Standing Out
Chapter 21: Clara

Thin sheets of light danced in my dimly lit room as the sun began to spread its luminescent hues. I yawned and stretched, thankful to be out of the hospital and in my old room. Sure, it wasn’t the prettiest place ever made and the wallpaper was peeling in numerous locations, but it was home to me.

The only thing that I didn’t welcome was how frequently my forest-green door opened to reveal the ghostly shadow of a figure, wallowing away in misery.

Jack had terminated his long, on-and-off relationship with Jeanne and she was a mess. I still didn’t blame Jack at all and was silently scathing at how poorly Jeanne treated him, but it was rather irritating to see him dating Clara. If it had been any other girl, I would have wholeheartedly supported him. But no, it had to be Jessabelle’s sister.

For about a week, Jeanne trudged around the house, pouting and making a big scene. Frequently, she showed up in my room and this particular day was no different.

“Mya,” her voice sounded strained, as though every breath that she had to take without Jack was more painful than the last.

“Oh, Jeanne,” I released an exasperated sigh. “What is it?” Why do I even bother? I know the answer.

Her answer was not “I miss Jack,” so I was rather taken aback. “We need to spy on Clara.”

I narrowed my eyes. “I’m not doing this again. I spied on Brianna with you once in hopes of ending the drama. But what happened? Things got even more screwed up. I’m not doing this again. Besides, Jack is dating Clara, so he is allowed to hang out with her.”

She shook her head. “You don’t understand.”

I crossed my arms. I had a bad feeling she was going to wheedle me into helping her.

“Mya, Jack is everything to me.”

“Then maybe you should have treated him like he mattered that much.” I wasn’t feeling very generous, especially after my encounter with Cindy.

I pulled the bed covers over my head and groaned. She’s not going to leave me alone.

“Mya, please,” she was doing “that voice” again. “It’s so important to me.”

I hated myself for saying “fine.”

“So you’ll help?” She was elated.

I sighed. “Don’t make me change my mind. I already can’t stand myself for agreeing.”

“Hurry up and get changed. We’re going to go to Clara’s house rather than Jack’s this time.”

“Jeanne, it’s rather early and school is out. How do we know that he is going to be over there?”

“Well, I heard that Jack is meeting Clara at her house so they can go on an early breakfast date.”

“How do you know this?” I scowled. “I highly doubt they are going to breakfast at 6:30 in the morning.”

Jeanne looked impatient. “I spy on them all the time, so of course I know.” Well, that’s creepy. “And they’re not going to breakfast at 6:30; we just need to get ready ahead of time. Now get dressed.”

She left the room and I proceed to throw on an old tee-shirt and baggy sweatpants. I looked in the mirror. Perfect.

I waited around in my room and pulled out a book, assuming that Jeanne was going to spend an hour on her hair. I was right. She came out of the bathroom in some prim dress accompanied by jet black boots and a stunning braided updo. I didn’t know why she even bothered. Her hair was just going to get ruined when she put her bike helmet on.

I still can’t believe that I let her convince me to help. But I knew I was going to cave anyway. Nothing new, I guess.

Our parents had already left for work, so the coast was clear when we descended the wooden stairs in rhythmic tandem.

Soon we were face-to-face with the deep crimson door that led to our front yard. Apprehensively, I grabbed the doorknob. It felt like fire was ripping through my hands and I yelped in surprise. Jeanne made a strange face. I wondered if she was thinking of one of her novels from school; she had an allusion for everything. At the time, she was entrenched in The Scarlet Letter.

Quite unnerved, I kept the foreboding incident to myself and proceeded to grab the doorknob again. It felt like there were little knives slicing at my skin, but when I looked at my hand, there were no cuts. I had started to think that I was so nervous about potentially encountering Jessabelle that my butterflies turned into flesh-eating moths.

As Jeanne and I stepped outside, I felt a cool summer breeze tickle my face. It wasn’t hot out yet, which made for ideal biking conditions.

We hopped on to our bikes and I ignored the searing feeling that I got from touching the handlebars. Jeanne set a brisk pace and I struggled to follow.

We turned on to Sycamore Drive and a sick feeling of déjà vu hit me. I remembered Sara and her story about me. Worst of all, I remembered Cindy. Was she always faking or was there ever a time when she actually enjoyed having me around? It was hard to believe that after empowering me for a good part of the school year, she tore me down in a couple of sentences on one ill-fated day.

I must have stopped pedaling because Jeanne tapped me on the shoulder and I found myself straddling on my bike by the curb. My eyes had been fixated on that green sign overhead, pointing to Sara’s old neighborhood, which was now the territory of an elderly man with a boot.

“Let’s go, Mya.” I didn’t look at her. “Mya, come on. What are you waiting for?” I still didn’t answer. Absentmindedly, I adjusted my helmet and shifted the gears on my bike. We were off again.

I constantly felt like a piece of trash being put through an incinerator. Trash going in, trash coming out in an even uglier form. Once burned, my noxious fumes would further pollute the environment. There is just no clean way of getting rid of something as ugly as me. Cindy would have agreed.

Somehow we had already made it to Locust Street. I think time had lost its way due to all of my reminiscing.

“It’s that one.” Jeanne pointed to a small trailer with broken windows. My heart skipped a beat. That was no place to live, even for someone as terrible as Jessabelle.

“Jeanne,”

“What is it, Mya?”

“Why does Jessabelle live there?”

“Well, her family used to live in a wealthier neighborhood. Unfortunately, Jessabelle’s family experienced a painful divorce in May. Her mother has full custody, but not a well-paying job like her father.”

Suddenly, I felt really guilty about refusing to accept her apology back at the hospital. Even though her gift was made by Cindy, maybe it was the best she could do at the time. Maybe she wasn’t being deceitful and was actually being sincere all along. What would she gain by being friends with me, anyway? I pulled out some hair as I considered the situation. There was just no way to tell at this point. I didn’t know what to believe anymore.

Jeanne broke into my melancholic musings. “Well, are we going to confront Clara, or what?”

“No, Jeanne. I just don’t think it is right. Besides, she doesn’t have a lot going for her right now. Maybe Jack could help cheer her up. It’s nice to feel loved. Take that advice from someone who isn’t.”

Jeanne looked a bit hurt that I wasn’t going to follow through with my promise, but I didn’t really care. I kept looking at the trailer. The longer I stared at it, the warmer my forehead felt. Soon, my conscience was blazing with shame. Jeanne said something, but I ignored her. I walked through the weeds that choked Jessabelle’s front lawn so that I could get a closer look at her home.

I ran my hands against the broken glass windows, which proceeded to slice them. I felt blood ooze around the cuts, but I didn’t care about the damage or the pain that followed.

I peered through the moth-eaten curtains. I jumped back, startled, when I saw a face. It was Jessabelle’s, but it was different. She didn’t look so powerful, so intimidating. She was wearing a dirty shirt and old jeans. Her jet black hair had lost its luster. It was dull and matted. I wondered that maybe her splintered family didn’t have means of showering. She looked very weak, very vulnerable. I actually felt sorry for her.

She didn’t say anything, but she clearly saw me. She pressed her hand against the window. She looked like a trapped animal. I wanted to free her, but I didn’t know how. I put my hand on the opposite side of the glass, meeting hers. We stood like this for a couple of seconds until I removed my hand. I couldn’t take it anymore. It was too painful.

I turned away and headed back to my bike. Jeanne had already left, probably in an attempt to spite me. I rode home alone.