Chapter 14

Heather’s Letters Blog Entry

Draft: September 11th

Burton is a creep. He seems to know things about everyone—things he shouldn’t know. There’s something controlling about him, something manipulative. Just the other day he told me not to make contact with him at school. But he’s the one coming over here every day after school to make contact with me!

The only one making contact with me.

And I know if I said yes he’d date me in an instant.

I have to admit it: in a fit of loneliness, while I was sitting there sipping Burton’s tea, I allowed myself to daydream. For just a tiny moment I imagined what it would be like to date Burton Childress.

I know, I know. Gross, right? It’s a good thing I’m never going to post this entry! But I can chalk it up to loneliness. When there’s no one else willing to be a friend, sometimes it’s hard to see things clearly. In all the time I’ve been stuck here in the house, the only person to talk to me (well, besides Rue and Mom and the phone calls from Dad) has been Burton. So maybe that’s the only reason I was thinking about him.

Still, I can’t help but think about that tea. What’s in it? Why is he so eager to make it for me every day? It was only when I started sipping that tea that I started daydreaming about Burton. I imagine he’d be the kind to open all the doors, be as polite as possible, dress to impress. Kind of nice if you don’t think about the psycho/herb garden/creepy/misfit thing.

Brrrr!

Anyway, there I was thinking about Burton when—thank goodness!—Ruby’s loud entrance awoke me from my dream. That’s right—I had fallen asleep, and when I opened my eyes, Ruby was digging through the kitchen cabinets looking for a snack. I looked at my mug of tea: it was empty. I didn’t even remember finishing it. And on the table, on top of the envelope containing the transfer papers, someone (as if I didn’t know who!) had lit a handmade candle—no doubt made with herbs from his garden—which he had left burning next to a small bottle of homemade ointment. It was decorated with a green and gold ribbon, the colors of Hawthorne Academy.

Sometimes his actions seem thoughtful, but I keep reminding myself not to get all confused. Here’s the thing about Burton: I can’t trust him. What was in that candle? Or the tea? And what was in that ointment? Two days after I started using that ointment, I had a checkup. The doctor was amazed at how fast my scars healed. So amazed that he took out my stitches! He asked what my secret was, but I didn’t want to mention Burton’s ointment.

It got me thinking, though. The ointment is all well and good, but what if Burton ever wanted to use those herbs for other than helpful purposes? And why is it that Burton still insists I don’t make contact with him at school? What secret reason does he have for that?

Over the weekend I’ve been thinking. I’ve been sitting home so long, I can’t even picture myself going back to Orchard Valley. And I kept thinking about what Burton said—Principal Elders wants me to transfer. Half the kids hate me. And the other half are worse—apathetic. They’ll just stand by silently and watch the other half destroy me.

I have to admit something, though I dare not tell a living soul. I was sitting there wondering what the point of it all is. I mean, what’s the point? I stuck to my morals and did what I thought was right. I mean, why should Adam suffer through football practices only to be outdone by those who cheat? Why should our high school—any school, for that matter—enjoy such accolades when they came at the cost of dishonesty?

Didn’t I do the right thing? In any movie, I’d be the hero. But here I am, the world’s toilet. Everyone can just dump their frustrations on me without a second thought. It’s like they forget I’m a person, too. Or else they just don’t care.

And that includes Adam.

So I ask again: what’s the point?

I had been staring out the window—it’s about all I had to do all week—and I was looking at Burton’s car. It’s an old Chevy from the 1980s, manufactured before there were safety features like airbags. So I was thinking. What if I just borrowed his car and drove and drove and drove? Drove away from all this, right into a wall.

I told you it was bad. But I was serious at the time. I really was thinking about it. Why would I want to continue living in a world that would treat me like this? In a world where my own principal drew the blinds. Yes, I’m admitting it in writing: he turned a blind eye to my attack. Why would I want to live in a world where I’m so hated for telling the truth?

And the worst thing is: I thought about taking Ruby with me. Why should she have to live in such a world? I’d be doing her a favor, saving her from all the pain she’ll grow up to experience.

It’s the same thing with Mom and Dad’s separation. Mom suspected what my father was doing, and she wanted to ignore it—to pretend everything was fine for the sake of continuing life without disruption. I was the one who insisted she confront my father about it. If it hadn’t been for me, maybe Dad would have gotten it out of his system and snapped out of it.

Maybe Dad wouldn’t be living all the way up in New Hampshire now. Maybe we’d all be together still. He’s about the only one who ever really understood me. And now, thanks to my stubborn insistence on the truth, he’s had to move away.

The same with Adam. I was the one who insisted we break the story. Adam got cold feet. That should have told me something. But no. I was stubborn. I wanted the truth. So I did the “right” thing, and now yet another person I love is out of my life. But the thing is: my dad’s the one who always told me to stick to the truth. And now he’s gone because I followed his advice.

It’s like I’ve been betrayed by Dad… by Adam… by the world… by the truth.

So I ask again: what’s the point?

Of course I didn’t tell Mom about these thoughts. I wouldn’t want to distract her from trying to get her big promotion at work. Or trying to doll herself up for another first date. Besides, I’m pretty sure Mom resents me a little bit because of what happened with Dad. So really, who can I tell? I’m sure not talking to a guidance counselor…

I don’t need help. Not really. I think it’s just all the time locked at home. I can’t spend all these hours alone anymore. Alone and thinking.

So I convinced Mom to let me return to school tomorrow. I just need something to do. Something—anything—to take my mind off these thoughts. All they’ve been doing is feeding my anxiety.

Mom was skeptical. Principal Elders has been in touch with her, trying to convince her to send me to Hawthorne Academy. Honestly, Mom can’t understand why I’ve refused. I guess I just keep my father’s advice in mind. I can’t let them scare me into staying away from Orchard Valley. I refuse to let other people control my life with fear.

Still, I’m terrified to go back. And I must admit that the idea of private school is simmering on the back burner of my mind. How easy would it be to start over? To dedicate myself once again to a career in journalism… But two ghosts tug at me, calling for me to stay at Orchard Valley.

The first is obvious. As much as I regret his recent disappearance from my life, I can’t forget Adam Hollowcast. I can’t forget his sparkling eyes. His kind smile. The way he used to spend all his spare time with me. How kind he had been to Ruby. A part of me still hopes that our relationship can be rekindled. That alone, if it were the only positive element of my life, would be enough to sustain me at Orchard Valley. I want Adam back in my life the same way I want my father back in my life. The pain of emptiness is insane. I can’t put it into words. I don’t feel whole.

The second reason, well—I’ve always had a streak of independence, a streak some would call stubbornness. I got it from my father. As a child, I would never give in if something was important to me. When my parents started fighting, Mom tried to justify Dad’s behavior. The calls from a mysterious woman. Coming home at all hours of the night. The extra miles on his car. Paychecks being cashed and disappearing.

Mom tried to ignore the truth and salvage the relationship. But I insisted she see things for what they were. Dad was power hungry and indulging in a mid-life crisis. Regrettable. And yes, even though it led to my father’s leaving, I wouldn’t have it any other way. For me, the truth is more important than any false sense of comfort. And isn’t that exactly what I’m considering now? I’ve fought for the truth to come out, and as uncomfortable as it is I’m now living the consequences of that quest. Any kind of escape attempt would be dishonest.

And so with my stubborn streak fueling my strength, and my lingering hope tempting my resolve, I’m returning to Orchard Valley in the morning.

And that’s all there is to it.

Resolved,

The Girl with the Scar