“Well, that’s not what he did,” I said, and it was an effort to keep my voice steady. “He threw me away. Again.”
“Oh, Scarlett,” Bastian sighed, a world of sad sympathy in his voice that made me turn to study him. “I have a few things to ask you and so much to tell you. I’m not sure just how drunk you are, but I’m pretty positive that what I have to say will sober you up.”
That was an understatement. What he had to tell me didn’t just sober me up.
It changed everything.
*****
“She burned too bright for this world.”
~Emily Brontë
PAST
DANTE
I’d always had a soft spot for her. Since I could remember, her flashing eyes and stubborn face were dear to me.
Even before she’d decided we were friends, before our fateful bonding moment outside of the vice principal’s office when she first realized I was in her corner, I’d admired her.
Admired that she never backed down. Admired that, with the way she was treated by nearly everyone around her, she never bent, not one iota, let alone came near to breaking.
Her strength galvanized me, made me see the world in a different way.
I had it so easy. My mother was awful, my father dismal, but my life was pampered and I could escape any time I wanted, which was often, and go visit my Gram, who lived a short walk away and made up for both of my piece of shit parents and then some.
I had an anger problem and a bad attitude. This I knew. But it was Scarlett who inspired me to give those things purpose.
The first time I tried to help, she didn’t even notice me.
We were in the cafeteria at school. I was in line to get lunch, stealing glances at her.
She was by herself. She always was. She was less interested in talking to other kids than any kid I’d ever seen besides myself. Once, I’d even taken a seat across from her to eat, and she’d still barely said two words to me.
Her thick, brown hair was endearingly messy. She had the perfect face of a doll, but it was always set into hard lines, an incongruous, arresting look but one that I couldn’t stop staring at. And I stared a lot. I enjoyed watching her. She wasn’t like anybody else, didn’t react to things in the same way. I got a kick out of expecting the unexpected from her.
What made other girls cry made her throw a punch. What made boys whine made her snarl like an angry tiger.
Every inch of her tiny frame read: This girl is tough and she does not plan to deal with your shit. Do not mess with her.
So why was everyone always messing with her?
They loved to tease her about the trashcan stuff, and I thought that was about the most messed up thing ever. It set my teeth on edge. What an awful thing to tease someone about.
No part of me understood, but then, I’d never felt like someone who fit in, either.
They were serving cheese zombies and tomato soup for lunch, one of my favorites, and I waited in line just watching her and not particularly paying attention to anything else.
I couldn’t help but overhear the boys in front of me, though. There were two of them and they were snickering. It was the type of laugh where you knew there was something bad behind it. Something mean, and so I focused on them, listening as they revealed themselves to be just the kind of little shits I had no patience for.
“I swear to God, Jason,” one said to the other, “I have five dollars in my backpack and if you do it, it’s all yours.”
Jason laughed harder. “I’ll get into trouble.”
“It’s five bucks! Just say you tripped and spilled it. Hell, some tomato soup on her head might make her smell better.”
They both went into loud peals of laughter. I thought they sounded like nasty little hyenas.
I felt sick. I didn’t even have to hear any more, I knew what they were planning and to who, but I did hear more, I listened and collected my food, then quietly followed them.
I set down my tray on the first table I passed.
Jason’s giggling friend sat down at the next one and waved him on.
With an evil grin, Jason approached Scarlett from behind, still holding his tray.
With quick furious steps I caught up to him, grabbed his tray, stepped on his foot, and sent my elbow hard into his chin all at once.
He went down with a gratifying cry.
Very calmly, I took his tomato soup and poured it right into his dismayed face.
“Is it funny now, you little shit?” I spat at him right before a teacher started dragging me away.
I glanced at Scarlett as I went.
She’d turned at the commotion, looking bored with only a touch of interest in her big, dark eyes as she looked at me, but no comprehension on her face that I’d just saved her from a headful of soup.
Still, that didn’t deter me too much.
Her plight ate at me. I’d lie in bed, hands clenched into fists, and stew about it.
I was a lonely, solemn boy, more sensitive than I’d ever admit, and I couldn’t stand what was happening to her. The casual cruelties. The constant unfairness. The unending injustice of it.
Anytime something was really bothering me, I took it to my Gram.
“It’s not right,” I told my glamorous, doting grandmother. “It’s wrong, the way she’s being treated. The kids are monsters, and the teachers don’t care until it’s gotten so bad that Scarlett gets herself into trouble. It’s every day, Gram. Every day she has to put up with these little shits picking on her.”
She was studying my face in a way that I liked, the way she always did when I was reminding her of grandpa. She didn’t even reprimand me for cursing, that’s how intently she was listening to me.
“You’ve gotta help her, Gram. It’s bad enough the way they talk, but she’s got no one at home taking care of her. She needs clothes. Soap. Someone to wash her hair and brush her teeth, or ya know, teach her how to do it.”
She touched a hand to my hair, purest love pouring out of her eyes. “Yes, yes, of course she does, Dante, my sweet, sweet boy. We will work on all of that.”
“They’re awful at school. They won’t let up on her. Maybe if you talk to her about . . . taking a bath or somethin’, it’d make it easier on her.”
“I will. I absolutely will, you darling boy. I’m ashamed that you even had to point it out, but you leave it to me, okay?”
I nodded. I had absolute faith that Gram would do anything she promised, so I was done worrying about that part of it.
“Thank you,” I told her. “But . . . what should I do? How do you think I can help her?”
“How about just being her friend? Friends can make life a lot better.”
I flushed and looked down, embarrassed to tell her that the girl I was so worried about would barely say two words to me. “I’ll try,” I muttered.
“And Dante?”
“Yes?”
“You’re strong. And brave. I have faith in you. I know you will find a way to help her. If you see she needs defending, defend her. Do what you think is right and you won’t have any regrets.”
A few weeks later, I pounded a guy that I heard making a joke about her, and I got my first smile out of her, a conspiratorial grin that let me know she had a newfound faith in me.
I loved that smile.
From that day forward it was my job to protect her. Her feelings. Her body.
Her freedom.