You're Not Worthless Page 2

  “Please be quiet so that I can take attendance!” The sub shouts. Her light brown hair is already falling from her bun and her dark black eyes look desperate.

  I quickly take my seat at the back of the room in the corner, and slouch down, hoping that no one can see me. The sub begins calling names from the attendance sheet given to her.

  “Kalani Young?” The sub shouts. She pulls her eyes away from her attendance sheet and searches the room. I raise my hand and everybody turns. Stares and glares are all that I receive. I slouch further into my desk and avert eye contact. The sub nods and quickly scribbles something down on the paper in front of her. Then she continues reading off names. It sucks knowing that just my name can call the attention of every student in the room.

  Teenagers, I’m finding, are the judgiest people I’ve ever met. They believe everything they hear, and they don’t stop for even a second to consider the alternative of what they hear. They’re also inconsiderate. They don’t care at all about what they do or say, and they don’t care at all about the consequences​​ of what they do or say. Being a teenager is truly a terrifying experience. I feel like a forty-year old woman living in a seventeen-year old’s body...

  ... The kindest mindset trapped inside a sea of insensitive fools...

  * * *

  As soon as the bell rings I grab my things and quickly begin shoving everything in my bag. Considering everybody seems to hate me this year-other than Lucas-I try not to stick around after class. Lucas is already waiting by the door. How he got down here so fast from his fifth-floor class, I don’t know. But knowing Lucas and how protective he is of me, I’m sure he ran. “Good?” Lucas asks. I only nod, before quickly attempting to transition to my next class.

  “You know,” Lucas begins, as he falls into pace next to me. “Maybe you should talk to someone.”

  I give Lucas a quick glance before returning my gaze to the front.

  “I mean the only way the bullying is going to stop is if you tell someone. If nobody knows, nobody can do anything.”

  “It’s not bullying!” I snap. I stop abruptly to face him. My face feels hot, though I’m not sure why I got so angry so quickly.

  “I’m not being bullied,” I say after a moment, more calmly this time. “And I have told people.”

  “Like who?” Lucas says it more like he’s irritated rather than an actual question.

  “Mr. Smith,” I reply, but I’m not entirely confident when I say it.

  “Did you tell him?” Lucas asks. “Or did he just sort of catch on? Does he even know how bad it is? Did you tell him that those kids do worse things to you outside of that classroom?!” Lucas is practically screaming now. I don’t want to respond because I know that he’s right. I didn’t tell Mr. Smith. I didn’t tell anyone. I don’t know if I can...

  “Kalani, you have to tell someone. I’m not kidding.” Lucas sighs heavily. “You can’t complain about something if you’re not going to do anything about it.”

  “I’m not complaining about anything!” I argue. “And I’m not just gonna sit here and let you scold me like you’re my dad!”

  I whip around to face the front and stomp down the hall. I know Lucas is trying to help, and I know that he’s probably right. But he doesn’t understand. He’s never been called the things I’ve been called. He’s never been treated the way I’ve been treated. So how could he possibly​ understand?

  I’m walking so quickly I can barely hear Lucas calling after me. I don’t want to hear him. I don’t want his help anymore. I can see someone coming up to the left side of me just out of the corner of my eye. I know it’s Lucas. I’m just about to yell at him again when I turn to see one of the kids from my last class. She has long dark hair that reaches her hips and dark green eyes: Jazmine.

  I’m about to speak when I feel her hands shove into the side of my left shoulder. Suddenly I’m down on the ground. I wiggle away from Jazmine as quickly as I can, towards the main staircase. I’m finally up on my feet when I feel her hands again, pressed against the back of my shoulder blades. And I can barely hear Lucas calling my name as I fall down the stairs.

  * * *

  The first thought that comes to mind is that everything feels fuzzy. It feels like someone stuffed a bunch of cotton balls in my head, so now it feels swollen and tight. My head is throbbing. I’m not entirely sure what happened. I remember falling, that’s for sure. And then after that, I don’t know. I don’t want to open my eyes. Part of me is afraid that I’m dead, and when I wake up, I’ll be welcomed into heaven or whatever.

  When I open my eyes, everything is blurry. It takes a few minutes for everything to finally come into shape. When my eyes do finally focus, I can see that I’m in the nurse’s office. I’m laying down in a separate room, by myself. What happened? Why am I in the nurse’s office? I try to sit up, which sends a throbbing pain up my neck and through my skull; it feels like my brain just did a backflip. I make a sound of pain, because I can’t help it. I can see a woman standing in the doorway of the room: the nurse. She has short blond hair that doesn’t even reach her shoulders, and bright blue eyes. I don’t even know her name. The truth is I don’t pay much attention to the staff of the school.

  I’ve never been to the nurse, so I never felt the need to know her name.

  “How are you feeling?” The nurse asks. Her voice is sweet, and for some reason, reminds me of home, like I’m safe here.

  I shake my head a little, which only makes it hurt more. I push the palm of my hand into the side of my head and groan again.

  “Not good,” I say.

  “No, I bet you wouldn’t.” The nurse agrees. Then, she makes her way across the room, to where a sink stands at the back of the room.

  “I’m going to give you some Ibuprofen to try to numb the pain a little bit, okay?” She reaches up to the cupboards above the sink, and begins to rummage through them.

  Then she finally pulls out a tiny bottle-the Ibuprofen, I’m assuming. She opens the bottle, and shakes it, so that three white pills fall into the palm of her hand.

  “Do you remember what happened?” The nurse asks me. It takes me a minute to register that she’s talking to me.

  “Not really,” I say. “I just remember falling. Fast.”

  The nurse grabs a Styrofoam cup from the counter and sticks it under the sink faucet.

  Then she fills it up with water, until it’s half full.

  “Is that all?” She asks, turning to face me. I nod.

  The nurse hands me the cup of water, and the pills. I pop the pills in my mouth, and take a sip of water.

  “I’ve already called your mother,” she says. “She’s on her way to pick you up, now.”

  “Oh, no that’s okay,” I say. “I can go back to class.” I begin to push myself up from the bed I was currently laying on, but the nurse lightly pushes me back down.

  “You can’t go back to class,” she says. “It looks like you have a concussion. It’s not safe for you to be in such a noisy environment.”

  “Honestly, I’m fine.” I say.

  “No. I’ve already sent a note to the principal, excusing you from class for one week.” “One week?” I repeat. “I can’t miss five days of school!” I argue.

  “It’s not your choice.” The nurse says. “If you try to overwork your brain, you’re going to make it worse. And then you’ll miss even more than just five days of school.”

  I let out a frustrated sound. Without another word, the nurse turns on her heel and leaves the room. I stare down at the floor. I can’t miss a whole week of school. As bad as it is here, this is my senior year. I won’t graduate if I miss that much school. I can’t miss. I can hear footsteps-someone entering the room. I look up, assuming that it’s the nurse again. But it isn’t. Lucas is staring at me, though I can’t pinpoint the stare. Pity? Compassion? Anger? I can’t tell.

  “Did you tell her what happened?” He asks.

  For a moment, I’m confused.

  “I don’t
know what happened,” I say. “One moment I was standing at the top of the main staircase, and then the next, I was falling. That’s all I can remember.”

  “You don’t remember?” Lucas asks, slightly concerned.

  “The nurse said that I probably have a concussion from hitting my head so many times on the way down.”

  “Jazmine pushed you.” Lucas spits. I can see the anger in his eyes.

  I shake my head a little, and the small motion sends shooting pains all throughout my head.

  I don’t know why the idea of Jazmine pushing me down the stairs surprises me, but it does. I’ve been verbally harassed pretty much every day since the first day of senior year, but I’ve never been physically assaulted. No one has ever gone out of their way to hurt me like that.

  “You have to tell them what happened.” Lucas says.

  I look up at him. Then I shake my head.

  “Kalani!” Lucas shouts. “If you don’t tell someone what happened, Jazmine won’t be punished. Are you okay with her walking away scot free?”

  “Yeah, okay, I’ll tell on her, and then what?” I say. “All of the kids will call me a snitch and do even worse things to me? Sounds like a plan!” I smile and give Lucas a thumbs up. Then I roll my eyes.

  Lucas lets out a frustrated sound. He turns away from me, and for a moment I think he’s going to leave. But then he turns back around and stares at me.

  “If you don’t tell someone, I will.” Lucas’s voice is slow and calm. He’s giving me an ultimatum.

  “Okay,” I say. “I will. I promise.”

  Lucas doesn’t say anything. Instead, he walks over to where I’m sitting, and sits down on the bed next to me.

  “I’m sorry I’m being such a jerk,” He says. “But you’re my best friend. And people are hurting you. And that’s not okay with me.”

  I nod, but I can’t seem to look him in the eye; I usually love staring into those big green eyes and getting lost there, because I’ve never seen that color of green before, and a part of it mesmerizes me every time. But I can’t look at that shade of green right now. I can’t look into his eyes, knowing that I just lied to him; knowing that I’m not going to tell anyone what happened...

  ...Knowing that a girl who hates me, and physically harmed me, isn’t going to be punished for what she did to me.

  Three

  When my mom arrives at the school, she heads straight for the nurse, rather than her hurt child. They talk for no more than three minutes. I can’t hear what they’re saying, but I catch a few different words and phrases here and there:

  “... Tripped... Unconscious... Concussion... Home...” The nurse.

  “... Can’t... Believe... Clumsy... Sorry...” My mom.

  She finally looks at me, but she doesn’t look at me with sympathy. She seems to look at me with disappointment. Lucas is still sitting beside me, and he must sense that feeling too, because he begins to slowly rub my back with the palm of his hand: comforting me.

  “Are you ready to go home?” My mom asks as she enters the room. She doesn’t sound upset when she speaks, but I’m sure that she is. She had to leave work to come and get me, meaning she’s losing money from her paycheck to be here. She has to be upset.

  My mom works at the bank that my dad works at; that’s how they met. She doesn’t make as much money as my dad does, but she does make more than necessary. To me, not a lot of money is being taken out of her massive paycheck.

  But to her, she’s losing a lot. I nod my head, which makes the front of my head throb, but I try not to let her notice. It’s not like she would care anyways.

  “Alright, let’s go.” she says. She turns on her heel, not even waiting for me to respond.

  I stand, but Lucas sets a hand on the inside of my elbow, stopping me.

  “Do you want me to come with you?” He asks. “In case you need help at home?”

  That’s when I realize that Lucas is supposed to be in class. He has an off period, but that off period isn’t right now. He’s missing class to be here with me. The only problem is, I don’t want him to be there for me if it means his education is going to suffer.

  “No, I’m okay.” I say. “You should be getting back to class anyways, right?”

  Lucas shakes his head a little, like he forgot he even had a class to go to. “Oh, right.” He says. “It’s fine, I have an A in that class. I can miss one day.”

  “Kalani, let’s go!” My mom shouts. She’s already standing in the main hallway of the school.

  I look back at her, then at Lucas. “It’s your decision. I’m not going to force you to come.” I say.

  I turn on my heel, which makes me dizzy, so I try to move a little bit slower. I’m walking out the door when I hear Lucas say:

  “I’ll meet you back at your house,”

  I smile as I continue towards my mom, who’s waiting impatiently for me by the main entrance. My mom doesn’t say anything as she pushes through the doors of the school and hurries to the car. I’m trying to keep up with her but I find that the faster I walk, the more nauseous I feel. My mom has already started the car when I finally sit down in the passenger’s seat and buckle myself in. She doesn’t even look at me as she pulls out of the parking lot and speeds down the road. “You know I had to leave work for this, right?” My mom says, her eyes still on the road.

  I look over at her, only half shocked that her only concern about the situation is that she’s missing work.

  “Yeah,” I say, suddenly feeling guilty. I didn’t mean to pull my mom from her work. I didn’t...

  “What even happened?” My mom says, sounding half sympathetic, half irritated.

  “I don’t know, mom” I say, also irritated. “I guess the main staircase was just crowded during passing period, and I tripped... And I couldn’t catch my balance.”

  “I know you’re clumsy, but not clumsy enough to fall down the stairs,” my mom says, finally looking over at me.

  All I can do is shrug. My memory of the morning is already starting to return, but only in pieces: I can vaguely recall being shoved. And then I was falling.

  “I guess I need to schedule you a doctor’s appointment, so someone can look at your head,” my mom says. “Which will take more time out of my schedule.” She lets out a deep sigh.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, and I’m starting to mean it. I guess I didn’t realize how much this would affect the people around me. Lucas is ditching class right now just because I gave him a choice to help me. And now my mom is going to lose more money.

  “Don’t be,” my mom says. “I don’t even think you have a concussion,” she adds. “I still want to get you looked at, though. Just to be sure.”

  I try not to roll my eyes, because I know it will hurt. Frankly, I believe the nurse; it definitely feels like I have a concussion.

  My mom doesn’t say anything after that, so neither do I. All I can do is stare at her. Her long blond hair is straight today, and parted to the side. And her big brown eyes stand out due to the mascara and eyeliner she applied this morning. She’s wearing a white blouse with black shapes and patterns all over it, and black slacks. As I stare at her, I realize that while our obvious features are a perfect match, our personalities are not; we couldn’t be more different.

  I care so much about my friends and family that I’d give up anything to be there for them-like Lucas, ditching school to help me at home-whereas my mom cares more about her work than anything else. She’s even upset about having to leave work today, even though I got injured. I feel like I’m the only one in my family who cares anymore. That’s another major difference between us; if my mom was to have fallen down the stairs at work today, I would’ve dropped everything to get to her. I would leave school without a moment’s hesitation, just to make sure she was okay.

  But my mom? She’s made it very clear how upset she is about leaving work. She hasn’t even asked if I’m okay. She hasn’t even asked if I want or need anything. She has offered me no sympathy since s
he came to get me. It’s just so strange to me how different two people of the same genes can be.

  Yes, we share the same hair.

  Yes, we share the same eyes.

  Yes, we share the same genes.

  But we are not the same.

  * * *

  It’s a good thing Lucas and I carpooled this morning, because with a concussion, I can’t drive, meaning I would have had to leave my car at the school. He hasn’t been much help since he’s gotten here-ten minutes after my mom left back for work. So far all he’s done is lay on the floor of my bedroom and take a nap. We’re not the only ones in the house though; my dad arrived home about fifteen minutes ago. He didn’t seem to show much emotion when my mom told him about my fall down the stairs, earlier. In fact, if I remember correctly, I think all he did was say, “Oh.”

  I’m lying on my bed, staring at the ceiling, but I look over at him, to see him sitting up.

  “Why do you think Jazmine pushed me?” I ask, finally. I hadn’t thought about it before, but I realize now that Jazmine’s outburst was sort of random. It was completely unprovoked.

  “I don’t know,” Lucas says. “Maybe she’s always wanted to do something, but felt like she couldn’t.”

  I finally sit up to face him completely.

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  Lucas stares at me for a moment before answering that:

  “You walked away from me,” he says. “Maybe she saw you alone for the first time and felt like she should go for it.”

  I turn away from Lucas, and stare out the window. I’ve picked up the habit of chewing on the inside of my cheek when I feel anxious.

  “Do you know why people have been talking about me?” I ask, unsure of myself.

  I’ve never asked Lucas about it before, because I always assumed that he was as clueless as I was. I always assumed that he didn’t know anything. But maybe he just hasn’t said anything, because I haven’t asked him.