The Hurt Patrol (19 page)

So then he ups the drama.

“Rusty, stop! I know I was your favorite teacher before . . . I just don't know why you've turned on me like this!” His blinky eyes are all wrinkled, pleading, with pointy eyebrows of pain.

Bravo, sirrah, bravo!
Acting!

“Oh, I bet you do. Think real hard, Mr. Adkins.” I'm actually sneering.

He looks at me, fake-stricken—still won't cop to it. He starts over.

“Rylee, you know, there are a lot of things you can't understand just yet, but as you grow older you—”

I'm so insulted I start to laugh. Wheeze-laugh.

“Are you even serious? Because it sounds like you are about to say ‘there are things I just can't understand now, but someday when I'm a big girl, I'll know things grown-ups know! And then, I'll think it was okay!' It sounded exactly like that was what was about to come excreting out of your face,
Mr.
Adkins. Something like that? Because you're wrong! It will never happen; I will never forgive you!”

I pause for breath—and suddenly start crying

“Why, dude? Why did you do it? You were like my
hero.
... You fail! What you did will
never
be okay, you selfish failure! Do you hear me? You suck!”

He flops like I verbally tasered him. Then he sighs theatrically and shakes his head. Face-palms himself and poses very poser-ly.

Super tragic! I hear him trying to make himself cry. Which makes me stop.

Marveling, I roll my eyes. Whatever. Dude, try pulling your nose hair; I hear that's how they do in the movies.

I think this feeling is
revulsion
.

Yeah. Upon review, pretty sure it is.

That was the last time we spoke. It did not help his cause.

Yeah, nope, sorry, Ratskin. Seriously nice try, though.

Farewell = (not). And again, old rat: Bravo!

Anyway, around that time Leonie started classes at community college to get her GED. She just couldn't deal with the mouth breathers' crap anymore, and they were not about to leave her alone.

She is taking these equivalency tests, and my mom helps her study. They were taking a study break on the porch when I came over on the toenail-painting day. My mom has also helped Leonie catch up on things she never got to have, like her driver's license (though we might all remember Leo having
no
problem driving without one, when she rescued The Bomb).

Bam
—she passed her driving test way faster than she does the equivalency tests.

I'd mentioned to Leo if she's planning to be a model she should probably get an enhanced license, in case she wants to go over the border to work in Vancouver, model capital of the world. When I showed her an article that claimed Vancouver is where models are made, she was thrilled. Besides, I'd gotten an enhanced license too. I might want to visit Victoria Gardens someday.

Leo's agency thinks her face and hair are beautiful, but they told her to lose weight . . .
twenty
pounds!!! (I know, right?!)

I look at her perfect figure and breathtaking face, and I wonder what blind, tormented planet I come from, that would want to make her look any different.

So far she has lost seven pounds. Seven agonizing pounds.

Being hungry does
not
improve her mood. I don't know how she expects to lose thirteen more pounds, because she is starting to look kind of scrawny.

I, on the other hand, probably have lost about twenty pounds from skating.

I'm not sure how much exactly; I decided never to weigh myself anymore, after buying into the hater hype for
way
too long, because it only makes me feel bad and otherwise I'm not that worried about it. I'm stronger and more active than ever.

And I gotta say, I l
ove
skating! I love the speed, and the fans, and the team spirit! (Omg, I'm such a team player! Who'd-a-thunk, right?) I've met a bunch of rawk-chicks and glamazons, and I like 'em! They are funny and badass, and they all have my back.

The Rat Lab is hard work, and hilarious. That's where the wannabe Rat City Roller girls train and are chosen: the Rat Lab.

I want to be a Throttle Rocket when I get out of the Rat Lab. They are one of the four derby teams of the RCRGs. There are other team tryouts soon, but I've set my heart on the Throttle Rockets. The coach is a babe, a dark-haired hottie! I'm too shy to tell him I think so. Instead, I vow to wow him by kicking ass and taking names.

So there's that. My beloved Rat Lab, training ground for creative destruction.

But probably my biggest change came when I moved out of my house with Mom and Paul and rented one with Beau.

We rented an admittedly crappy house in the CD (Central District) of Seattle, which freaks out both our mothers, because it is definitely high crime (and loud!), but it's cheap and not too far from our school, which is convenient for us, since Beau and I still attend, though we already have enough credits to graduate.

I moved out because I was going crazy about the whole “go-to-mass” thing with my mom. We started to disagree without agreeing to disagree, beforehand.

It got pretty bad.

I'm finally a legal adult, and I had told Mom that I wouldn't go to church anymore after I was eighteen.

Seriously, I gave her fair notice. I tried to explain my feelings gently.

It was the first time I stood up to my mom. And I didn't back down. Which went over about as well as you might imagine. Like when she started to cry. Jeez. Massive raging and wailing.
So
painful for both of us, as I never meant to hurt her. But I broke a little piece of her heart when I made a stand.

Religion is certainly divisive, isn't it? Even remembering all this gets me exhausted.

To her, she was fighting for my immortal soul. Fighting hard. And she was bringing out all her big guns. It didn't help when I explained I didn't feel damned. Quite the opposite—I finally feel free!

No more Original Sin or any of the rest of it. No more crazy notions of sinful babies or weak-ass women.

I feel good!

I feel like we're good, God and me—God or Nature or Grace—or Nothing, whatever you want to call it. I mean, I ain't mad!

I love this crazy world!

Yes, in many ways it's seriously hosed, but I'm so glad I didn't do anything to hurt myself in the drear old dark days. It's beautiful here! It's
so
beautiful, guys. Of course I'm sticking around.

I had no idea how much better it was going to get. Or how soon!

Naturally, my mom is not nearly as elated by my religious opinions as I am.

She rallied, though. My mom is tough. And persistent. She's like a stalker for Jesus.

She has gotten Leonie to go to church with her—and Leo loves it! St. Teresa has this giant Mary Magdalene/Recovered Fallen Woman thing with Leonie. (Which just pisses me off for
so
many reasons—however, I will not digress further.)

I tangled with my mom because she always says: “so what—(blah-blah—topic of contention) makes no difference to our everyday lives,” with which then I emphatically disagree, usually at the top of my lungs, because Everything Makes a Difference!

She and I are much better now than when I still lived there. We could be sulky at each other for days, back then, after one of my histrionic little history lessons.

Now I can holler even harder! This is great—free lectures!

And if I do holler, Mom can say “Oh, goodness me, look at the time! Don't you have skate practice, or someplace you're supposed to be, honey?”

Then I know we both think it's time for me to go back to my own house—have us a lil' time-out.

Sometimes, in the saddest, most knuckle-draggin' way, I used to feel that if my mom wasn't my mom and was just some random girl my age, she wouldn't necessarily want to be my friend. Or vice versa.

I gotta admit; that “Coming of Age” crap was a drag. But now I can shrug and cheer up and just am glad she's my mom. Nobody's perfect. She loves me, I love her—a million times around the world. And sometimes that's enough.

Besides, after our time-outs I always come back, the main reason being that I miss her a lot.

And another is because . . . well, laundry is freaking costly!

I'm still into sweats and hoodies. It's just easier. I've got several I've cut off at the knees and elbows for skating and summer, which is quickly approaching. At least it is everywhere else in the country, according to Facebook. Here, it's mostly still frigidly raining, but the days keep getting longer.

And I must say springtime evenings are a very cool thing in Seattle. When it's not raining, when the light returns, the sun sets over the Sound, lingering in these lazy, golden, cinnamon-rose swirls, reflecting across the salt water. Sometimes it doesn't even seem to really get dark; dusk just blends up into the sky from the city's ambient lavender night light.

So, any-hoo, I think that's everything.

Now I'm going to go see Mom, my brother Paul, Leo, and do some laundry.

Luckily, I didn't skin my driving leg. I can feel it starting to tighten up already.