Old Wounds Page 2

  It took my father a moment to answer. “Well, we were together for a little less than six years, two of them in high school.” He paused. “Why do you ask?”

  “How much interaction have you had with her over the years?”

  “Not much. Her mother took her when she was four. Sophie’s come out here several times, but Helen’s never come back. Why?”

  Dr. Dalton paused, I supposed, for dramatic effect. I held my breath, already sensing where this was going. “Sophie has an incredible amount of old, healed contusions and also more healed broken bones than your average teenager.”

  “Well, Helen always said that Sophie’s a klutz.”

  “Tom,” Dr. Dalton said with a sigh, “these aren’t the types of injuries one gets from falling down. Is it possible that Sophie’s mother…”

  Shit. Shit. Shit. I stopped listening at that point. He was going to say it and Tom would have to think about it. Then Tom would know and he’d probably force me into some kind of conversation about it.

  My mind drifted. I could see my reflection in the framed picture of a sailboat across from where I sat. I looked little, tired, and bored, but there was nothing special about me. Well, except for the combination of my hair and eyes. I was sort of a genetic freak of nature with those. Brown hair and crystal blue eyes; two traits that didn’t usually go together, and usually garnered a fair amount of attention, but apart from that I was thin with ugly freckles from the sun.

  Tom finally exited the office. “Sophie,” he said, much softer and more careful than ever before. Damn, he knew. “You ready?”

  “Yeah. Everything okay?” I couldn’t help but ask.

  Tom nodded and gave me a tight-lipped smile, holding up a piece of paper. “You’re free and clear to go to school tomorrow.”

  Much to my surprise and eternal gratefulness, Tom didn’t say a word about the information he received from the incredible Dr. Dalton. He simply dropped me off at home, told me to make sure to eat, and then went back to work. I hoped that he would continue this laissez-faire style of parenting.

  My day went by quickly as I continued to shift my room into something more suitable. Tom wasn’t much of a housekeeper, so after I finished with my room, I scrubbed the small bathroom upstairs. Cleaning was easy and it kept my mind off of things I usually tried to avoid thinking about. Soon, the upstairs was so sparkling clean I almost didn’t recognize it. I didn’t do Tom’s room, but I went downstairs to clean the living room, bathroom, dining room and kitchen.

  The hum of the vacuum lulled my mind into a numb state, allowing me to remember exactly how my collarbone had been broken. Of course, Helen hadn’t taken me to the hospital then, or for any of my other numerous broken bones for that matter. There would have been questions and poorly-concealed dirty looks as the medical professionals made their silent judgments and decided if calling the Department of Children and Families would be necessary.

  Looking at Helen and her tiny little five-foot-five frame, one wouldn’t think that she’d be able to inflict such damage, but I knew from experience that she was a force to be reckoned with. It wasn’t that she was so physically strong; it was that she had a lot of fiery passion and aggression within her.

  I shook my head as I flipped the vacuum off. I hadn’t had any weed since I’d left Tampa and I was in desperate need of it. Getting some was going to be one of my top priorities at school tomorrow. There had to be some killer bud around and all I needed to do was find the person at Damascus High who could hook me up. I didn’t have much money saved, but I could easily get a job. Besides, in the past it was fairly easy to hook up with my hook up. Not that I was a pot whore or anything. It was just easy to find mutual pleasures and typically, when you’re banging someone, they don’t charge you for the shit you smoke when you’re with them. It’s also easy to get them to break you off some for when you’re not.

  It was nearing five o’clock when I finally starting hunting around in Tom’s cabinets and refrigerator to see what I could make for dinner. I wasn’t trying to be domestic, but cooking and cleaning were just some of my responsibilities at Helen’s so it wasn’t as if I was stepping outside the realm of traditional Sophie roles.

  Tom had next to no food in his house. His fridge was filled with random condiments and a shitload of beer. Damn. If only beer was my preferred method of getting fucked up. It looked as though he had enough to not even miss a few. Well, perhaps I’d be able to stumble across some hidden bottles of the good stuff. The harder stuff. Where only a few shots would leave me warm and peaceful.

  I needed to stop fantasizing about getting wasted. Dinner was the most important thing right now. Finally, I found some frozen hamburger and a box of that shitty Helper stuff, so I went to work. It was incredibly unappealing and I would have to talk to Tom about getting actual food into the house.

  I ate, watched TV, and went to sleep. The house was quiet, but I still felt better when I barricaded my bedroom door with the wooden computer chair, wedging it up under the doorknob.

  The next morning, I was taking my blood sugar as Tom walked in the front door. I watched him as I sat at the dining room table. He kicked off his boots, and some of the mud splattered on the newly-cleaned tile. He looked around, eyeing the state of his house. He must have forgotten I lived with him now. “Sophie?” he called.

  “Right here, Tom.”

  He looked up and gave me a small smile. “You didn’t have to clean the house.”

  “I’m sorry.” My reaction was immediate and I hated myself for apologizing. I would clean if I wanted to.

  “What’s that smell?”

  “Breakfast, but it’s probably pretty shitty. You need more food.”

  He cocked his head. “Watch your language.” I bit my tongue and looked back down at the monitor, picking up my pen to record my results. “Everything okay there?”

  “111. Perfectly normal, Tom.”

  The rest of breakfast was silent, except for when he said it was good, to which I responded with silence. He handed me a hundred bucks to go shopping for the week before I went upstairs. It would definitely make scoring easier and seeing how well he stocked his pantry, I knew he would have no clue how much money was actually spent on food.

  I grabbed my bag and waited for him by the door. I was ready to get the show on the road and be finished with the awkwardness of changing schools mid-year.

  I wasn’t exactly nervous about my first day. To be honest, I really didn’t give a shit if I fit in or made friends, or any of that nonsense. I disliked being driven to school by my father. My license had been taken away and I had no vehicle of my own, so my other priority was to find someone who would give me rides to and from school.

  Tom made what I figured were typical “Dad” comments before I got out of the car. I was happy to be out of such a confined space with him. He was an okay guy, but being strapped into a moving vehicle mere inches from the man put me on edge.

  My first stop was the administration office where I picked up a stupid map of the school and my class schedule. I took a moment before heading back out to peruse it. At least Tom made sure they gave me some of the classes I wanted. I got into Photography, although it was a basic level class and I was already beyond that. U.S. History, blah, Calculus, whatever, Physical Education, was this a joke? British Literature. Okay, I could handle that, even though I doubted the reading list covered anything that would be new to me. Spanish. Tal vez yo pueda excavar mi cerebro con una cuchara. Horticulture. I was in it back in Tampa, so at least I could breeze through this class, and most of my others, with only minimal effort. Yes! My personal favorite, Study Hall.

  I located all my classes quite easily on the map and went back out into the hall. Students passed me left and right, casting me curious looks, their eyes moving from my feet to the top of my head. Apparently I was endlessly fascinating to the kids of Dam
ascus. As long as none of them talked to me, I’d be okay.

  “You must be Sophia!” I cringed as I turned to the dark-haired guy with pimples and braces. “I’m Connor.” Good for you. Now what do you want?

  “It’s Sophie, actually,” I corrected, deciding that being nice, or at least not being so shitty to everyone, would help with my two priorities of scoring a little weed and finding rides to and from school.

  “Do you need help finding your classes?”

  I gave him a tight-lipped smile and did my best to calm myself. After all, it was probably fairly irrational to be upset with someone offering me help. “I think I can manage.”

  “I can fill you in about Damascus High if you want.”

  Seriously? What did I need to be filled in about? It was high school, right? There were cheerleaders and jocks, nerds and geeks, thugs and punks, loners and delinquents. I could pick them out all out by myself and certainly didn’t need a pimply puppy following me around. I sighed. “My first class is English.”

  Connor peered at my paper in a totally intrusive way, scanning all of my classes, teachers, and room numbers. “Right this way,” he said, as he started to lead me down the same path I’d already been on.

  “Hamill! Finally get a girlfriend?”

  Again, I cringed. Two minutes standing with this fool and already I was his girlfriend? Scowling, I turned to look at the other boy who came running up. Obviously a jock, but not a first-string jock. Looking at his expensive clothing, I deduced that he probably only made it onto the varsity teams because his daddy was some local Big Name Guy. He had shaggy brown hair that looked like he worked really hard to make it look that unruly.

  “Oh,” he said, as he took me in, his eyes scanning every part of my body, making me feel like I’d just been visually violated. “Hi. I’m Chris. You’re Sophia the new girl, aren’t you?”

  Before I could correct him or even sigh in annoyance over the use of my proper name, Connor smiled at Chris and said, “It’s actually Sophie, and I’m taking her to her first class.”

  Chris smirked and took the paper from my hands. My jaw clenched. I hated when people touched my things. “I have English with you. Hamill has Econ, but it’s in the other direction. Come on, I’ll show you.” He scanned the list again. “Oh, we have Horticulture and P.E. together too. Too bad about Reese’s class though, the only open seat is next to—”

  “Chris,” the other guy began, “Sophie and I were involved in a very personal conversation which you very rudely interrupted.”

  The sleaze smiled at me.

  With a frown on my face, I grabbed my schedule back from the idiot named Chris, rolled my eyes at Connor the brainless wonder, and started toward my class. This was exactly what I needed; a dork and a jock already fighting over who could walk me to class.

  Neither of them would have a hook up, and even if they drove, I didn’t think I would be able to stand two minutes alone with either one of them.

  They both trailed after me, trying to engage me in some form of conversation or another, but I ignored them. It wasn’t until someone ran into me, knocking my bag off my shoulder and my schedule out of my hands, that I stopped and let them catch up.

  “Jesus Christ, D-D-Dalton. Can’t you watch where the fuck you’re going?” Chris snarled at the boy who bent down to pick up my fallen bag while Connor ran after my floating schedule. I wondered briefly why Chris had drawn out the kid’s name like that.

  The boy looked up, first at Chris and then at me, and froze for a moment. “S-sorry,” he mumbled.

  He stood up straight, holding out my bag to me. What the hell was this guy doing in Podunk, Maryland? And why the hell did he take shit from the likes of this Chris guy? The Dalton kid was obviously so far superior in every way. His dark, rusty-red hair fell naturally over his eyes like a shield, but managed not to look messy. I felt the urge to run my fingers through it just to dishevel it. He had a perfect face, all straight lines, hazel eyes, and long lashes. And he was tall. I was only five foot five, so it wasn’t hard to beat that.

  “Why you gotta be such a freak?” Chris kept up, roughly grabbing my bag from Dalton and handing it back to me.

  I was just about to tell Chris to knock it the hell off when the biggest high school kid I’d ever seen came around the corner. My eyes widened as I took in the anger etched on his face. He stopped right next to the rusty-haired god with low self-esteem and shot daggers at Chris. Instantly, Chris’s body conveyed his nervousness. On instinct, I stepped away from the three boys, suddenly realizing that Connor had frozen in place behind me.

  “What is your problem, Anderson?”

  “Um, hey, David,” he said, carefully, his voice quivering as he spoke. “Nothing. Your, uh, your brother just nearly knocked the new girl over and I…”

  “Thought calling him a freak would be an appropriate response?” David took another step closer to Chris. This was kind of interesting. The big guy was the rusty guy’s brother, and while Chris seemed to enjoy being a prick to the rusty guy, he was absolutely terrified of the big guy.

  I hoped Chris pissed his pants.

  I shook my head. What the hell was I doing? Why did I give two shits about the happenings between these people? I had to remember my priorities. The rusty guy seemed absolutely too weak to give me a ride anywhere and I wouldn’t be in a confined space with the big one if someone paid me loads of money and weed. Also, neither of them could be dope smokers. I could tell.

  Grabbing my schedule from Connor, I walked away, not missing Rusty Dalton’s eyes carefully following my actions.

  God, his eyes. They were the most beautiful hazel eyes I’d ever seen.

  Thank the Flying Spaghetti Monster for Study Hall. I enjoyed Photography a little, but everyone had nicer cameras than I did and it made me jones for some pot even more. I got to the library and took a seat at a vacant table. No one else seemed to be here yet. I was hungry, so I quickly checked my blood sugar, trying to be discreet about it, before I pulled out my bottle of water and Pop-Tart. Ah, the snack of champions.

  Before I knew what was happening, the empty table I was sitting at filled up with people I had seen in various classes. If that didn’t sour my mood, Chris sitting down next to me surely took my mood from sour to unbelievably tart and acidic. Suddenly a girl started whispering, “Oh my God, Sophie, I cannot believe that we haven’t had a chance to talk yet. You’re in my English and Calc classes. I’m Megan. Connor said you like Sophie rather than Sophia, and I totally agree; there’s something just so beautiful about the name Sophie and something so stuffy about Sophia.”

  I turned to the girl sitting on the other side of Chris. Jesus, she could talk, but I couldn’t remember her from even one of my morning classes, let alone two. “Hi.”

  Her eyes widened as if she was shocked that I acknowledged her. “So, how do you like Damascus? Are you getting around okay? It must suck to have your dad drive you around. If you want, I can take you. I have a Honda. It kind of sucks, but I think my parents are planning to get me something new when I graduate. Too bad that’s a year and a half away, right?”

  I smiled, but scanned the other people in the library. I stopped at the table where Rusty Dalton was sitting with Big Dalton. There were several other people sitting with them: A beautiful strawberry-blonde, obviously a cheerleader, hanging all over Big Dalton. Another girl who looked like one of those waifish models. She wasn’t short, but not really tall either; thin, but not skinny. She had about six earrings in each lobe, and an industrial piercing through the cartilage of her right ear. I couldn’t see if she had any other piercings, but she definitely seemed edgy for Damascus. Also, I liked her hair. It was so different for this little town, with big white frosted streaks cutting through the jet black. She was holding hands with a tall, lean boy who was laughing at something. There were two other cheerleaders and three more jo
cks sitting with them.

  Rusty looked so uncomfortable.

  “I see you’ve discovered the Daltons and their entourage. Everyone loves David and David only loves Rebecca. The weirdo with the crazy hair’s Jane. She’s spastic. They say her name’s Jane because she’s a Jane Doe. You know, like, she doesn’t have a real family or whatever. David and Elliott are her adopted brothers. Someone said she was rescued, or whatever, from some hill-billy family up in the mountains, but I don’t think that’s true. That’s her boyfriend next to her, Trent Cooper. He is like, so hot, but a total hellion. His mother works with my father and he says that ‘he cannot be controlled,’ and goes on and on about how horrible it is for a single woman to have to deal with that. The guy next to him is Christian and let me tell you, he’s anything but a Christian. The girl next to him is Kelly and she tells everyone everything he does with her. Like I said, positively sinful. See the black guy with the green eyes? Yeah, contacts, but he’s totally fine, don’t you think?”

  I had no time to answer because she kept right on going.

  “Then there’s Jackie,” she said, her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper now, “She’s real friendly with everyone on the football team, if you know what I mean. And there’s Luke, so sexy, but he got Heather McCormick pregnant last year, so he’s kinda, sorta on the outs with most of the girls. He said it wasn’t his, but everyone can see those blue eyes on that baby.”

  There was one person Megan didn’t even mention. “Who’s the redhead?”

  A strange smile spread over her features. “Oh, that’s Elliott. He’s—”