Page 2 of Tis the Season to be Bullied

Trinity

There’s a loud thump as my head bounces off the window of the cab. My eyes fly open in surprise. I squint out at the blurring landscape as my mind scrambles to figure out where the hell I am while my heart tries to climb out of my throat.

“Sorry ‘bout that. Road’s not in the best condition.”

I glance over at the cab driver, and swipe the back of my hand over my mouth. Had I been drooling in my sleep? I’d been dreaming again.

A happy dream this time.

My parents were still alive.

“How long till we get there?” I mumble, trying to work out the kink in my neck.

Outside the cab’s window, colossal birch and maple trees block out everything but a strip of gray sky. There’s another thump, then a rattle, as the cab’s tire skates over another pothole.

“A few more minutes.”

Hugging myself, I turn and stare out my window. Better than watching the cab driver’s eyes in the rear-view mirror. We’ve spent over two hours together, and barely said a word.

Unless I missed it during my nap, we passed through the last town at least an hour ago and we’ve been heading deeper into West Virginia ever since.

For the first time since that policeman knocked on our front door, there’s some kind of order to my life.

“There it is,” the driver says as we round a corner.

My eyes latch onto the all-boys boarding school the second it appears through the windshield.

Holy crap.

My mouth goes dry. “That’s Saint Amos?”

“Your first time here?”

“Yeah. Had to transfer.”

We make eye contact in the mirror. “Isn’t it a little late in the year to be transferring?” He frowns. “Your folks should’ve let you finish out the semester.”

Heat touches my cheeks. “They…didn’t have a choice.”

The potholed tar street smooths into a hard-packed dirt road. The closer we get, the more the building looms, and the deeper my stomach sinks.

This place looks more like Dracula’s castle than a boarding school. There aren’t statues of demons and things on the facade, but its multitude of spires and fancy moldings still give it heavy gothic vibes.

Not that Dracula could live here. Someone would have to remove the enormous crucifix above the front entrance first.

The trees thin out to reveal an immaculately trimmed lawn. It pools around the base of the massive, sprawling school like algae in a pond.

We drive around a fountain where a concrete, pigeon-shit stained Virgin Mary is nursing baby Jesus.

Some of those streaks on her face look like calcified tears. That’s what my cheeks felt like for weeks after my parents’ car accident.

“Need help with your things?” the driver asks.

I shake my head, snapping out of my dour thoughts. “I’m good, thanks.”

He nods as he brakes and puts the car into park. “Good luck, and God bless.”

My mouth tightens, but I give him another nod and drag my duffel bag out with me. That and my backpack are the only things I have with me. Our family wasn’t big on material possessions like clothes, or jewelry, or furniture. In fact, the only thing they were big on wasthat. And the church, of course.

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