the corner I feel a slight shove on my back. With my head down and my book bag clutched to my chest, it's just enough to send me sprawling onto the floor. My knees and palms take the brunt of the fall but they don't hurt nearly as bad my pride does.
Giggles fill the surrounding space while I gather my backpack and the few things that came out of it. My trace paper for art being one of them.
“Oh, look!” I hear conspiratorially. “She must be Special Ed or maybe she's just an idiot.”
Louder giggles. “Yeah and a mute too,” another voice chimes in.
I'm just about to stand when I feel a hand slide under my arm. With an electric jolt, I jerk my shoulder forward, pulling away and wondering what that was, and what they're planning next.
But the hand stays with me and someone comes up from behind.
“Stand up,” he all but snarls while lifting me from the floor. I look up at his face, but he's staring at the three girls that were surrounding me. Then his eyes scan the hall, which is filled with onlookers.
His jaw tightens and so does his grip on my upper arm. I wince, lifting my shoulder, hoping he'll release the pressure so the strange static feeling will abate.
His tawny eyes immediately find mine, and then he lets go with a jerking motion. He takes one menacing step toward the girls right as the bell rings. Everyone scatters.
Dante bends down, grabbing my bag from the floor before shoving it at me. I can't tell who exactly he's pissed off at, but I'm guessing everyone, me included.
I pull my bag to my chest and drop my face, ready to head to my next class.
Hours later, in art class, Dante is still aggravated. He tosses his stuff on the table, and his frequent sighs leave no room for doubt. Or maybe this is his everyday attitude and I'm paying more attention. His pencil seems to scratch across his paper instead of the graceful sketching I've noticed before.
“They would probably leave you alone if you didn't make yourself such an easy mark,” Dante mutters in that deep voice of his. I tilt my head, gaining a new perspective. He thinks I asked for those girls to pick on me? I don't bother responding to that.
He drops his pencil and turns to face me. “Are you going to sit there and ignore me?”
“I'm listening to you,” I assure him, looking down at my hands in my lap.
“Why won't you look at me when I talk to you, hell you don't look at anyone. You act like no one else exists.” He sounds incredulous.
He thinks I'm being stuck up, that I'm being a bitch. I do look over at him now. I give him my entire attention.
I'm tired, tired of being the invisible girl, tired of working on getting mediocre grades, tired of going to school all day and working half the night. But mostly, I'm tired of worrying about my mom all by myself. Worrying when her next episode will come, worrying about coming home and finding her ready to move again, running from God knows what. I let him see all of it.
“I'm just trying to survive,” I answer him too honestly.
His eyes soften, and his mouth opens, letting out a soft breath. “Survive what?” He tries for a whisper but still feel his deep tenor I bet he'd have a lovely singing voice.
“Everything,” I mutter, looking away from him. It's too much. I can't give this total stranger a piece of me; it's probably his fault to begin with. He's the one that told cheer girl I asked him for help, and I know she's the ringleader of my new visibility. If it weren’t for him, I wouldn't even be a blip on her radar.
He doesn't try to speak to me for the rest of class, and I'm grateful.
Mr. Adams gives me a few more pages, which will help me with the nose and mouth, before class is over. I take those and my trance paper home even though the girls basically called me retarded because I needed it.
Work is a little busier tonight. Most of the booths are full and I sigh, knowing I can actually be useful.
Maggie stays behind the long counter helping all the customers sitting there, while I take the tables and booths.
“On Thursdays things pick up,” Maggie explains while I'm wiping down an empty booth. “We usually stay busy through