She nodded. “Yeah. She parked her car just as my mom dropped me off. Can you believe she came back! Mrs. Keefer took that note from me, where I wrote Jenny about what you saw. Everyone knows!”
“Emily, did you say who saw them in the parking lot?"
“Well, sure. I couldn’t just say that some little bird told me, could I?”
My stomach ached and I wanted to throw up. Mrs. Morrow would know I started the rumor. She’d be so mad at me for telling lies she probably wouldn’t even care about the black eye.
In fifth hour, she never even looked at me. She’d been nice to me before, but I’d taken care of all that by telling lies about her.
Supper wasn’t ready when Dad got home, and Sam was the closest to the door from the garage when Dad came in. His fist hammered into Sam. Sam bounced off the table and onto the floor, his arm bent underneath him. Something stuck out through the skin and blood oozed out.
Mom and I carried him to the car. I patted him and rocked him in my lap while Mom drove to the emergency room. We checked in and took a seat in the waiting room.
Mrs. Morrow walked in, passed right through the room, and went through the doors into the back. I had a chill, like I was the one in pain, with a bone sticking out of my arm. She hadn’t seen us.
“Sam Campbell,” the nurse called. I picked Sam up in my arms, careful not to touch anywhere near the awful break. Mom and I crowded into the examining cubicle. Minutes later, a doctor in green scrubs walked down the hall to the cubicle. Mrs. Morrow walked beside him. They stopped right in front of us.
She glanced at us, then grabbed the doctor’s arm with one hand and reached for me with the other.
“Kendra! What happened?” She peered down at my brother’s chalky tear-smeared face. He looked up at her, eyes red and swollen. She glanced at his arm, and then at my face. “Steven, this is one of my students, Kendra. Mrs. Campbell?”
Mother nodded and then looked away. She hated the hospital, and imagined, like me, that everyone talked about us behind our backs.
“This is my husband, Steven Morrow. He’s working evening shift here, now.”
Mom and I both nodded. We wouldn’t come to this hospital any more, I was sure. I chewed my lip.
Mrs. Morrow smiled. “See you tomorrow, Kendra. Steven will get your little brother fixed up fast. Nice meeting you.” She walked away.
I wanted to run after her, wanted to shout, “Can’t you see what’s going on here? Sam and I are going to get killed one of these days.”
But I let her walk away. There wasn’t anything I could do anyway, and besides, what did she really care? I was bad news, stupid, and a liar.
Dr. Morrow took Sam to an operating room, and an hour later, he was back, his arm covered in a white cast. “Okay, Sam,” he said as we started for the door. “You get that thing covered with autographs from all your friends. Mrs. Campbell, here’s some samples -- for the pain. One every four hours for the next three or four days. Call me if you need more and I’ll write a prescription.”
On the way to the car, Mama handed me the pills. “Tuck them in your jeans’ pockets.”
I did. If I didn’t, Dad would grab them as soon as we came in the door.
“Pain’s good for you,” Dad always said whenever any of us cried after he’d hammered us. “Makes you appreciate how soft you’ve got it. I learned that from my old man.”
I didn’t much see how pain was good for Sam. He was only six.
The next day at school, Mrs. Morrow didn’t look at me in class. But when history was over and we all filed out the door, she called my name. I dropped back and went to her desk.
“How’s your brother doing today? Did he sleep much last night?” she asked.
I had heard Sam whimper and cry out once in the night. Then I heard Dad go in his room. “Shut your baby yap or I‘ll break your other arm,” he’d yelled.
I looked up at Mrs. Morrow and said, “Sure, he slept great with those pills. What’s in those anyway?”
I hurried on to my next class before she could say another word.
After school, Emily stopped me in the hallway by my locker. “What’s new? Seen Mrs. Morrow doing it with anybody this week?”
I shook my head.
“Yes, you have, you’re just not saying.”
I shrugged and hurried on down the hall.
“Who was she doing it with in the parking lot today?” she yelled after me.
I glanced back. Mrs. Morrow stood behind her, in the doorway of the teachers’ lounge. I shook my head. A group of kids stopped in the hallway. They snickered and stared at Mrs. Morrow. She turned and walked away.
Thing was, I didn’t know what to do. Mrs. Morrow was the only adult I could even think about talking to. She was the only one who seemed to care. But I’d ruined it with my lies.
I peeled potatoes for dinner while Mama fried the chicken. My heart hammered against my ribs. I’d been unable to eat all day. Who would Dad hit tonight?
“Mama, I’m worried about Dad, and Sam. He’s so little, and—”
Mama cut me off. “Kendra, I love your Dad, and you know how much he loves you and Sam. He just doesn’t know how to cope with anger. His dad beat him; it’s the only way he knows. He gets upset when business is off. Remember, it won’t be long now before you’re grown and out of the house. It’s not like he’d seriously hurt either of you.”
I looked at my brother’s arm in the cast and wondered. How serious was a broken arm to my mom? How much worse would it have to get? I had to last another year and a half. Sam had to last twelve more years.
Dad came home early. “Chicken’s not even fried!” he roared. “What you been doing? Potatoes not mashed, not even cooked!” He swung at me. I ducked and bumped into the recliner. “You’re useless!” He kicked at me, and caught me in the shin. “You’re worthless, and you can’t even learn how to cook!”
He chased after me. I shoved him away when he got close. He grabbed my arm and slung me into the wall, then punched me. After awhile, I quit fighting back. I lay on the floor where I had landed. He kicked me.
Mama cried, “Stop!” He turned to her, and she dashed for the bedroom. He raced off, hot on her heals. I heard her crying, then moaning after he’d pounded on her.
Sam lay on the sofa, a pillow over his head.
“It’s all right, Sammy. It really is. Mama said Daddy won’t hurt us bad.”
His wide eyes looked up at me. “Daddy scares me.”
Something snapped inside me. “Come on, honey.” I carried him into my bedroom to my bed and tucked him in. Then I grabbed the covers off his bed across the hall and made a pallet for myself on the floor.
I could barely open my eyes the next morning, they were so swollen and sore. Bruises covered my arms. My ribs ached.
I crept to the bathroom, then back to my bedroom. Sam opened his eyes and stared at me. I shook my head and held my finger to my lips. “Don’t wake Dad,” I whispered. I could picture what would happen when Dad got up. He’d look at me, and then get mad because of the bruises. He’d blame what he’d done on me for being stupid, say that my stupidity made him beat me, and had caused Sam’s broken arm.
I poured some Kix into a bowl for Sam, and then got dressed. The house was so quiet. I planted Sam in front of the TV, and then turned on “Sesame Street”, with the volume really low. I slipped out the door.
I ran most of the way to school, only stopping when the stitch in my side got so bad I couldn’t breathe. I dashed up the steps and down the hallway to Mrs. Morrow’s classroom.
A substitute teacher sat at the desk.
“Where’s Mrs. Morrow?”
“I’m just the substitute, but I heard this teacher won’t be back.”
I whirled, ran into the hallway and straight into Emily.
“Kendra! You look terrible! Did you have a car wreck?” she asked. She stared at my face. Then she grabbed my arm, “And oh, did you hear about Mrs. Morrow?!”
“She never did anything! I made it all up!” I shoved her away and raced down the hallway; I zigzagged right and left to avoid people walking to class. I ran to the front offices and to the closed door of the principal’s office.
“Where’s Mrs. Morrow?” I shouted as I threw open the door. “You can’t fire her. It was all a lie. I made it up!”
Mr. Bartholomew, the principal, stared. “I beg your pardon?”
“Mrs. Morrow never did anything wrong. I lied about it all. You can’t fire her. And I need to see her.” My quivering voice became a squeak. “My brother and I are going to get killed if she can’t help me,” I whispered.
The school secretary and the security guard rushed in.
My hands covered my blackened eyes and bruised face. I hurried from the office, out into the hall and down the front steps. I had to see Mrs. Morrow. Now.
(Part 3 of "The Liar" will be posted this Wednesday, July 10.)
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