True Colors (24 page)

Krysten Lindsay Hager
is a writer and journalist from Michigan and has lived in South Dakota and Portugal. She currently resides in the Dayton, Ohio area with her husband. You can find her at:
http://krystenlindsay.blogspot.com/

Chapter One

The seven worst words ever spoken came out of my mother's mouth during breakfast. "I signed you up for math tutoring."

I coughed, nearly choked on my biscuit, and tossed the remaining part on my plate. It took a second for words to form between my full lips, and when they did, it was a mumbly, "I don't need math tutoring."

My mom glared.

I forced the remaining biscuit down and tried this again. "I don't. My grades aren't that bad."

"Sure." She took a sip of her coffee. "If it's opposite day."

It was my turn to glare. My mom, ever the comedian. "Why now? It's February. Do you know how late it is to have tutoring? I'll probably fail anyway."

My mom's brow rose like the sun over her mug. "Thought your grades weren't
that bad."
Apparently, she woke up on the sarcastic side of the bed this morning.

I sputtered and thought really hard on a comeback. Unfortunately, I didn't inherit my mom's wit, nor did my adoptive father's rub off on me. Knocked down but not defeated, I leaned back in my chair and crossed my arms like the good defiant teen I wasn't. "I'm not going."

"Yes. You are." No question. No break in her voice.

"No. I'm not."

"Yes. You are."

"No…" This was going nowhere. "Mom," I huffed. "When will I ever need geometry?"

She sat back in her chair, matching me with her arms crossed. Only she had a smirk on her face. Mom's smirk never meant good things were coming to the smirk-ee. "You need it right now. To pass this class so you won't be a sophomore forever."

"I like being a sophomore." I pouted then squinted my eyes at my mom to see if it worked.

Nothing.

"I don't. I'd like you to, you know, graduate."

I shrugged and let out a short sigh. "Graduation is overrated."

"Brittany." Mom's tone had changed into the voice she used when enough was enough. If that didn't work, I expected the overly raised brow followed by the tilted head… then the lethal stare.

"I guess I might want to graduate someday."

She smiled and her jaw relaxed. "Good to hear."

I wasn't finished. "But geometry? Mama, it's a hard class. I get shapes. Remember in preschool, I got the Star Student Sticker for knowing all eight of my shapes before anyone else?"

My mom's body twitched, but an eep of a snicker came out anyway. "That was eleven years ago, Britt. One has to move on. Grow. Learn new things."

"Yeah, right angles. Acute… obtuse…" I knew all about obtuse angles and obese as my doctor liked to tell me. Who cared if I weighed thirty pounds more than
normal
? Who invented normal? A normal person?

"You're stalling." Mom got up and put her plate in the sink. With her back to me, I saw the tension in her shoulders as she slumped against the counter. Water ran from the old (antique was too kind of a word) faucet into the cream-colored basin. The kitchen oozed 'country chic' without the chic part. Faded yellow walls held up off-white wooden cabinets with black paint-peeling handles.

We weren't exactly poor but had no money to put into renovations since my mom had gotten laid off, and no time since Dan worked hundreds of miles away in Panama City, Florida, three out of four weeks of the month. He wouldn't be back for two.

"Did you hear me?"

Hear what?
"Huh?"

She sighed and turned off the water. With her back still to me, she picked up a dish and started washing it. I heard the familiar slush of the water and clang of the plates as she washed each one and placed it in the black drainer to the right. The dishwasher died six months ago, right around the time Mom got laid-off. "You start tutoring today. After school."

A syllable rushed out of me before I could stop it. It started with an
M
and would have started her name in a very whiny voice.

"Enough, Brittany." She put a plate in the drainer harder than I figured she meant, so I clamped my mouth shut. "It's all set up. Instead of riding the bus at three, go back to Ms. Bennett's classroom. She has a tutor all picked out for you."

I stood up, defeated, scraped my newly unwanted food into the trashcan and put it in my mom's soapy hand. "Then what?"

"Then, I pick you up at four. In between, you learn something."

I took a deep breath and leaned my back against the counter next to her. When I felt the cold water running from the drainer on the small of my back, I rose up and bit my tongue before I said a word my mom definitely wouldn't approve of.

She laughed, not even trying to hide this one, and put a glass in the damp, black kitchen aide. "It's wet."

"Duly noted." I prayed my jeans weren't soaked. Kids at school made fun of me enough without adding 'peeing in my pants' or in this case 'crapping them' to the list of
Brittany's faults to make fun of and exploit.

My mom smiled a genuine smile and wiped her hands on a kitchen towel with a rooster on it. "I know you don't want to do this, but it'll help. You'll see. And who knows, maybe you'll get some hot guy to tutor you." She bumped the side of her hip on mine, nearly knocking me into the trash can.

"Yeah, if only."
If only it could get any worse.
Hot guys, as my mom call them, and I didn't mesh. Normally, they only wanted me for my brain, which usually worked except for geometry- when my brain shut down and left the country. Plus, what would I ever say to one?
"Hey, good lookin'. Wanna come over and nibble on my double chin?"

Mom winked and looked past me to the clock on the little yellow wall separating the kitchen from the mud room, a.k.a. the laundry room, a.k.a. the shoe room, a.k.a. the place to hang our coats. "Seven fourteen. Bus'll be here in a few minutes. Better not miss it."

"Nope. Not like I can come home on it this evening." One more attempt to get out of it. Just one… more… try.

"I'll be outside school at four."

An extra hour of school. Every girl's dream. "Fine. I'll go to tutoring, but don't expect me to be happy about it."

"I'd never dream of it." She threw her arm around my shoulders and squeezed me tightly. At five-two, I came up to her chin. She only had one.

I hugged her waist. She kissed my forehead then let me go. I felt my shoulders slump as I went back to my chair at the scuffed up, round four-seater table. A little more warning about tutoring would have been appreciated. Maybe I would have gone to bed earlier… or called in a favor from God.

"See ya later." I kissed the back of Mom's head.

"I'll be there with bells on."

"Yay." I deadpanned as I stopped in the mudroom for my new white coat, the one my mom saved up months for. It originally was supposed to be a Christmas present, but she got behind on payments. She'd given it to me last night, probably to suck up for today. Did she think I could be bought?

Apparently, I could be. Throwing the coat on, I tossed my backpack over my shoulder and pushed the screen door open. The cool February air hit my face hard, and I saw the bus coming around the curve to my house.

The cold, the bus, school, tutoring… it promised to be such a wonderful day. At least I had on my new warm coat.

****

Easton High School sat on one of the few semi-flat pieces of land in Carter County. Known for its rolling hills, Carter County sat about thirty minutes from the Smoky Mountains of Tennessee. Its claim to fame included a 2A football championship this year and a country singer who made it big on a TV reality show in the early 2000s. Easton was the county seat as well as the biggest town, which only meant it had three red lights instead of two. One of those lights hung in front of Easton High, right across from the grocery store.

My bus followed all the rest behind the school on a narrow access road between the building and the football field. Easton High looked like a typical southern high school: brick, two stories, lockers in every hallway, and idiots around every corner. Though
idiots
could be in any region of the U.S., southern ones tended to either have more sass in their actions or more venom in their fake sincerity. Unfortunately for me, my biggest tormentor had both.

The second Monday in February seemed like all the others I had survived, save the extra hour I'd have to stay in this horrible place. My usual plan of attack consisted of forcing my head up, my shoulders back, and walking through the halls like I belonged there as much as anyone else did. Except I didn't belong.

Most days I wanted to crawl into a hole, a large, plus-sized hole. Either that or transfer to some sort of fat farm until I got rail thin like Kendra Moses — the girl with no problems, who was as beautiful on the outside as she was mean on the inside.

Okay, so maybe she had
one
problem.

The bus dropped me off at the same time it always did: 7:50. Same morning time, much later and much more embarrassing afternoon time. All because my mom signed me up for tutoring. Technically, I supposed, since I was the one who couldn't do geometry, it was my fault.

As if I didn't have enough going against me, now people… well, people who cared… would know I stunk at math. Ugh.

After I stepped off of the bus, I slung my backpack over my shoulder. Feeling the cold morning chill pelting me, I zipped my new coat higher around my neck and tried to cover every bit of exposed skin I could. I must have slowed or shifted or done something to tick off the guy behind me because he decided to take it upon himself to yell loudly and with much annoyance, "Move it, Big. I know you have a lot of blubber to carry around. Give the rest of us a break, would ya?"

And there it was. The first use of my nickname today. It wouldn't be the last. My name at school was Big like Jillian's name was Jillian and Kendra's name was Kendra… well,
some
people called Kendra other names besides Kendra, but never in front of her face, and never with a crowd around.

Of course, like always, snickers followed. You'd think my peers would get tired of it by now. It had been the same thing, the same taunting by the same jerks since I was in eighth grade and got a little bit on the chunky side. I'd never be a supermodel, but I wished they would give me a break! My entire life didn't revolve around eating. I didn't eat fast food every night and sit around like a log. Grandma Duke on my mom's side had been big boned, and I supposed I inherited the dreaded gene from her. Having never seen my biological father nor his side of the family, I had no idea if I'd been doubly cursed.

Man, I sounded like a whiner.

"Big!" Caleb, the guy behind me, tapped me hard on the shoulder like I was deaf. Guess he thought I was too fat to hear. Guess I'd start walking slower… guess it was on purpose. Oh, to have the control.

"Move it! I have a class to get to." He pushed me out of the way so hard I slammed against the brick wall. It was enough force to scuff the top of my right hand. Little droplets of blood beaded out of the scrapes.

"Can you even fit through the door?" He laughed, not taking a second look back at the girl leaning against the building in shock. I'd been made fun of before, laughed at, shunned, but I'd never been pushed. Never had physical evidence.

A steady stream of my fellow students walked by me, some giggling and some just ignoring me. Others looked sad for me, which strangely was worse. I felt a hand on my shoulder, which surprised me. My head shot up, and when I saw who it was, my mouth went instantly dry.

Matt Taylor.

The
Matt Taylor!

"You okay?"

I couldn't make my lips work. Matt Taylor, senior football star (
star
was too little of a word. Matt was a legend at Easton, leading the team to the first ever 2A championship in December) stared down at me. His pale blue eyes were soft. "Are you hurt?"

I still hadn't spoken, just stared at him like I'd never seen a guy before in my life. I'd seen them before, had seen Matt before, but I'd never talked to him. Finally, blood ran back into my brain and I shook my head, forcing myself to stop acting like a stupid groupie. "Yeah, I'm fine. Sorry to block your way."

"You're not."

Sure.
"Anyway. Thanks for stopping."

He smiled, showing his famous dimples. I was so gawking at him. "No problem. I'll see you later."

"Okay." I watched him walk through the double doors and snapped out of my daydreaming when the ten-minute bell rang. I started walking then hesitated. See me later? We didn't have any classes together.

I didn't dwell on that long. I had to get to my locker, get my books and to class before the bell rang again. Walking through the doors, I started mentally saying my mantra.
Head high. Eyes up. Shoulders back. You are just as important as they are to God. Head high. Eyes up…

I walked through the halls, which were filled to the gills with students. Easton High desperately needed to be rebuilt with more rooms, but so far it wasn't in the budget. So, for now and probably for my entire high school career, I'd be cramped in these halls, teetering like some sort of Thanksgiving float.

Stop that!
Suppressing my inner depressing monologue was another thing I had to do daily. If I let myself, I could go down the same path the others did and start calling myself names and getting myself down. Luckily, I had others to do that for me.

To keep my sanity, I had to stop. I wasn't ugly. People told me I had a pretty face and shiny hair. It was brown and long, to the middle of my back. Except every time I pulled it back in a ponytail I wondered how many chins I appeared to have. If it was two or less, I considered it a good morning. Of course, on the day I actually talked to Matt Taylor, my hair was pulled back in a slick ponytail — a three chin day. Joy.

I finally, blessedly, made it to my locker jammed between lockers 344 and 348. In an ironic turn of events, I'd been given a half locker, the locker that had to be miniature-sized for the whole unit to fit against the wall in the limited space. I had just enough room for my books and notebooks but nothing else. I couldn't throw my coat in there. Even my purse, when I had one, had to be kept on me. It stunk to have the
skinny
locker, quite frankly. The paranoia in me had to wonder if even the faculty was picking on me too. Surely not. Surely it had been a coincidence.

And on top of being in the 'skinny' locker, I was also right at the girls' bathroom. Being that close to the hub of sophomore female necessity meant there was a lot of traffic. As my luck would have it, I tended to block the door trying to get my books out of my backpack every morning. Anyone's booty would block it by the way the lockers were set up, but since mine was bigger than most, I got the awesome comments.

A very loud, very annoyed screech echoed toward me, and I knew the instant it berated my eardrums who it was. "You know, I'm all for helping the different and needy among us, but come on. Can't you move your butt so we can get to the restroom?"

Le sigh
. My morning meeting with Kendra Moses. Beautiful Kendra Moses with hair as blonde as an angel and the light blue eyes of a saint. Of course, she had the attitude of a know-it-all and the grammar of a sailor, so it all balanced out. She'd always been snarky, but when senior Matt Taylor started dating little sophomore her, she became even more so. When he broke up with her, she let the filter go completely. I guess I could understand. If someone as hot as Matt dumped me, I'd probably be a bit snarky too. Secretly, I wished they would get back together so she'd ease up on me.

"Sorry." I actually was pretty sorry that my
ginormous
bottom kept her and her friends out of the lavatory. How dare I take up more than my allotted space?

Trying not to push over Thomas Jenkins, band member, I moved over as much as I could. Thomas was nice enough to scoot over so I could have some extra room. After my butt had passed the bathroom door barrier, I heard Kendra's footsteps clomping by me, the breeze of her entourage followed close behind.

Then, as quickly as they started, they stopped. Here it went. My eyes rolled behind their lids, and I steadied myself for whatever insult Kendra had to throw at me. "You know, Big. I like your new coat."

My eyes opened automatically, and my defenses completely left me. A compliment from Kendra. Seriously? "Thanks," I said bewildered, and I wondered what the catch was.

"Yeah, it's very retro. Like from that '80s movie. I hear the giant marshmallow look is in." She laughed like it was the funniest thing in the world. I had news for her. It wasn't.

"As are witches, lucky for you, since you don't have to wait until Halloween to dress up."

"What did you say to me?" Never had I seen her so upset. Smoke might have literally puffed from her diamond studded ears.

I simply smiled back, shut my locker and walked away. She yelled behind me, but I kept right on walking. I felt pretty good about myself. Score one for the backbone. One thing was for certain; Kendra wouldn't let my little remark go unanswered.