Vandal

I sink into my seat in the school's auditorium and sigh, wishing I could get back to study hall. Girls around me clad in green and blue plaid with overly straightened hair gossip about why the headmistress has called an emergency assembly. "I bet they finally caught Milley selling her ridilin," a bottle blonde girl whispers eagerly behind me to her friend.

"It has come to my attention," Ms. Landry, the headmistress, begins, "that someone has vandalized the north corridor. At Berkley Prep we try to provide a clean, safe, open learning environment for all the young women who attend." My mind drifts, considering the option leaving; I doubt anyone would notice. "Whoever is responsible for this blatant lack of respect for your fellow classmates and the faculty of this institution has until the end of the day to come and speak to me or one of the guidance counselors before an investigation is launched." Ms. Landry stares down the school, her hair shining silver under the stage lights. Every student knows Ms. Landry as a lonely middle aged teacher on a power trip.

Everyone's dismissed from the auditorium and returns to class. Studay hall has since ended and I grab a book for history. "Kyke" someone hisses into my ear as they pass. I continue on to my class, barely flinching at the derogatory term. It's not a new thing, to be called that in the halls, and I've realized in the past year that its not worth getting upset about. Nothing I say will make them realize how they're wrong, so I don't bother.

I make it to history class and put my books down on a desk in the back of the room. The girls who I sat near during assembly have moved on to the new hot topic of the day: the vandalism. "Can you believe someone would do that to the school? It's just disgusting, I mean what is it even supposed to be?" The blonde girl talks loudly while sitting on top of her desk.

Her friend sits bellow her in a chair and nods, "Who ever did that is seriously deranged," she says disapprovingly.

"Settle down ladies, there's plenty of time to talk after class," Mr. Heath announces as he walks into class. He turns to the board and begins to write notes about the feudal system. I take out a piece of loose leaf paper from my binder. Doodles quickly begin to cover the paper on which I'm supposed to be taking notes. My attention quickly turns to my split ends; I rapidly run my fingers up and down a strand of my dark brown hair, studying the ends and separating the curl. Finally the bell rings dismissing everyone from class for the day. I grab my books and walk eagerly towards the door. I appreciate the sound of my ratty high top converse as I walk towards freedom- if only for a few seconds.

"Ginny, I want to talk to you for a bit," Mr. Heath calls after me as I'm about to leave the classroom. I turn around hesitantly.

Yes," I wish I was on my way home.

Mr. Heath smiles at me; I instantly recognize a pity smile. My mind races trying to remember if I wrote a paper or did a test I could have failed. "What do you think of the vandalism?" Mr. Heath says after a long pause.

"I don't know." I pull anxiously at my kilt, the thick checkered fabric maintains it's rigid, unsightly lines.

"Look," Mr. Heath leans back, propping himself up against his desk. He's a young teacher who's constantly trying to impress his students. I admire his passion for teaching, but can't help resent his attempts to relate to his students who only want to pass history and move on. "I know you're responsible," he says slowly. I stare at him as he moves his gaze down to his scuffed brown dress shoes. "The graffiti - or whatever it is, -in the hallway; it's the same style as the drawings that cover your notes." I can tell the words hurt him to say and i can't help but pity him.

"I have to catch a bus." I mumble turning my attention to my own shoes.

"Look, Ginny, if you just tell me why you did it, then we can talk about it, but if not I'm going to have to tell Ms. Landry. I'm sorry." Mr. Heath's eyes study me, trying to figure out what I'm not telling him.

"I have to catch my bus." I repeat and quickly escape the classroom. I walk steadily to my locker. The hall are virtually deserted now. I get to my locker and begin to shove books into my back-pack. I sling the bag over my shoulder and begin jogging towards the exit, hoping I haven't missed my bus.

I make it in time and slide into an empty, green pleather seat with crude words scribbled on it. The bus seems unnatural and silent. I know the world is going on around me. I know it must be there, but I can't seem to process it. The girls who have tortured me for the past years on the bus don't seem to exist anymore. My phone rings in my backpack. The sound is faint but I reach for it anyway. "Mom" blinks on the neon screen. My blood feels hot under my skin. I turn the phone off and begin to examine the back of the seat in front of me.

The bus stops in front of my house. I walk down the short black driveway and turn my key gently in the lock. I slip inside the door and silence greets me. I ignore the living room, filled with pictures of me and my mom that seem so distant, but are only a few months old. I run my hand over the banister and slowly walk up the stairs. My heart beat begins to quicken. I collapse onto my bed and grab my sketchbook. The pages fill up with images of my classmates, my mom, her new boyfriend, teachers, and the graffiti.

My body shakes as everything pours out of me. I hear a door slam downstairs and know it must be my mother. "Regina Sarah Cohen, what the hell is wrong with you?" I cringe at the sound of my full name. "I just got a phone call from the school saying you were responsible for vandalism." Her voice fills every corner of the house and her high heels make a cold hallow sound as they walk up the stairs. The door opens quickly and I shut my eyes hoping that my mom will just go away. "Regina," my mom's voice is softer but still cold and remote. "I don't understand why you did this."

I wipe tears from my cheeks that I hadn't realized were there. "I'm so sorry mom," I manag, "I just didn't know what else to do, I just, I just, wanted to be heard," I continue to shake as I confess emotions that I had previously refused to admit.

My mom sits gently on the edge of my bed, "Ginny, you know you can always talk to me, but honestly," she sigh's, "I thought you knew better than to do something like, vandalize the school,"

I breath heavily, trying to stabilize my voice, "I just wanted someone to listen to me, I wanted everyone to listen to me. I mean, no one at school cares, you don't care, I didn't know what I was doing, I just thought it would make a difference, you know?"

There's a long pause as my mom considers what I've just said, "That's never the answer, something that hurts other people is never the answer. Jeeze Ginny, you should have thought. Why didn't you come to me if you felt so isolated?"

"Ever since you began dating Chase I've never seen you . Mom, he talks to me like I'm five. And more and more you have too."

My mom frowns, her voice turns steely again, "Chase is a really nice guy, you just have to get to know him better."

"That's what I mean mom, you used to care about my opinion, know you just dismiss it. I don't like chase and I don't think I ever will."

"I don't know what to say, I'm sorry that I haven't been here for you, but you can't just do something like vandalize the school. That's not ok," She begins folding her hands gently in her lap, "We have to figure out what your going to do, I wouldn't be surprised if Ms. Landers expelled you."

The magnitude of what I've done sets in; I begin to sob uncontrollably.

My mom wraps her arms around me, "It'll be ok, we'll figure this out," I pour into her arms, "Shh, it'll be ok, shh."

My mom leaves me in my room telling me to think about what I've done. I hear my moms voice through the walls. She's on the phone with the school, "She's just going through rough patch right now," there's a pause, I know that she's speaking to Ms. Landry, "Yes, I think therapy would be helpful," "I don't think removing her from school would be helpful," "Yes, a public apology does seem appropriate." The series of yes's and no's go on.

My mom hangs up the phone and comes back to my room. "You're not expelled, thank God, but your not off the hook, and honestly I think that Ms. Landry is going easy on you."

I find myself standing in front of the school on an early, sunny Monday morning. It's been five days since I vandalized the hallway. I breath heavily, anticipating having to read my apology statement. Words cover that piece of paper in my hands explaining emotions I didn't posses, trying to defend an action I barely understood myself.

I run my hands over my kilt, smoothing out the pleats, just trying to keep my hands busy. Ms. Landry introduces me quickly. I walk onto the stage, the uncomfortable flats I'm wearing make a loud sound against the wood floor. I can feel eyes dig into me and a tense silence quickly turns into deafening whispering. I shuffle the white papers in my hand before I begin my overly rehearsed speech.

"Last week I made a very bad decision. I chose a temporary solution to a much larger problem. I decided to vandalize the school," I pause and look up at the students and teachers I've interacted with every day for the pats years. I can feel their eyes prying into me, ripping me apart; I try to return to my speech but can't manage to say the words which seem so fake. I take a deep breath and mumble, "I'm so sorry, I can't do this." I look up at the students and the faces become nervous, waiting for my next move. "Every day I walk into school and see the same people. Every day I get made fun ofand bullied. Every day the teachers and faculty praise us for being the best and brightest students, the future leaders of this country. The future leaders of America are horrible people. People shouldn't treat each other the way you all treat each other. I don't even know why ou do it, all I hear in the hallways are rumors and gossip and mean words. Do we really need to put eachother down and judge others just to make ourselves feel better? I honestly don't thing that's what the best and brightest do."

I hear nervous laughter coming from some students but mostly I see astonished faces. All the blood in my body rushes to me head.

I know what I said was right. I don't regret a word I said even though the more reasonable side of me tells me I should. Ms. Landry puts her hand on my shoulder, "Regins, we need to talk, in my office."