a month.”
“Well, I’ll tell you what, if you ever want to come check us out, we’re on the third floor.” He pointed directly over their heads.
“We?” she asked, puzzled.
“Oh, yes.” He held out his hands. “Meet the Chronicle’s advisor.”
“But I thought you taught English.”
“I do, but newspaper’s my first love. I had to teach English for two years to get my foot in the door here, and by the time I inherited the newspaper, I figured out I kind of like English, too. So, what can I say? They made me a deal I couldn’t refuse.”
“Well, this is where I get off.” He turned onto the next flight of stairs and pointed down the hallway. “I think your locker should be right down there.”
Thanks,” she said gratefully, knowing it really would have been graduation time before she found this place.
“Oh, and if you ever want to come check out the paper, you’re more than welcome.” His smile was friendly and inviting.
“Thanks. I’ll think about it.”
With that, he turned and bounded up the stairs. Hefting her sliding backpack up again, Robyn turned down the hallway and smiled despite the looming gloom. Mr. Tucker really was nice. She was glad she’d had a chance to meet him outside of the classroom. It wasn’t that the other teachers were mean, but they were much more formal than Mr. Tucker. He seemed like he had the time to talk—not like she was wasting his time.
In the maze of gray doors, she finally located her locker. It was a tiny expanse, hardly big enough for six books, and she wondered what someone with an instrument case or a sports bag had to do to get their stuff in one. Suddenly she realized that with the proximity of her locker to her classes, she would be lucky to get here twice a day, much less before and after every class.
“Welcome to the wonderful world of James Madison,” she said as the depression settled over her once again. It was bound to catch up with her sooner or later.
By the time she got home, the depression had intensified until it was almost stifling. She wondered what Jill and Lisa were up to back home. They were probably at track practice. She wanted to be at track, too. Far, far away from this dingy, box-filled apartment, her mother insisted on calling a condo.
Okay, so it had an upstairs, and two bathrooms. It was awful, and it was depressing. She locked the two dead bolts behind her and slumped against the door surveying her new life. Her mother would be at work until well after seven. That meant the task of cleaning out the boxes would be hers.
On tired feet she went to the kitchen and looked through the sparse pantry. She’d have to ask her mother for money for groceries tonight. With little enthusiasm, she pulled three cans off the shelf and stacked them next to the stove. She had an hour before it was time to start cooking, so she turned her attention to the boxes.
It was a given that the “family” boxes needed unpacked first although Robyn wished she could start on the mess stacked in her own room. But knowing that wasn’t an option, she reluctantly ripped the tape off of one box marked, “bathroom supplies” and began the arduous task of making a home.
Aromatic smells wafted from the kitchen when the first noise came at the lock. Robyn jumped up from the table where her Trig book lay and bounded for the door.
“Hey, Mom!” she said, smiling.
“Hey, baby, smells good.” Her mother fumbled with the keys and the briefcase she held. Robyn watched her deposit her belongings on the coffee table. “Looks like you got some stuff put away.”
“A few things,” Robyn said, happy her mother had noticed.
“What’s for supper?”
“Tuna casserole.” She went to the stove and stirred the bubbling concoction. “By the way I need some money for groceries. We’re out of everything.”
Mrs. Lockhart sighed and sat heavily at the table. “How much do you need?”
“I don’t know. I guess $20. I think I can make that stretch until Friday.”
“Well, I hope so, or we’ll be eating water.”
Robyn sighed at the sight of her mother’s defeated frame sitting at the table. This couldn’t be easy on her either, Robyn thought with some amount of guilt. Somehow, she would just have to keep her own depression at bay so she could help her mom through this difficult time.
“So, how was work?” Robyn asked, trying to sound cheerful.
“It was work. I really thought this promotion was going to be great. You know? But it’s just more work.” She fingered her daughter’s homework. “What’s this?”
“Homework on the first day? I’m impressed.” Her mother gazed at the formulas scrawled across the page.
‘It wasn’t everyone’s first day,’ Robyn’s head screamed, but she didn’t let those words find the air.
“Here’s a plate.” Robyn pushed the homework aside and set the table. “I have a lot of homework to get done tonight, so I was hoping we could eat now.”
“Oh, yeah, sure.” Her mother rearranged the plate and silverware in front of her as Robyn brought the pan from the stove. “It looks good. You know, I’d probably starve if it wasn’t for you.”
“No, you wouldn’t. You’d just have an enormous take-out bill,” Robyn laughed.
“Very true.” Mrs. Lockhart filled her plate. “So, you didn’t say. How was your first day? Did you meet any new friends?”
“Friends? I had enough trouble trying to find my classes,” Robyn said, picturing the winding halls of James Madison.
“Well, there’s always tomorrow.”
After the dishes were done, Robyn escaped to her room under the pretense of a pile of homework. Actually, she didn’t have all that much, but she wanted to familiarize herself with the Trig book and study a little chemistry before tomorrow.
Her schedule wasn’t too bad, and if anything, she was ahead in most subjects, but she wanted to keep it that way. She had been at the top of her class for eleven years, and just because she changed schools, she didn’t want her grades to suffer because of it. But even as she rewrote the formulas into her notebook, her mind wandered again to the back row of the English room.
There was something about him. Him. Sean Hudson. Maybe it was his eyes, or maybe it was the I-don’t-care way he carried himself. There really wasn’t one thing that she could put her finger on, but it didn’t matter—just the thought of him was enough to send her heart racing.
Sean. Sean Hudson. She wondered what his middle name was. Sean Michael Hudson. Sean David Hudson. Sean Nicholas Hudson.
“Robyn!” her mother called from downstairs, jolting her back to reality. “The news is on!”
She looked down at her notebook and in one swipe ripped the page out. It was scrawled with hundreds of impressions of his name.
“He’s not your type,” she said, furiously crumpling the paper and sending it flying into the trashcan. “I’m coming, Mom!”
Supper and the news. They were the two times a day she could count on spending with her mother. She wasn’t sure when or why the news routine had started, but it had become a daily ritual that she had long ago made a point not to miss.
It wasn’t until after she was back upstairs in bed looking around the dark room with no sign of life on any of the walls that the depression assaulted her again. It was always worse at night. During the day she could stay busy, but at night there was nowhere to hide from it.
The apartment was quiet around her. So different from the innumerable nights she had spent listening to the yelling on the other side of her wall. But even the quiet brought a foreboding with it. This wasn’t home—not really. This was a temporary stopover on a road leading nowhere, and as far as she could see there was no famous light at the end of her tunnel.
This was life, and it stunk.
Robyn was proud of herself. She had made it to her locker twice during the day, and so far, she had only gotten lost once. The schedule was tucked safely in her backpack just in case, but she hadn’t used it even once.
Just as she reached 417, the bell rang, and she gave an apologetic nod to Mr. Tucker who smiled as she took her seat.
“I have to say that yesterday’s discussion inspired me,” Mr. Tucker began, and Robyn sat up straighter. She was determined now more than ever to make a good impression with this teacher no matter who might be sitting in the back row. “Mr. Mayes and Mr. Hudson made some very insightful observations yesterday about the role that love plays in literature; therefore, your assignment for the next 45 minutes is to construct a paper stating your opinion on that subject.”
A groan emanated from every student behind her.
“Let me make this clear. This is not a take-home assignment. You have 45 minutes, and your paper must be at least 450 words. And yes, Mr. Mayes, grammar and spelling will count.”
Robyn pulled a fresh piece of paper out of her notebook and poised her pen, but then she stopped. What did she think? Was the I’d-risk-it-all-for-you thing really overdone? Or was it simply that the truth behind that statement was so real that authors in all time periods took it up?
She knew what she would’ve written even a couple of weeks before, but now she wasn’t sure. She thought about Jill and Lisa. They were good friends, but would she really be willing to lay it on the line for them? She thought about her mother and father. Where had love gotten them? She was sure at some point they had loved each other. So, what had happened?
“People say that love is blind,” she wrote slowly, “but love is only blind because it has the ability to see past faults, past the rough edges of a person down to the core that is really there. Just because the phrase is over-used and has become a cliché does not diminish its truth, and so it is with the theme that loving someone can give one person the courage to risk their own life for the life of another…”
She reread the opening statement. For all the evidence against it, she knew in her heart it was the truth.
Fighting the clock, she had read and reread her paper three times, and yet Robyn was still finding small mistakes here and there. The bell sounded above her, and she sighed as she marked out a word and wrote a slightly better one in its place.
“Your assignment for tomorrow is on the board. Be sure to hand in your papers before you leave,” Mr. Tucker called over the noise of the departing students.
Robyn took one more look at her paper and decided it was as good as it was going to get. She pulled her backpack from under her desk and headed for Mr. Tucker’s desk.
“Given any more thought to joining the newspaper staff?” Mr. Tucker asked, taking her paper.
“I really don’t know if I’ll have time this semester.” She shrugged. “It’s tough catching up with everything.”
“Okay, I will,” she said. “See ya later, Mr. Tucker.”
She exited the classroom and joined the mad rush of students flying down the hallway. The frenzy of the hallway was beginning to make perfect sense as she descended the stairs at the same pace as those around her. It was nearly impossible to make it to the next class on time without running and knocking a few fellow students over in the process.
Her foot hit the second floor and at precisely that moment, her body collided full-on with someone going in the opposite direction. In half a heartbeat she was on her knees in the middle of the melee with her books and papers fanned out around her.
“Oh, cripes!” She grabbed for her belongings through the myriad of passing legs and feet, rescuing a paper here and a book there.
“Are you all right?” One pair of legs stopped next to her.
“Yeah.” She dove in, dodging more feet intent on stomping on her English book. She retrieved it just in time.
“Jerks, they should learn to watch where they’re going. Here.” A hand appeared from above her. Robyn took it, pulled herself up, and came face-to-face with Kathryn, the sandy haired beauty from Mr. Tucker’s class. Kathryn stopped short. “Hey, I know you. You’re in my English class.”
“Yeah.” Robyn brushed her jeans off in embarrassment. “This place is nuts.”
“Tell me about it.” Kathryn smiled and surveyed Robyn head-to-toe. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine, but I’d better get to Trig, or I might not be for long.” Robyn swung her backpack up and jerked her mouse-color brown hair from under it.
“I hear you there.” Kathryn waved slightly. “Be careful.”
“I will.” With a sigh, Robyn rejoined the mad rush.
Kathryn reminded her of Lisa from back home. She seemed really sweet and considerate, but she was much prettier than Lisa—or anyone else Robyn had ever known in person. The bell sounded, and the hall around her emptied. There had to be a secret to this. She shook her head in amazement. She was missing something, but the trick to navigating the halls and getting to class on time was still a mystery to her.
Mr. Rascoe stared at her over his reading glasses when Robyn entered. “It’s nice you could join us.”
She hugged her English book a little tighter to her chest. “Sorry, I had a little accident in the hall.”
“Well, in the future you should remember that being late for my class is a cardinal offense not to be repeated more than once.”
“I’ll try to remember that, Sir.” Slowly she sank into her seat in the front and sighed. Some terrific first impression she was making. First, she practically wiped out in front of Kathryn, and then she got the full brunt of Mr. Rascoe’s wrath for being six seconds late.
“Well, since you made a point of disrupting my class by being late, is it too much to ask that you work the first problem from last night’s assignment on the board for the class?” Mr. Rascoe asked with sarcasm dripping from the question.
Robyn swallowed hard and pulled her book from her backpack. “I…I can do that.”
“Well, let’s see it already.” Mr. Rascoe tapped his fingers on the desk in annoyance.
She got to her feet and forced them to take her to the front of the room. What she really wanted to do was to run away and never come back, but she knew she couldn’t do that. So, with shaking fingers, she wrote the problem on the board and went through it slowly, explaining each step only to the board in front of her.
When she finished, she carefully replaced the chalk in the tray and turned around.
Mr. Rascoe appraised her work. “Well, I must say, Miss Lockhart, I am impressed. But try to be on time in the future.”
“I will.” Heat rose into her cheeks as she headed back for her desk.
She didn’t dare look around the room, that would be a deadly mistake, and she knew it. Concentrating on not falling on her face, she resumed her seat and spent the next 40 minutes forcing herself to not make any more embarrassing mistakes.
Somehow Robyn managed to make it through the rest of the afternoon with nary a mistake in sight. When she arrived home, three grocery bags and her backpack in hand, she threw the bags on the table and looked around at the still unpacked boxes. Two more days of this, and she should have most of them cleared out of the living room.
Fighting to keep the depression from finding her, she went into the kitchen to put the groceries away. If this was life, she might as well make the best of it.
It was her mother’s grand entrance, and it never ceased to amaze Robyn how her mother could hate a place one minute and the next minute it was her Utopia.
“Yeah,” Robyn agreed half-heartedly as she watched her mother bounce across the apartment.
“Pizza pockets.” Robyn got up from her homework to check the oven.
“I’ve got a date,” her mother said happily.
“You’ve got…a…date?” Robyn stopped, swallowing hard.
“With Matt Carson, one of the guys who works down the hall from me,” her mother said oblivious to the look of dismay on her daughter’s face.
“Yeah, we’re going out Friday night. Isn’t it wonderful?”
“Yeah, wonderful.” Robyn reached for the dishes to set the table as her stomach did a backward somersault. Her mother bounced off to her room, and suddenly Robyn felt like the mother with the teenage daughter, who had a date Friday night.
Friday night? How could her mother do this? It wasn’t that she thought her mother would never date again, but she certainly hadn’t thought it would happen this soon. What would her father think? What would all her friends think? Then she realized that she had no friends to care one way or another about the situation.
“So, how was school?” her mother asked, breezing back into the kitchen.
“Fine,” Robyn demurred as she pulled the steaming bread-covered food from the oven.
“Yeah, so am I.” Robyn stuffed every protest she had deep down inside her. This was no time to upset her mother’s mood, no matter how lousy she felt.
“I have a terrific idea.” Her mother dug into her food. “They’re having a Three Stooges marathon on Channel 27 tonight. What do you say we pop some popcorn and make it a girls’ night in?”
“I’ve got some Trig homework I need to finish,” Robyn said. She had no intention of wasting a whole night.
“Oh, come on, surely you can watch one with me. Just for a little while.”
Robyn shook her head imperceptibly. There was no point in arguing.
When she finally closed the door to her room after eleven o’clock, not one problem had been touched since her mother’s arrival four hours earlier. Robyn sighed in resignation as she clicked on the light over her desk. It was one of the few things she’d had time to find in her own boxes.
She thought again about the Mr. Rascoe fiasco. How did she always manage to get the unreasonable teachers? Somehow she made it through the classes, but in the beginning, it was pure torture. She pulled her calendar out of the top drawer and marked an X through the date. Only 43 more days of this. 43 days, and then a whole year, but she pushed that thought away. One day at a time.
Somehow, at some point, she thought willing the depression away from her, life had to get better.