Page 177 of Rock Bottom Girl

“You are so damn pigheaded,” he complained. “Do you think you’re unlovable? Unworthy as is?”

That’s exactly what I was.

76

Marley

Ispent all day Saturday and Sunday on a blow-up mattress on the floor in Zinnia’s room. It was exactly what she hadn’t wanted. And judging by the twinge in my lower back every time I rolled over to cry on the other side of my face, she’d been right about the consequences. Then again, Zinnia was always right.

Lying on that mattress with my Harry Potter pillow for two days was my purgatory. I didn’t deserve to be comfortable. I deserved to hear fart noises every time I rolled over, trying to find a better position.

I kept my phone turned off and didn’t log into the team message board. I couldn’t face anyone. I couldn’t face anyone’s disappointment in me.

Vicky stopped by with tequila and chicken soup. Neither of which I deserved.

I missed Jake so much I slept in his t-shirt and wore his sweatpants around the house.

Zinnia, to her credit, didn’t try to make me talk about it. My parents retreated to “my teenage daughter is emotionally unstable” survival mode, doling out junk food and pats on the head. But I overheard the whispered conversation about what we were going to do about Thanksgiving now that I’d blown things up with Jake.

I didn’t sleep at all Sunday night. It was a school day tomorrow. The last one before Thanksgiving break. And as much as I wanted to take a sick day and avoid it all, I knew I needed to face the music.

By Monday morning, the snow had melted, leaving behind piles of gray slush that matched my cold, messy mood. I dragged myself into the shower then bided my time until I knew I’d be five minutes late to school just in case anyone was hanging out around the locker room wanting to talk to me. I couldn’t see Jake. I would shatter like a wineglass on Amie Jo’s patio.

Feeling sneaky, I let myself in the emergency exit of the locker room and tiptoed toward my office. I’d be free to wallow pathetically for the entire first period if Floyd didn’t know I was here.

“It’s about time.”

I jumped, my wet sneakers nearly losing their grip on the concrete.

“Principal Eccles,” I said, holding on to the bookcase closest to the door. “What brings you here?” Oh, God. She’d heard that I broke up with Jake, officially voiding my ethical behavior contract. She was here to fire me. I wasn’t going to get to leave town quietly. Culpepper would probably line up to throw stones of judgment at me as I crawled out of town in shame.

“Your office is dingy and creepy. I’m wondering if we can find a few hundred dollars in the budget for some paint and new furniture,” she mused, eyeing my dungeon-like abode.

She’d fix it up for the permanent gym teacher. Oh, God. What if she was smart and beautiful and a long-distance runner? Jake would fall hard, and they’d get married, and he’d be having Christmas brunch with her. I hated the new pretend gym teacher. Hated her with the passion of a thousand suns.

“I hope you’re feeling better,” Principal Eccles said as I trudged into the office and dropped down onto a folding chair. “I heard you caught a cold after the game Friday.”

More like a cloud of depression.

“Much better,” I lied and pretended to cough.

She interlaced her fingers on my desk. “Good. Now, for the fun part. What are your plans for next year?”

I blinked. “Next year?”

“January.”

“I’m interviewing for other jobs,” I said hesitantly.

“Have you considered staying on here?”

Was I aurally hallucinating? Maybe she’d actually asked me if I’d considered joining a traveling circus or caring for our basketball donkeys.

“Staying here?” I croaked.

“Becoming a permanent member of the faculty,” she explained. “You’ve done more here in a semester than most teachers have done in their entire career. Students are raving about gym class for the first time since parachute day in elementary school.”

“I’m flattered, but—”