The Hate Between Us, page 4
I smiled back. “Sure.”
Mr. Fay brought his gaze back to me once Liam was far enough away. “How are you holding up?” He motioned with his head at my chair.
I scratched the side of my neck, surprised he’d asked. People rarely asked me that, probably because they weren’t sure they would like the answer or be comfortable with it.
Not that I’d ever tell the truth—I was barely floating up above the surface.
“Good. Thanks.”
“If you need anything, don’t hesitate to tell me or the other teachers.”
I appreciated his offer, but I just nodded.
“So, about your curriculum. I’ve been thinking, and I made some adjustments so you wouldn’t miss out on PE.” He went on to describe what those adjustments were, and I listened to him only vaguely until he said, “I’ll assign someone to assist you before next class.”
I played with the edge of my tee. “Some student?”
“Yes. Since I won’t be able to stay with you, someone else will do it.”
“I see.” I pushed my finger through the fabric like I wanted to make a hole in it. So now some poor student would have to be stuck with me. Wonderful.
“Any questions?”
Can I shoot myself? “What am I going to do today?”
“I’m going to stay with you during this class. We can do whatever you want.”
We settled on badminton, and he showed me how to play it against a wall. I even managed to forget about my limitations for a couple of minutes and have fun. It felt like maybe PE wouldn’t be such a disaster.
But then he asked, “Would you like to play basketball? You can focus on that this semester. We can also add another activity later to mix it up.”
I almost snorted out a laugh. “Basketball? But I’m in a wheelchair.”
“That shouldn’t stop you from playing sports. Haven’t you heard of wheelchair basketball? Everything is achievable. So, what do you say?”
I caught Jason’s gaze across the gym and winced at the intensity of dislike I found there, never feeling smaller or more powerless than I did now. Right now, I felt nothing was achievable, and I was set to fail. Up until now, I hadn’t even had the will to try. I was too lost in the newfound darkness. Too trapped.
I should refuse. But I didn’t.
“Alright. Sign me up.”
It wasn’t as though I had anything more to lose.
When I got home, I went straight to my room, more than done with the day. The silence in of the room called to me, lulling me into a false sense of safety, when all it actually provided me with was a big, fat nothing. Days blended together when you were closed within four walls for too long with only your stupid mind to offer you company. I contemplated skipping dinner, but that would only alarm my parents, and I’d had more than enough of their worried faces.
I wheeled to the big mirror standing in the corner of my room and stopped to study myself. It didn’t escape me how lifeless I looked. My hair was too messy and lacking shine. I tried to remember when I’d last visited the hairdresser. My skin had started breaking out since I’d spent the whole summer indoors, and I couldn’t bring myself to cover my acne with makeup. My sunken cheeks emphasized my wide nose. My green eyes were too dull. And I didn’t even want to think about my small chest and legs that were becoming skinnier each month.
My gaze went over the movie posters I kept on my walls like relics of old times. They were of my favorite movies—Forrest Gump, A Beautiful Mind, Inception, Shutter Island, and the Silence of the Lambs.
I’d used to stare at the lead actors and admire them for their portrayals, studying how I could implement their techniques into my own acting.
Now they were just a cruel reminder of my weakness—of shattered dreams.
I balled my hand into a fist. Like welcoming an old friend, I submerged myself in self-pity and tears, leaving them to run unchecked down my face. I reached for my phone and opened Instagram. I grimaced as I scrolled through the photos of actors, models, and sports players flaunting themselves in my news feed. They were all gorgeous and . . . free to do whatever they wanted with their lives. Go hiking. Skiing. Bungee jumping.
Running.
When a photo of Jason loaded at the bottom of the feed, my hand clenched around my phone, ready to throw it across the room. It was shot on the set of a noodle commercial I’d heard he’d done over the summer. He was smiling that radiant smile of his, the one I called his “Hollywood smile.” The one that would open doors for him one day.
Tears blurred my vision as I clicked on his profile and went through his photos. I’d used to do this every day when I’d been crushing on him. I’d used to study his face for hours and imagine it was me in his arms, not one of the numerous girls present with him in his photos. I’d imagined losing my virginity to him and then doing it with him repeatedly on every possible surface.
I’d seen Jason for the first time when I joined drama club in ninth grade. Off the bat, it struck me how talented he was and how dedicated he was to the craft. There was something different in the air whenever he was in the room, some indescribable energy that added to his attractiveness, that glued all eyes to him, something only those who were born to succeed had.
He’d always looked for ways to improve, and we’d all been sure he would go a long way. I was impressed by how easily he could slip into a character and convey their emotions, no matter if that characterization was tragic or comic. The core of it was his understanding; he never failed to get to the bottom of his characters and make sure he did them justice. He’d inspired me quite a bit.
It hadn’t taken long before I fell head over heels for him.
And now I had to take the brunt of his anger.
I moved my chair to my desk and opened the middle drawer. It was where I kept my old diary—the one full of my fantasies about him. I hadn’t read it in a long time, but now I was compelled to. I opened it to a random page.
Dear diary,
Our eyes met again today. We were reading Hamlet’s monologues, and he was sitting across from me. I don’t think he actually saw me, because he’s been hitting on Jenna for days now—I wonder who’s next?—but that’s alright because a girl can hope, right? I can hope that one day I’ll be the girl he kisses over and over again. The one he can’t take his eyes off.
The one he loves.
I know he doesn’t date. He’s made it clear that he’s only looking for flings. I know he’s too popular and lives in a different world than mine. The world of parties, alcohol, and sex. Lots and lots of sex.
He’s also too beautiful for me. Beautiful people like him date gorgeous girls. Girls like Jenna. Girls that are born for lead roles.
But maybe, just maybe, he’ll look at me one day and say, “You’re the only girl for me, Katie Turner.” And he would never let me go.
I sobbed. Acid climbed up my throat, and I dug my fingers into the armrest so hard my nails started cracking.
I had lied to myself—I hadn’t completely gotten over him. As angry as I was with him—as much as I wanted him to hurt for being so mean to me—some small, twisted part of me still longed for him.
And I hated that the most.
I flung the open diary into my wastebasket.
My phone chimed quietly, but it sounded as loud as a gunshot in my current state. I snatched a tissue from the dispenser on my desk and blew my nose before I reached for my phone. I didn’t bother wiping the tears off my face.
Dylan: One of Seth’s friends is throwing a party tonight. Wanna come?
I read her message twice. Thrice. Before the accident, Dylan and I hadn’t been part of that circle. We didn’t hang out with the popular kids. We’d gone to a party here and there, but it had been obvious we didn’t belong.
Now, being Seth’s girlfriend, Dylan was part of that world too, while I couldn’t have felt more distanced from it if I tried. Just imagining myself in my wheelchair among all those kids who would be having the time of their lives was enough to raise bile in my throat. It was asking for humiliation. Even more if Jason was coming.
Katie: “Can’t. Sorry. Going to bed early tonight.”
I turned off my phone before she tried to persuade me. Not bothering to swap the clothes I wore for something more comfortable, I transferred to my bed. My gaze found the ceiling. Even Netflix didn’t sound like a good idea. At this rate, I’d just stare at the actors and wish it was me in their shoes.
I might as well do what I’d told Dylan and go to sleep after dinner.
The weekend was uneventful save for Dylan’s texts and video calls. I knew what she was up to. She wanted to snap me out of my depression, but what she couldn’t understand was that it didn’t work that way. It wasn’t like a switch that could be turned on and off at my whim. And the more people told me to snap out of it and see that there was more to life, the more I wanted to hide beneath the covers and remain there.
Some part deep within me appreciated all her efforts and even welcomed them, but I wished she would just stop. Those efforts put pressure on me. I couldn’t force myself to show interest or enjoy the things Dylan was telling me about. The best I could do was to feign interest in them and hope she didn’t see right through me. It was my new acting role.
It didn’t seem I’d be likely to leave it any time soon.
“You’re not listening to me,” Dylan said when we reached my locker. I leaned down to enter the combination. Since I couldn’t reach the highest shelf in the upper locker I’d used, the school had given me a locker that met my needs.
“Sorry. You were saying?”
“The centennial play.”
“What centennial play?”
“It’s part of our centennial celebration. Apparently, the play is based on a real-life story. The girl who wrote it graduated from our school a few years ago, but the story is set during her years here when she was fighting cancer. Here.” She dug a pamphlet out of her backpack and handed it to me.
Something pierced through my chest as I studied the comedy and tragedy masks and the text in bold.
“Lake Gate High is proud to announce its centennial celebration play The Promise of Tomorrow, written by one of our very own, alumna Amy Harsh. Director Nessa Holloway. The auditions will start on the tenth in the school theater . . .,” I read and scanned over the rest of the text. My fingers dug into the paper, crumpling it.
It was like driving a stake into my heart. I fought not to show the emotions warring deep within me on my face.
If I were the old me, I would already be rushing to audition. But now I could only watch on the sidelines and cry over spilled milk.
“Cool,” I finally said and handed her back the pamphlet.
“Cool? Aren’t you interested in it?”
“Why would I be?”
She gave me a duh look. “You know why.”
“And you know that’s not in the cards for me anymore.” I dug for my books and placed them in my backpack.
“We talked about this, Katie. I know you gave up on acting and all, but you should really do this.”
I closed my locker with a loud bang. “Do what? Make a fool out of myself? I’m in a wheelchair.” I motioned at it.
“So what? There must be some role you could do in a wheelchair.”
“What’s the point? It’s not like acting has any sense anymore.” I gripped the push rims and propelled myself toward English class. Each push was more forceful than the last. My dreams and plans had been destroyed along with my legs that night.
“That’s not true. You—”
I gave her a narrow gaze. “As you said, we talked about this already. And I told you I was giving up on acting.”
She came to a halt.
I stopped too and sighed. “What?”
She looked as if she wanted to tell me so many things, sadness pooling in her eyes. But she didn’t say anything, she just squared her shoulders before she resumed walking.
“I just hope you’ll reconsider, that’s all.”
I didn’t reply. A few weeks prior, during one of my low episodes, she came to my house with bags of snacks and a steel resolve to pull me out of my misery. She’d been walking on eggshells around me ever since the accident and never pushed me to do something I didn’t want, but that day, she spent hours convincing me not to give up on my dreams. My mom had told her I was quitting acting, and Dylan wanted me to reconsider. She listed a dozen reasons why I shouldn’t let paraplegia limit me, until, at last, it was too much and I had broken down.
She’d apologized to me over and over again through her tears and my waves of panic attacks and had never tried to talk about it again. Until now.
I entered the classroom with a heavy weight in my chest and found Jason at his desk. He was talking to the girls sitting around him. They were all wearing seductive smiles, their legs crossed toward him, eating up his every single word. I looked away before he saw me and went to my desk, the weight in my chest increasing. He would most definitely audition for the play. He would also most definitely snatch the lead role. And he would most definitely, definitely kick off his acting career.
This time, the guy next to me didn’t try to talk to me, and I was sure it had everything to do with Jason confronting him previous week. Ms. Holloway entered as I set my things on the desk, more than aware of the giggles that had burst out at the back of the classroom after something Jason had said.
Unable to resist, I glanced at him over my shoulder and caught him winking at the redheaded girl occupying the desk next to him. He cast her a sensual smile that softened his features and did something weird to the pit of my belly. It was the same smile I’d seen him direct at the girls he liked countless times before. The one I’d never receive.
Ms. Holloway started her lesson, but I couldn’t hear a word she was saying. I thought about the play and how I had another reason to hate coming to school now. I’d have to keep hearing about it and watching others get hyped about it.
I was so lost in my misery that I almost missed Ms. Holloway calling my name when the bell rang.
“Yes?”
“I’d like to have a word with you. About drama club.”
Jason was already out of his chair and on his way to the door, but I saw him stop mid-step and turn to look at Ms. Holloway. Then at me. A frown formed on his face.
A matching frown appeared on my own. Ms. Holloway ran drama club; I should’ve known she would want to ask me why I hadn’t joined.
I took my time packing my things into my backpack. I let out a small sigh of relief when Jason left the classroom. I approached Ms. Holloway’s desk.
“Why aren’t you a member this year?” she asked.
Straight to the point. As always.
“I thought it would be a waste of time, seeing as I can’t walk anymore.”
Her brows went up, up, up, her arms folding over her chest. Her lips thinned into a stern line. “A waste of time?” She took off her glasses and rubbed the spot between her eyes. “Katie, I’m very sorry about your accident, and I can only imagine what it’s been like for you, but your disability shouldn’t end your acting ambition. You’re talented—” I opened my mouth to contradict her, but she raised her finger to shush me. “Yes, you are talented, and you can go a long way, wheelchair or not.”
I shook my head. “Yeah, right. Because Hollywood can’t wait for actors with disabilities to flock their studios.”
“That’s not a healthy way of thinking. I believe there’s a place for anyone in this world if they have talent and the drive to work hard. You make your own path. I’m sure you’ll find the right place for you wherever you want to go.”
“I don’t want to go anywhere,” I was quick to deny.
She saw through me right away. She sat on the edge of her desk. “You heard about the school play?”
I nodded.
“The auditions will start on Saturday, and I want you there.”
I sucked in a sharp breath, giving her a look that conveyed how ridiculous I found that idea to be.
She raised her finger. “Don’t turn me down just yet. Even if you think acting doesn’t make sense for you anymore, you can still give this play a try. It may be something fun.”
My stomach gave a growl of protest at that. Fun. I’d forgotten how that felt.
But despite despair that held me in its invisible cloak, for a split second, I felt something else, something dangerous. It was the kernel of thought that maybe I could do it.
I focused my gaze on the whiteboard, looking at Ms. Holloway’s scribbles but not actually seeing them. “I don’t think I can do it. I—”
“Think this through.” She reached for a stack of papers and handed one to me. I saw it was the same pamphlet Dylan had shown me. “If you change your mind, you know where to find me. Also, I’ll email you the script so you can prepare. Do you use the same email address?”
She was referring to the address I’d used when she’d previously sent me the materials we covered in drama club. It was on the tip of my tongue to tell her I didn’t use it anymore, but the lie wouldn’t come out. “Yes.”
She looked pleased. “Excellent. Expect it in your inbox by tomorrow. Now, you’d better go if you don’t want to be late for your next class.”
I nodded and turned to leave, but then I saw Jason leaning against the wall opposite the classroom door, his knee bent and arms folded across his chest.
My heart lurched. Ice cut across the sharp planes of his cheekbones and merged with the ire burning quietly in his eyes.
He’s been standing there this whole time and listening in on my conversation with Ms. Holloway.
My pulse went wild as I left the classroom, my upper arms burning as I pushed hard to move away from him as quickly as I could, but he caught up easily and stepped into my path so I couldn’t get around him.
“Don’t even think about acting in that play.”
It was as though he’d slapped me, only it hurt much worse and ignited an anger that almost stole my breath. “Who are you to tell me what I can or cannot do?”
He took a step closer to me that had me pushing back my chair on instinct. “I don’t want you there. It’s already bad enough that I have to look at you every day,” he said.
