Free My Bittersweet Summer by Starla Huchton

Shop, and I took the time to relive events I’d successfully pushed away for six years.
    It had been a particularly rough day at school. I was greeted by not one, but four dead mice in my locker that had sat there all weekend, leaking bodily fluids on my math book. Matt repeatedly snapped my bra strap all through history, which was mortifying that he even knew I wore one. At lunch, one of them tripped me, probably Chad, sending me sprawling face first into my lunch. But that wasn’t even the end of my day.
    Most afternoons, I’d hide out in the bathroom after school, waiting for the majority of kids to be picked up or walk home. I was excited, though, as the second part of some TV show was airing at four, and if I hurried I could make it home in time to watch it.
    That was a terrible mistake on my part, but how was I supposed to know Zach and his friends were all headed to the Robinson house that same afternoon?
    They were about a block ahead of me when I realized my error and got spotted.
    “Hey, Mousy!” Chad called back. “Why don’t you come play with us?”
    If I’d learned anything, it was to not engage during those situations. They kept walking, so I did too, although a little slower than before. I was almost to my turn off.
    “We’ve got great games for you, Margie Mouse.” Matt said. “I could teach you things you didn’t know you could do in a kitchen!”
    I stopped at the corner leading up to my driveway. Kitchens were sacred to me. A happy kitchen meant a happy home. How could they make something I loved so gross to think about? Anger swelled inside me and I glared.
    “I wouldn’t get within half a mile of your nasty kitchen, Rosenberg!”
    I blinked. Crap. I was going to get it for that one.
    The boys stopped. Matt turned slowly. “What did you say to me, Mouse?”
    Immediately losing my courage, I spun and sprinted up the driveway. I heard them coming when I was halfway up the hill. My lungs burned and my calves ached from exertion, but I’d be damned if I’d stop until I was inside my house, behind a locked door.
    I ran, fleeing from the voices calling behind me, threatening me with every step I took. Each second felt like an eternity, and my house looked farther away the closer I got. But if they caught me…
    Five more steps and I’d be to the door. I fumbled in my pocket for my key, still running, but I had to get inside before they caught up. Three steps…
    My foot hooked under something and time seemed to stop. I watched the ground getting closer, unable to think, unable to move. The corner of the cement step loomed before me and I shut my eyes, trying to turn away from the pain I knew was imminent.
    But I didn’t feel anything after that. My world went black, and the next thing I knew I was waking up in the hospital with stitches and the worst headache I’d ever had up to that point. There were conversations going on around me, but the most I got was a little hostility and a lot of apologizing between adults. It took a week before I willingly said more than yes or no to anyone. I’d talked back and it put me in the hospital. No one talked back to Matthew Rosenberg. I was being punished for opening my mouth.
    At least, that’s what I convinced myself happened. My parents took me out of school and we moved away a few weeks later, when I was mostly healed. I started my sessions with Dr. Hooper not long after.
    I kicked another rock and it clunked into a big blue mailbox. Looking up, I saw I’d gone a block too far and headed back up the street. Maybe bugging Destiny at work would take my mind off of the rest of it. I could burn off the cupcake on the walk home.

Chapter 7

    Foundation. Powder. Eyeliner. Blush. Mascara.
    The order I put on makeup was the same every time, but I kept picking up the wrong thing. My head was elsewhere, busy worrying about all of the things that could go wrong on opening night.
    It wasn’t that I was worried about me, but I was worried for my parents.