Free Sticks and Stones by Angèle Gougeon Page B

sometimes, while she chanted Daron in her head. She was really Sandra Daron. Sandra Daron. Not Sandra Casey.
    “Casey, Sandra?” the teacher called, first day of classes and she forced her hand to rise. First year of high school, headache coming on strong and she couldn’t wait for the bell to ring.
    Class dragged on forever, course expectations and work handed out, and Sandra was literally squirming in her seat by the time Mrs. Yestin let them go.
    Jack gave her a look when she met him in the hall, and Sandra wondered how many times Lem had thrown that same look at his son for him to pick up on it so well. “Tough first class?” he asked.
    “No.”
    “Uh-huh.”
    One of the boys from Jack’s year came up, brown hair flopping over his brow and a piercing in his lip and his nose and who knew where else – trust Jack to befriend all the rebels in his class. Sandra doubted the boy knew the first thing about Jack. Just like no one knew about Sandra. “Ethan,” he told her. “Ethan, Sandra.”
    Ethan nodded, flashing a wicked grin and Jack jabbed him with his elbow. “Sorry, I—”
    “Walk you to class?” Tommy Madison bounced on his shoes and Sandra wondered where he had snuck up from. Would he want her if he knew she was just damaged goods; if he knew the things she dreamt at night, the things she couldn’t stop from seeing like she could during the day? Tommy only needed a wagging puppy-dog tail and he’d be all set. Jack rolled his eyes like he was going to pull a muscle and would’ve set Tommy on fire with his glare if he could’ve managed it. Sandra sighed, agreeing quickly, able to see trouble brewing. Tommy grabbed the bag off her shoulder, nearly toppled her over, and Jack growled loud enough to make Ethan look over at him.
    “You like—” he began to say in a jaunty, antagonizing tone, and Jack took him down hard. Sandra left them grappling in the middle of the hallway and walked to math.
    Five hours later, she was ready to stuff herself full of painkillers and wrap a pillow around her head.
    “Are you okay?” Tommy whispered from beside her.
    Sandra didn’t even bother nodding, just gave a weak grin, and Tommy hovered by her side when class ended, all the way to her locker and back out the doors. She didn’t see Jack until they reached the parking lot, and by then Danny was waiting for them in the driver’s seat – Lem still at work – and Tommy helped her up and in before Jack could jump out to get her.
    For once, he forwent the glare to give Tommy a nod of thanks. The door shut quietly and Jack’s cool fingers settled on the back of her neck as Sandra leaned forward, head nearly in her knees.
    “That bad?” he whispered, worry in his tone, and Sandra had to press a hand to her nose when she tasted blood.
    Her fingers came away red.
    “Motherfucker,” Jack gusted out. He got her head tipped back, Kleenex from somewhere held fast to her nose. She bled all the way home. Sandra thought, if she had her eyes open, maybe they’d be bleeding, too.
    The pressure was awful.
    Daniel came around the other side of the truck when they got to the house, Jack holding her steady until his brother got an arm under her knees and she could grab hold of his neck. She kept one hand on her nose as Jack climbed out, locked the doors, and hurried up the front steps. Daniel took her straight to the bathroom.
    “Don’t turn the light on,” she rasped.
    A gentle hand was the only response. The Kleenex was lifted away and a warm washcloth smoothed over the front of her face and then another dry cloth was pressed back to her nose. She held it tight, heard Danny murmur, “Get a new shirt,” and Jack disappeared, Danny crouching balanced before her with his hand on her knee.
    “What’re you doing?” he asked. “You’re fighting it, aren’t you?”
    Sandra didn’t answer, kept still like the whole world wasn’t turning her inside out, helpless, heart hammering in an off-tempo rhythm that had her knees