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According to Emory, Brett and the White Bros™ drive by the diner every Saturday for hockey practice at the main center.
My phone stays right side up on the kitchen counter as I turn the chicken satay skewers over the grill, Orion glancing at me every so often from the stove.
The scent of spices fills the diner as usual, and although it is usually calming whenever I volunteer here, all I can think about is our impending interaction with Brett, and the series of texts I’m receiving from both Yasmine and Emory.
Of course, the diner’s busy and Orion is all over the place, bustling around the kitchen, shooting out orders to everyone else at their stations. He’s definitely not going to let me off, not on a night like this. My phone pings again.
Orion lets out a breath as my eyes dart to my phone longingly. “Got somewhere to be?” He asks, and I shake my head at the older boy, eyes still on my phone.
“No.”
“Doesn’t look like it,” He says as I glance over at the array of notifications on my home screen.
“It’s stupid,” I say, still turning the skewers, “I kinda have this campaign thing, and it’s at a bad place right now. My friends and I are trying to see how we can fix everything.”
“Okay,” Orion says, knitting his eyebrows at me as he inspects one of the people cooking, “I don’t really remember asking, though.”
I give him a look, and his face remains passive, with the exception of an almost imperceptible twitch in his lips.
“You’re mean,” I say, as Orion’s lips twitch once more.
“Finish with the satays,” He says, nodding towards my grill, and I let my shoulders sag because at this moment, Emory and Yasmine feel like they’re miles out of reach.
When I’ve finished turning the last skewer, I turn to the sink that’s piled with dishes. Water starts running when I open the tap, and I start to get to work.
“What are you doing?” Orion asks from across the kitchen, causing my head to snap up.
“Working,” I deadpan, eyes dull.
“Hey, I said you should finish the satays.” Orion says, eyebrows raised.
“Which I did,” I say, slowly. We stare at each other for a few moments, Orion’s eyes wide and dark as though he’s giving me a silent message.
“Wait,” I start, trying to quash the miniscule bit of hope rising to my chest.
He juts his head towards the door. “Go on.”
“Orion—” I start, eyes scouting the entire kitchen where everyone’s hard at work.
“We’ll manage.”
I still pause, lips parted as I try to decipher whether or not he’s messing with me.
“Get out of here,” He says, and once it clicks, I grab my phone, tug my apron off, and rush through the doors, giving Orion the most grateful smile I can muster. “Thank you.”
Orion just nods, turning back to supervise one of the teenagers washing the dishes.
In seconds, I’m outside of the door, scrolling through my messages. Messages from Emory that read: We’re just across the block from the diner. Okay, we’re waiting near the chinatown. Hurry up.
My Air Force Ones pad on the pavement quickly, phone in hand as I scroll through the messages.
With a quick response, I walk down the block, eyes scouting the entire area and the bustling streets of downtown, the working people with their coffees in one hand and phones in the other, the loud honking of cars, the chilly gusts of air.
Then I see them. All three of them, Yasmine waving me over eagerly as I rush over to them. The air escapes from my lips in white gusts and soon I’m in front of them, eyes meeting each of theirs.
Laura hesitantly drags her gaze from the floor, meeting my eyes, hands shoved into jacket pockets as the wind billows her dark waves.
“I’ve got a lot to tell you.” She says, adjusting the patterned coat, and my eyes soften at that, although my stance remains rigid.
She lets out a breath. “I’m about to explain everything.”
***
“My dad has cancer.”
When the four words leave Laura’s lips, silence consumes the entire bench. I’m seated next to Yasmine, Laura across from us and Emory leaning against the side of the bench, eyes unreadable.
“Put a lot of stress on my mom and I back when I was still enrolled in my old school.” Pause. “He was in and out of the hospital, and we spent a lot of time there.”
Yasmine takes a deep breath, mouth opening and closing as if to ask a question.
“He’s fine, as of now. Well, better.” Laura cuts in, “The chemotherapy is working. Back then, it was terrible. His health was constantly fluctuating. It was turbulent.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, not knowing what else to say as my eyes gently find Laura’s, causing her to wave a hand.
“I’m not going to use my dad as an excuse to justify everything in the report you saw.” She leans forward. “The truancy, though? That wasn’t me skipping school to go shopping or whatever; that was actually me constantly visiting the hospital.” She lets out a dry chuckle, eyes finding the pale sky. “I had this irrational fear that if I left him alone in the hospital, he would...”
No one finishes the sentence.
Discomfort arises in my stomach, consuming my insides as I try not to think about the word she was about to say.
Her fear isn’t as irrational as she thinks, either. From the looks of it, he was barely hanging onto life.
I wouldn’t leave his side, either.
“And they recorded the absences as unexcused?” Emory asks, sneakers digging into the light snow.
“Yeah. My mom usually emailed to let them know, but sometimes she forgot with everything that was going on. And some emails didn’t receive responses.”
“As for the insubordination,” Laura continues, leaning on the heels of her feet. “I questioned everything, and the administration didn’t like that.” Laura says with a shrug. “I wanted more. And they didn’t want to give me that. They’d steer me towards easy classes, unadvanced classes.” She clasps her hands together. “I put my foot down, because I was just as qualified as any of the other students there. Oakwood wouldn’t give me that, and I made sure to push back. They called me pushing back insubordination.”
Laura trills her lips. “There was one day that a girl in my class called me a word. Something I’m not going to repeat.”
Emory sucks in a breath, tilting his head to the side. “That bad, huh?”
Laura meets his eyes. “Worse.” She bites her bottom lip. “And it wasn’t a new thing. She’d constantly been making my life hell there, saying stupid crap about my dad.”
My fists tighten into balls, anxiety swirling in my mind as I think of this girl, and how low anyone could be to use someone’s sick dad to insult them.
“I eventually lost it, yelled at her.” A pause, then a wry laugh. “She claimed I attacked her, and Oakwood put that incident on my record as physical aggression.”
“That sucks,” Yasmine says, shaking her head.
“Oakwood kept eagle eyes on me, too.” She runs a hand through her hair. “Any misstep would be punished. Any remark I made towards any of the blatant racists at the school—staff included— would be etched into my permanent record.” She pauses, tracing a dangling earring. “The racists?” She sends us a cynical half-grin. “They walked free. And their permanent records? Immaculate.”
“Your parents didn’t...?” I ask, eyes rising to hers from my cuffed jeans.
“My mom sent a full-length email,” Laura laughs, “She explained the bullying, the racist comments... Oakwood never responded. When confronted, they said they never received it.”
My lips part, my head shaking back and forth.
“That’s messed up.” Emory says, kicking at the snow coating the sidewalk.
“I mean,” Laura shrugs, “Oakwood hated my guts. The teachers expected me to be rebellious, to be a bad kid. Any misstep would prove that. After all, if you look for something, you’ll see it. Even if it’s not there.”
Yasmine nods, and Laura continues, “ I think I’ll always stand by the notion that I was getting pushed out of Oakwood since the day I stepped foot in the building.” Pursed lips. “The place wrecked me.” Emory’s eyebrows fly upwards as Laura’s features remain unreadable. “Dad being sick was an extra stressor.” Her voice is smooth, calm even, despite the fact that none of what she’s telling us is particularly light. “What’s done is done,” She finishes, rubbing her temples. “I can’t sit down here and tell you I’m perfect, but I also can’t sit by and let you think that some stupid piece of paper says anything about me.” An exhale is drawn from her lips. “Unfortunately, there’s no going back now.”
Wind dances through the air, racing through our hair and clothing. The sound of the gusts dominate the silence until I speak up.
“I’m sorry,” I say, feeling my eyes soften.
Laura trills her lips again. “Don’t apologize,” She says. “This is between me and Oakwood.”
“Are you still alright?” I ask, carefully, Laura tugging the corner of her lips upwards, if only slightly.
“Yeah,” Laura shrugs. “I’m getting over it. I’ve finished. I’ve left. I’m trying to turn the page.” She lets out a breath. “I want to forget that hell.” Pause. “Still want to apologize to all of you, though.”
Emory hums, glancing down at her, his hands still slipped into the pockets of his dark sweatpants.
She runs a hand through her hair, “I thought I could leave Oakwood’s damage behind.” An exhale. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you guys about it before it got out.” She bites her bottom lip. “You really shouldn’t have heard it from Brett of all people.” A dry laugh. “Unfortunately, a sheet full of complaints won’t tell you the full story.” A pause. “Any story, really.”
Yasmine leans forward, hand ghosting over Laura’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about it,” she says, and I nod along with her, Emory shooting Laura a half grin.
Oakwood wrought hell in Laura’s life. She speaks simply, but the weight of her words outweigh the careful movement of her lips. A school in which she was constantly treading over glass. One stutter, one slip, and the glass shattered. In Oakwood, Laura didn’t get to make mistakes, only recorded offences.
Not only that, but a lot of the alleged offences against her were blatant lies.
“Brett did that because he saw you as a threat,” I find myself saying. “If he really thought that you were unfit to be president, he would have done it earlier on.”
“Or he probably wouldn’t have bothered digging you up in the first place, because he wouldn’t feel the need to find dirt on you.” Emory cuts in, letting his shoulders relax into a shrug.
Laura lets out a breath, raising her hands to the air. “Luckily, I’ve paid way more than my dues already.”
A smirk curves onto Emory’s lips at that. “That’s good, but we have one more person that hasn’t paid his dues yet.”
A glint appears in Laura’s dark eyes, and the rest of us mirror the look.
“That’s right,” She replies, eyes still glinting, “Brett better be ready for us.”
