Justice for All (The Outcast Book #1) Page 12

  “A little. When they thtopped me in the thower, there wath nothing I could do. I wath too weak.”

  “I don’t think you’re weak.”

  I pinch one of my puny biceps and then shake my head. “I am weak.” I push myself to my feet again and then start running. It’s going to take a while to get back to where I was, but I’m going to do it. Then I’m going to keep going until I’m strong enough to stop Madame Crimson for Daddy.

  ***

  Sundays I used to sleep in until noon—or later—but this Sunday Melanie shakes me awake at six-thirty like any other day. “It’th Thunday,” I grumble.

  “We have to go to Mass,” she says.

  “I don’t wanna.”

  “You have to. Come on.” Melanie drags me off the mattress despite my best efforts to keep sleeping. Still grumbling under my breath, I follow her to the showers and then change into my uniform.

  Mass is held in the oldest building. It does look really impressive on the inside with the stained glass windows and a crucifix with a life-sized Jesus dangling on it, complete with blood and a pretty sizable bulge in his loincloth. I giggle and then point the latter out to Melanie. She swats me gently on the shoulder. “Don’t let the sisters hear you say that.”

  We sit in a pew near the back, which I hope will help to hide me from the nuns. Now that we’re seated, I shiver a little to think of the last time I was in Mass, to bury my father.

  At least this time there isn’t a casket up front. A priest—probably the only man on campus—mounts the altar and then begins the ceremony. He mostly speaks English, which is a relief for me. As the priest speaks, Sister Mary Francis and the other nuns sit on a pew to the side of the altar so they can keep an eye on us. I mouth the words of the first hymn along with Melanie, whose singing voice sounds like a foghorn.

  It’s as we’re sitting down from the hymn that something sharp pokes the back of my neck. I turn to see Tonya grinning at me. “Thomething wrong?” she whispers.

  I turn around and cross my arms over my chest. I know all about this game from when Daddy drove me and Jessica across the country to the Grand Canyon. When I cried out, Daddy made that old threat of turning around and going home, though there was no way he would do that. In this case Tonya just wants me to get in trouble.

  She pokes me in the neck again; I flinch but don’t say anything. After a couple more pokes she starts to blow in my ear. I don’t react, not wanting to give her the satisfaction of getting me in trouble.

  Since blowing in my ear didn’t work, she changes tactics again and starts to braid my hair. I whip my hair out of her grasp and then slouch forward. That lasts for a few minutes, until a nun comes over during a hymn to put a hand on my shoulder. “No slouching,” she growls.

  “Thorry.”

  The nun stays with us for a few minutes to make sure I sit up straight. As soon as she leaves, Tonya starts to play with my hair again. I sigh, seeing no choice but to let her. This seems so pathetically juvenile, but I guess she has nothing better to do.

  She is finishing a second braid when we have to stand for a hymn. There’s a sharp pain in my scalp as Tonya is still holding my hair as I stand up. I touch the back of my head to feel the braided pigtails. Tonya leans forward to whisper, “You look so cute, like my baby sister. She’s in first grade. That’s where you should be, Baby Rothe.”

  “Leave me alone,” I whine. As if I really am still in first grade I say, “I’ll tell Thithter Mary Franthith.”

  “Ooh, Baby Rothe is going to tell on me.” Tonya’s friends giggle at this. I furiously claw at the braids to take them out, until the nun returns. This time she grabs my left earlobe.

  “Come with me, young lady.”

  “But I didn’t do anything! It’th her!” I shout, pointing to Tonya.

  “I don’t know what she’s talking about,” Tonya says, grinning sweetly. “We’re trying to pay attention to Father Barclay’s sermon and she’s fussing with her hair.”

  It’s hard to imagine anything more humiliating than being dragged out of Mass by the ear. The only positive is we didn’t sit in the front row, so it doesn’t take too long for the nun to get me out of there. Still, I can hear people laughing in our wake.

  The nun sits me down outside the chapel to glare down at me. “I’m thorry, Thithter,” I say before she can yell at me.

  “Sorry is not enough, young lady. Your behavior was disgraceful. Mass is a time for serious contemplation of the word of the Lord. It’s not the time to worry about your hair,” she says, grabbing one of the braids Tonya tied.

  “I didn’t do that! Tonya did!”

  “That’s enough of that. Lying only compounds your guilt. You’ll wait here until after Mass and then we’ll talk with Father Barclay.”

  “Yeth, ma’am.” I have to sit on a bench at rigid attention even after the other girls file out of the chapel. Melanie gives me a supportive nod while Tonya grins with triumph. My fists clench, but there’s nothing I can do with a nun sitting right next to me.

  The nun drags me back into the chapel once everyone else has gone. Father Barclay is taking off his vestments when the nun brings me up to him. “What seems to be the trouble here, Sister Elizabeth?”

  “This one wasn’t paying attention. She thought playing with her hair was more important.” Sister Elizabeth yanks one of the braids hard enough to make me wince.

  “I see. What’s your name, young lady?”

  “Rothe.”

  “Sister, why don’t you let Rose and I talk for a few minutes?”

  “Certainly, Father.” The sister nods to him and then stomps away.

  Father Barclay motions for me to sit on a pew. He sits down a few inches away from me. “I know Mass isn’t very exciting to girls your age. You’d rather watch videos on TubeYou and the Facebook.”

  I stifle a giggle at his mangling of the websites. “I’m thorry, Father. But it wathn’t my fault. Another girl did thith,” I say, waving one braid.

  “Why would she do that?”

  “To get me in trouble. The doethn’t like me.”

  “Well, you know what Jesus said to do when someone doesn’t like you, don’t you?”

  “Turn the other cheek. I tried. Firtht the poked me and then the blew on my ear. I took it ath long ath I could.”

  The priest motions to Jesus hanging from the cross. “He refused to fight back even when they put him on that cross.”

  “But he’th the thon of God. I’m not.”

  “No, but we have to try to be more like him. Understand?”

  “Yeth, Father. I’ll try.”

  “Good. I want you to say three Hail Marys and two Our Fathers. Do you know those?”

  “I’m a little ruthty.”

  “That’s all right. I’ll teach you.” We kneel down in front of the altar, cross ourselves, and then I follow along as Father Barclay says the ritual prayers. I say the words, but all I want to do is bash Tonya’s smug face in. Hers and her mother’s. The apple didn’t fall far from the tree there. I promise myself and Jesus on the cross that someday I’m going to make them both pay.

  Chapter 16

  The second week I’m at St. Martha’s there’s a blizzard that shuts the whole campus down. Melanie and I watch the snow piling up out our window. Snow is about all we can see; even the buildings next door have disappeared. “You think we’ll be buried alive?” Melanie asks.

  “I hope not,” I say. The last thing I want is to be stuck with Tonya Schmidt for weeks. “But if we have to resort to cannibalism, I know the first one we can eat.”

  Melanie laughs at this. “She’d probably be pretty tough.”

  “Wouldn’t matter to me.”

  We might have to resort to cannibalism if it keeps on snowing. There aren’t any vending machines in the building and there’s no way we can get to the cafeteria in this. Sister Marie walks along the floor to reassure us that everything will be fine, though she urges us to pray for forgiveness.

  “Like God
is punishing us,” I grumble.

  “It couldn’t hurt,” Melanie says.

  “Fine.” We kneel down in front of my bed to silently pray. I ask God to let me make it back home safely and to look out for Jessica and Carol. I’m not sure what Melanie prays for, but it’s probably something along the same lines.

  “What are you dykes doing?” Tonya asks from the doorway.

  “We’re praying,” Melanie says.

  “And we’re not dykes,” I add.

  “Are too. You’re always staying after gym class, probably so you can make out.”

  “We’re just exercising. You should think about it. You’re starting to look a little…jolly,” I say. It’s hard not to grin with triumph when Tonya’s face reddens.

  “Whatever, Rothe,” she says even though I’ve managed to cure my lisp, at least so long as I concentrate on enunciating my S sounds. “I’ll let you two get back to making out.”

  Melanie waits until Tonya has stomped off to giggle. “You really stuck it to her that time.”

  “Yeah. I’m sure I’ll pay for that later.”

  With classes cancelled there’s not much to do. I spend a couple of hours reading Brideshead Revisited, until I get too bored. My body is starting to get antsy, so I put on a pair of sneakers and then tap Melanie on the shoulder. She’s still working on her comic book, tracing over her pencil drawings in ink.

  “You want to go for a run?” I ask.

  “A run? In that?” she asks, gesturing to the snow still falling.

  “We can use the stairs. It’ll be a great workout.”

  “No thanks. You go on ahead.”

  “Your loss,” I say. I stick my head out the door to make sure no one is watching and then slip down to the end of the hallway. Instead of going to the bathroom I take the opposite door to the stairs. I sprint down to the ground floor, where I nearly plow into Sister Matilda. She turns to me, a cigarette slipping from her lips. She stamps it out with one shoe.

  “Rose, what are you doing?”

  “Just getting some exercise.”

  She shakes her head. “For someone who doesn’t play any sports you’re pretty committed to fitness.”

  “I want to get in shape. But, um, I was thinking that maybe I could try out for track in the spring. If you think it’s a good idea.”

  “It sounds like a great idea to me. I just wish the rest of my girls were this disciplined.”

  I smile at that, thinking of how Carol and Jessica said I needed to learn discipline. “Thanks, Sister. Are you going to tell anyone about this?”

  “Not so long as you don’t tell Sister Mary Francis about this,” she says, kicking her cigarette.

  “I won’t.” I’m about to start up the stairs again when I think of something. I turn to ask, “Sister, do you know anything about boxing or any of that?”

  “Boxing?”

  “Or martial arts or something?”

  “Is this about Miss Schmidt giving you a hard time?”

  “Maybe a little, but mostly the city isn’t very safe. I mean, Melanie told me about some creep on the train who tried to mug her. I want to be able to defend myself when I have to go back.”

  Sister Matilda stares at me for a long time. She finally sighs and then says, “I know a few things. You have to promise not to use it against anyone at this school, all right?”

  “I won’t.”

  “Good. If this snow ever clears up, then we can get started after gym class.”

  “Thank you, Sister.” I give her a brief hug before I remember that she’s a teacher and a nun. “Sorry.”

  “It’s all right. Go on and get back to your running.”

  “I will.” I nod to her and then start running back up the stairs.

  ***

  The next morning I wake up to the sound of snowblowers outside. I slip out of bed and look outside to find figures in orange parkas clearing paths through the snow. I suppose that means we’ll have to go back to class today.

  I climb up to Melanie’s bunk to shake her awake. It’s her turn to growl and struggle to stay asleep for a few minutes longer. Eventually she gets up so we can take a shower and then get dressed.

  While I’m not thrilled about going back to class, I am glad we can get to the cafeteria. The food there is crap, but after a day without eating even the slop they serve sounds awesome. I shrug on my parka, slip on my boots, and then follow Melanie out into the wintry wonderland outside.

  As we’re getting bowls of what passes for oatmeal, someone in an orange parka cuts in front of us. I’m about to say something, but then the person in front of us throws back the parka’s hood and I gasp. After two weeks it’s weird to see a boy up close. Especially a boy about my age with shaggy brown hair and dreamy blue eyes.

  He’s getting cups of coffee, probably for the others clearing out the snow. “You…you want thome help?” I ask, my face turning warm at not being able to control my lisp.

  “That’d be awesome. Thanks,” he says in a voice as rich as warm honey.

  I set my tray down so I can grab a couple of cups of coffee. It takes an act of sheer will to get my hands to stop shaking. I’m usually not such a mess around boys, but it has been so long and, well, he’s super cute.

  I follow him back outside, leaving Melanie behind with our bowls of oatmeal. He stops at an older guy with one of the snowblowers. “Hey, Pop, I brought your coffee!” he shouts.

  His father stops the snowblower to take one of the cups of coffee. His father turns to me and says, “Who’s the girl?”

  “I’m Rothe. Rose,” I say. “I, uh, I go to school here.”

  “Well, Rose, it’s nice of you to help, but Colin should be able to handle this by himself.”

  “Oh. Um, OK,” I mumble.

  Colin’s father growls to him, “Finish handing out the coffees and then get shoveling by the admin building.”

  “Sure, Pop,” Colin mutters. He takes the coffees from my hands; his hands are big enough that he can hold four cups without too much of a problem. He waits until his father has gone a few feet away with the snowblower to say, “Thanks for the help, Rose.”

  “It theemed like it jutht got you in trouble.”

  “Pop’s always like that. He’s all about self-reliance and stuff,” Colin says. “That’s why I’m working today instead of sitting around home like everyone else. I mean, everyone except you guys—girls.”

  “That thuckth,” I say, hating myself for not being able to get rid of this lisp in front of him. “Are…are you going to be here all day?”

  “Nah, we’ll probably be done in a couple hours.”

  “Oh. Too bad.”

  “Yeah. Look, I gotta get these coffees to the guys before they get cold. The coffees, not the guys. But, um, if they ever let you out of here, maybe I can see you again?”

  “That’d be awethome.”

  “I live in Evettsville, at the bottom of the hill. Just look for Mayfield’s Lawn Care.”

  “OK.” I try to think of anything else to say, but I can only mumble, “Bye.”

  I scurry back inside, cursing to myself for wasting such a great opportunity. I find Melanie at our usual table. Before I can even sit down, she asks, “Did he ask you out?”

  “What? No. I mean, he did say if I ever go to Evettsville I should look him up.”

  She squeals loud enough that people look our way. My face burns with embarrassment. I hunch down in my seat while Melanie says, “He is totally into you.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe he was being nice.”

  “Don’t be that way, Rose. You’re cute.”

  “For a scrawny little geek, right?”

  “You just need some confidence.”

  “Yeah, maybe.” I sigh and then dig into my oatmeal. The rest of the day no matter how hard I try, I keep thinking about Colin. In my geometry notebook I write down his name and the rest of the information he gave to me. There’s no way I can go to Evettsville now, but maybe in a few weeks the weath
er will clear up enough that I can find a way to get down there.

  ***

  Melanie wants to stay with me after gym class, but I ask her to go back to the dorms. “I’ve got to talk about something with Sister Matilda,” I say.

  Melanie studies me for a moment and then nods. “OK. See you later.” She trudges away like someone who has just lost her best friend. I shake my head; sometimes she’s a little too needy.

  It’s weird when Sister Matilda takes off her habit to reveal brown hair even shorter than mine used to be. She paces the floor of the basketball court for a minute and then finally turns to me to say, “Before I joined this order, I was in the Marines. I did two tours in Iraq. I saw a lot of things I hope you never have to see.”

  I don’t say anything, though I’m not nearly as sheltered as she thinks. She continues, “You have to promise that what I teach you is just to defend yourself. I don’t want you using it to beat up Tonya Schmidt or anyone else. You understand?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Good. A lot of what you’re going to learn isn’t going to be helpful right away. Not until you put some muscle on those chicken wings. We don’t have any weights in here—Sister Mary Francis doesn’t think girls need strength training—but I’ve got some in my room you can use. You absolutely, positively can’t let anyone see you in there or I’ll get fired.”

  “I understand.”

  “I hope so. First let’s see what you already know. Try to hit me with either your feet or hands.” She motions for me to come forward. I lunge at her, trying to kick her in the knee like the guy on the train. She easily deflects it and then shoves me down to the floor.

  “OK, that was good. Most people would try to throw a haymaker like in the movies. You’ve got good instincts.”

  “My dad was a cop,” I say. “I picked up a few things.”

  “That will save us a little time. Won’t have to fix so many bad habits. Try it again.” She takes a step back to invite me to attack her again. I think over my options, until Sister Matilda says, “I don’t have all day, Miss Howard.”

  I nod and then lunge forward again. I feint for her knee; when she starts to block it I sweep my other leg around. Sister Matilda cries out with surprise as she tumbles to the floor. I worry I might have hurt her, until she starts to laugh.