Taking Chances (4 page)

The bell rang, and Spencer stood next to me as we walked down the hallway. Jeremy walked with us, and Spencer talked to him most of the time. 

Spencer sat by me in Creative Writing too, and I felt like the live wire was still between us. I sighed and wondered why I felt that way, and if Spencer felt the same. During class, the teacher, Miss Aberly, had us write anything that was on our mind at the moment, or turn in something we had already written. I copied a short poem I had written about the abuse from Michael.

Tell me why you hurt me so much.

Explain to me why.

Tell me why I have to be afraid.

Help me see why.

Tell me how you live with yourself,

When you barely let me live.

I looked over the poem a few times, and then Spencer asked, “What did you write?”

I handed him the poem hesitantly. I was nervous to see his reaction. I watched his eyes as they read it.
What would he think of it?

“Wow. That’s amazing.” he said, handing it back to me. “It’s really deep.”

I could feel my cheeks getting warm as I blushed. No one had complimented me on my writing before.

“Thanks. Can I see yours?” I asked. He handed me a piece of paper. I read it carefully then noticed what it was called.

Outsider

There you were, the outsider in the crowd.

Around everyone else, you stood out.

Your eyes sparkled like the stars in the sky,

Please don’t ever tell me goodbye.

“I hope you don’t mind that I sort of used you to write it,” he said shyly.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Well, the poem sort of says how I felt when I first saw you,”

I looked at him and he was giving me his movie-like smile.

“Um…thank you,” I said, not sure how one is supposed to answer when told they’re the inspiration for a poem.

“No. Thank
you.
I know that we’ve just met up again, but for some reason, I feel like I can trust you.” When I didn’t say anything, he continued, “I know it’s stupid. Never mind, forget I just said that. I’m just still grieving and looking for someone to talk to I guess. I’m sorry. Forget—”

I cut him off. “No. It’s not stupid. But, what do you mean grieving?”

“I’ve been alone for a while now, that’s all...I mean, I have my uncle, but I used to live with my brother, Joey, and my mom and dad, but…”

“But what?” I asked. 

“My family…the three of them, died in a car accident last year. It was last winter, and the roads were really icy, and it was snowing like crazy. They went to go see my mom’s dad in the hospital. He was really sick at the time. My brother Joey was nineteen then. He said that they were taking chances by going out on the roads that night, but they went anyway. I was in Phoenix visiting my dad’s parents for winter break, so I wasn’t going with them. I told them to be careful…I got a call from the police department that night…Not only had my grandpa passed away…” He trailed off.

Taking Chances? That is my favorite song.
I thought:
What do you say to taking chances? What do you say to jumping off the edge?
Celine Dion sings it.
She’s my favorite singer! That song is pretty much the theme song of my life.

“Oh. I’m—I’m really sorry, Spencer. I didn’t know.” I said sincerely.

“Don’t worry about it. Just be happy you have a family. You have two parents,
and
four brothers and sisters. I would happily die for your family,” he said.

I felt a little anger at his comment, and I wanted to tell him that I had been “taking chances” just living with my family. I wanted to tell him the truth about Maddie and Michael and Lillian, Rebecca, Clayton and Violet. I wanted to make him take back what he had just said. But I wouldn’t hurt him like that. I couldn’t. I didn’t want to put him in more pain than he already was from remembering his troubled past.

“I’m really sorry,” I said again, breaking the small silence.

“It’s fine.” He shook his head, looking back at his notebook.

We didn’t talk for the rest of that class period and sadly, Creative Writing was the only class besides English that I had with Spencer on B-days, but I sat with him in lunch again. He didn’t talk much, though. He just sat there and ate. He smiled once or twice at a comment his friends made, but for the most part, we both ate in silence. I was afraid his silence was my fault.

That night, I went to sleep crying and listening to a Celine Dion CD. It was one of the only CDs I owned. I had saved up money from my grandma to buy it when it came out. I used my mom's old CD Walkman player to listen to it. I had just had another fight with Michael, and it was worse than the last.

Michael started yelling at me for talking back again and punched me across the face, forcing me to fall to the floor. He continued throwing beer bottles and cups and books at me. I tried to run, but he pulled me back by my hair and threw me against the wall, and started burning my stomach and my arms with his cigarettes. Maddie just sat and watched it happen. I ended up blacking out, and I couldn’t remember what else happened.

The first song I listened to was “Taking Chances.” As I’d thought to myself earlier that day, it was pretty much the theme song of my life.
What do you say to taking chances? What do you say to jumping off the edge? Never knowing if there’s solid ground below, or a hand to hold, or hell to pay. What do you say?
That night, there was
definitely
hell to pay. Back in Chicago, I lived every moment just hoping that I wouldn’t get hit that day. And when I was hurt, I felt hopeless and physically weak. Most of the time, I would just lie on the ground until I felt strong enough to move. The next day, I’d be sore, but I’d still act as if nothing was wrong, but my ignorance only made my mind confused.

I hoped that when we moved to Shabbona, I would get stronger, and that being in a place I loved would bring me confidence and hope. Spencer had helped me get a little mentally stronger that day, before one of the worst nights I’d had brought me down mentally
and
physically. Michael had come up with a new way to hurt me for not giving him the respect he deserved as the “ruler of the house”. I was still not able to defend myself from the abuse. I wasn’t sure if I would
ever
be able to. I figured, after that night, if the fights kept getting worse, I wasn’t sure I would make it through my junior year. It scared me that I might not be around to help Lillian and Rebecca. So much for Shabbona being my own personal heaven.

The next morning, Spencer was already at his locker when I arrived at mine.

“Hi Sydney,” he said, greeting me.

“Hey Spencer,” I replied.

He gasped quietly. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, why?” I asked curiously. I looked into the small mirror in my locker and saw the purple bruise that covered my cheek and neck.

“Oh, um…I’m fine. I just fell off my dirt bike last night, that’s all.” I made up a quick lie as I tried to cover the bruise with my hair.

“I didn’t know you rode dirt bikes,” he said. His face looked a little confused, so I looked away, hoping my worried expression wouldn’t give my secret away. If someone found out Michael was hurting me now, I wouldn’t live to be a witness. He’d find out and punish me for giving it away. I didn’t have anywhere to run if he found out.

“Um…I really don’t. That’s why I fell. It’s my brother’s, and I was bored last night.”

“Oh. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah. I’m fine. Um…did you do that autobiography paper for English?” I asked, changing the subject. I felt the soft bruise lightly with my fingertips and winced at the pain. I didn’t know how I hadn’t noticed it.

“Yeah. I mostly talked about my writing, music and singing.”

“You sing?” I asked, glancing over at him.

“Yeah. I write my own songs,” he said with a proud smile.

“Me too,” I said happily. I looked back at my mirror and saw that the bruise was still showing, so I kept trying to fix it.

“Have you ever thought of performing them?” he asked.

“What?” I had forgotten I was still talking to him. I was too preoccupied with the bruise.

“Your songs, have you ever thought of performing them? I bet they’re pretty good,” he said.

I sighed and looked down at my feet. “Um…no. I mean…my songs usually turn into poems. I sing other stuff though. Like Celine Dion,” I babbled.

“Celine Dion?” he wondered.

“Yeah. She’s my favorite singer. Her songs relate to me a lot,” I explained.

“Yeah, I know who she is. She has a really great voice. I bet you’re just as good singing her songs as she is.” He smiled.

“Um…thanks.” I said.

“You know, we have a talent show at the end of the year. You should sing one of her songs.”

“Uh…I don’t know. I mean…”

“The first place winner goes to a regional competition.” Spencer really must have wanted me to be part of that talent show.

“I
guess
I could.” I said shyly as I finally looked up at him.

“Cool. I’m going to be in it too. I usually sing music by Michael Buble.”

“Seriously? He has the best voice.” I said with a smile. I used to listen to Michael Buble a lot because they played his CDs at the diner.

“Yeah. You said that Celine Dion is your favorite singer, Michael is mine.”

“Cool. He’s probably my second favorite,” I said. Spencer smiled at my comment, and then noticed the time.

“Hey, I’m going to head to class, but I’ll talk to you later,” he said as he walked away to his first class. Before I headed to Biology, I went into the bathroom and tried to see if makeup could cover up a little bit of the bruise so it would be less noticeable. I always kept some cover-up in my bag for times like this. It didn’t cover much, but if anyone asked, I’d use my dirt bike excuse.

* * *

“So, are you bored of Shabbona yet?” Spencer’s friend Jacqueline asked me during third hour P.E. I realized that she was in my class along with Spencer.

“No. This is actually my favorite place in the world. In Chicago, it…wasn’t a very good life for me up there.”

“Oh. I’ve always wanted to live in a big city, but my parents are holding me back. I really want to go to school at New York University to be a choreographer for Broadway musicals and movies and stuff, but they want me to stay here in Illinois. Maybe go to Illinois State University to major in Ag Communications. They want me to continue the family business. My dad is a corn farmer, and my mom works for the Farm Bureau in Chicago. She travels to different schools in Illinois to tell them about how fun agriculture can be.”

“Oh. That stinks. My parents don’t really care about me. They…they don’t really care what I do, I mean.” I sighed.

“Lucky. I wish my parents would just let me follow my dreams. If agriculture isn’t what I want to do, I shouldn’t have to be a part of it.” As we entered the gym and took our seats on the bleachers, she asked me, “What do
you
want to do?”

“I want to help people,” I said. “Ever since middle school, I’ve wanted to be a counselor for a school or for a place that helps kids and families.”

“That’s really nice. I like helping people, too, but I don’t think I could take all of the pain those kids go through. I mean, there was one girl when my mom went to school that was sexually abused by her uncle. Like, he raped her all the time. It was terrible. I don’t think I’d be able to handle things like that, abused kids, and people who are so poor they are on welfare. I just feel so bad for them.”

“Yeah…” I muttered quietly. I tried to change the subject as I felt tears coming to my eyes at my memories. “Well, I mean, I bet you will be able to do what you want, Jacqueline. Maybe your parents just need time to realize that they need to let you do your own thing,”

“Maybe. Oh, and I want to apologize for lunch the other day. I know Jeremy sort of embarrassed you and Spence with the whole girlfriend thing. He just likes to joke around. You and Spence seem pretty close, though. I saw you guys holding hands today.”

“He was just showing me the way to class,” I said.

Jacqueline smiled. “He likes you, I can tell.”

“Really?” I wondered.

“I think so. I’ve known Spence since kindergarten. I’ve seen him go through crushes and relationships, and I think he might like you as more than just his friend from down the street.” She laughed.

I smiled. “Thanks, Jacqueline.”

“Oh, you can call me Jacquie if you want. I don’t know why Spencer used my full name. He never does anywhere else.” She laughed.

“Alright.” I grinned. Jacquie seemed like a nice person I could get along with.

After P.E., I was excited for History, which, I realized, I had with Michael.

I sat down next to him when I saw him in the room.

“Hey, Sydney,” he said.

“Hi Michael. You know, my stepdad’s name is Michael too.” I tried to make it sound like a positive thing.

“Yeah, it’s a really common name. I don’t really like it. You can call me Mike if it makes it easier.”

“Are you sure?” I didn’t want him to lose his name just because my stepdad had it.

“Yeah, people call me Mike all the time.” He smiled.

I smiled back. Mike was sweet.

The next week was surprisingly—safe. Michael and Maddie had been out somewhere on “vacation” using one of my last paychecks from Chicago. At school, I hung out with Spencer and his friends. They were all nice and welcomed me into their group with open arms.

One day before class started, Spencer stopped me at my locker.

“Hey, Sydney?” he asked.

“Yeah?” I replied, facing him.

“Um…I was wondering if maybe you’d want to, well, go out with me sometime? Just the two of us?” He didn’t look at me; he looked into his locker, grabbing his books.