Gifted - Chapter 2

A Chapter by Jess Bennett

Chapter 2

My feet seemed to be working in autopilot mode and I suddenly realised we were outside when the bright sunlight stung my eyes. Squinting, we walked with the rest of the school to our fire safety point by the basketball courts.

When we reached the crowd everyone was standing in their cliques talking loudly as the news of the fire spread as quickly as the flames had. Teachers shouted furiously, trying to get them into organised lines, but they might as well of been trying to get an orang-utan to tap dance for all the attention the students paid them. Ashley and I found a spot in between some year ten cheerleaders and a gang of year eight emo kids.

‘You okay, Zar?’ Ashley said, furrowing her eyebrows sympathetically.

No. I absolutely was definitely not okay.

I looked down at my feet and opened my mouth to speak when:

‘ZARA JONES!’

Oh crap on a cracker.

My name rang out through the crowd making my stomach drop to me knees. It was the principle, Mrs Johnsons’ voice. And she sounded angry.

But, why was she calling me? Had someone seen me throw the paper in class and thought I did it on purpose? Blamed me for what happened? If that was the case then at best I was looking at expulsion, at worse, prison.

The babble faded immediately to tense silence, as everyone looked around for the girl in question. Some found me and nudged their friends, who turned to stare. I felt hundreds of eyes find me, one by one, their gazes locking onto me like laser beams of accusation. I looked up to Ashley who was watching me helplessly.

I guess it was too late to run. How much trouble was I in? Surely they couldn’t blame me for the fire. I mean, it wasn’t my fault.

With no other choice I averted my eyes to the ground, letting my long brown hair fall in front of my face, and began to move through the crowd that parted like the red sea to let me through.

To cut a very long interrogation story short, Mrs Johnson and Mr Petterson didn’t believe me when I told them a million and one times that I had no idea how the fire started. (Some anonymous student had told Mr Petterson that they saw me throw something at Valerie before her hair caught fire). Though, like me, they couldn’t come to any reasonable explanation as to how I could’ve made a ball of paper transform into a ball of fire in mid air, but I was their best and only suspect and they weren’t about to let me walk away.

After the fire was put out and Valerie had been taken to hospital, school had remained open for the rest of the day, much to the disappointment of every student, including myself. I had been suspended until further notice and to make matters worse, a million exaggerated and completely untrue rumours about the fire spread through school like... well, wild fire. The most ridiculous one being that I had tried to hurt Valerie because I was suffering from bipolar disorder. Please. But these rumours didn’t bother me as much as the knowledge that most people in the school thought I had tried to hurt or even kill someone. People skirted around me in the corridors, whispering furiously to their friends as I passed them like I was a mental patient who would lash out at any moment. I felt like screaming at the top of my lungs that I didn’t do it but knew that wouldn’t convince people of my sanity. It would probably do the opposite.

But I had bigger problems to deal with now. My parents. The school had undoubtedly phoned home to tell them of the incident and my suspension. My parents were strict at the best of times and had once threatened to send me to boarding school when I had dared to skive a lesson. What would they make of my suspension? Would they believe me?

Tentatively, I eased my front door open and stepped inside.

Slowly, I stepped into the porch, dropped my heavy backpack in the corner and took a deep breath before walking into the living room where my parents would be waiting solemnly for their failure of a daughter. I could almost feel their disappointment in the air, as tangible as the fresh, autumn wind outside.

Yes, there they were. I walked lightly into the quiet living room where my parents were waiting for me. They were talking quietly, but immediately stopped when one of the floorboards creaked, announcing my presence.

Oh God. The look of disappointment on my parents’ face was like a punch to the heart. I’d rather they were angry. I’d rather they yelled and locked me in my room. Nothing was worse than their looks of sadness. I hated upsetting my parents. Whenever I argued with my mum or dad I would storm upstairs, slam my door and sulk for half an hour before guilt consumed me and I ended up apologising. Yes, they were annoying and way too over protective, but I loved them and I wanted them to be proud of me.

‘Sit down please, Zara,’ mum said seriously, gesturing to the empty sofa.

Here we go. I might as well start packing now. Goodbye life. Hello, boarding school.

As soon as I sat down, words started tumbling from my mouth. I couldn’t take their disappointed stares a second longer. They had to know it wasn’t my fault. ‘Look, I swear I didn’t start that fire. I have no idea what happened! All I did was throw a bit of paper, I promise. Please don’t send me to boarding school. Please, I’ll do anything.’ I was on the verge of tears but I quickly blinked them back, trying to look defiant.

My mum glanced at my dad, her expression unreadable. When she turned back to me I was surprised when she spoke in the soft voice she uses when she can tell I’m upset and is trying to coax the truth out of me.

‘Zara, relax. We believe you.’

I met their eyes, disbelief and relief flooding through me. They believe me? Tears welled up in my eyes again, but I blinked them back.

‘You do?’ I said in a tiny voice.

‘Yes,’ dad said.

I almost laughed in relief. But something still wasn’t right. They weren’t smiling. They still looked… sad.

‘Is everything okay?’ I asked nervously.

They looked seriously at each other and I thought I saw a shadow of regret cross my mum’s face. What was going on? Were they getting a divorce or something? My parents had always been happy together, or so I had thought.

‘Zara…’ Mum said. Oh God. The seriousness in her voice was like a knife in my heart. Something was wrong. Has someone died? Not grandma… she eats healthily, doesn’t smoke or drink and goes to yoga three times a week…I’m pretty sure she’s fitter than I am. ‘We need to talk,’ my mother continued.

Oh God, just say it.

Mum looked as though she couldn’t form anymore words. She turned to my dad.

‘There is something we’ve been wanting to talk to you about for a while now,’ my dad said. I didn’t say anything, so he continued. ‘But, we wanted to wait until you were old enough.’ He took a breath. ‘And now you’re sixteen, we think you’re mature enough to know the truth.’

My mouth had gone dry; I couldn’t speak.

Dad turned back to my mother who gave him a slight nod of encouragement. She had tears in her eyes.

Dad turned back to me. He looked down at the ground and then back up to me. His expression was full of regret, like he didn’t want to say the words. ‘Sweetheart, before we tell you we want you to know that we love you and you will always be our daughter… biologically or not.’

Oh God, they’re getting a divorce. I knew it. Who will I live with? Who will get the house? Who -

- Wait. Hang on. ‘Biologically?’ My voice was barely a whisper.

‘Zara, we adopted you when you were a baby,’ dad said.

My heart seemed to stop beating and I felt my throat constrict painfully. What?

‘We wanted you to know the truth,’ my mother said quickly, leaning forward on her chair. ‘But, we also wanted you to know that it doesn’t change anything. You are still our daughter and we love you more than the world.’

I didn’t know what to think. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know what to feel. But one thing I did know was that my mum was wrong: it changed everything.

For a few seconds I just sat, attempting to comprehend this. So many emotions bubbled up inside me, fighting for centre stage; hurt, betrayal, confusion, disbelief.

Anger.

My whole life, they had lied to me. My whole life was a lie. I felt sick.

I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t.

The strangers on the sofa were watching me closely, their eyes filled with regret and desperation. I looked up to them and they must have been able to see the anger in mine because my father recoiled and my mother began to cry.

It didn’t make the anger subside. If anything, mum’s tears made me angrier. Why is she crying? She had sixteen years to tell me the truth, but she didn’t. She’s not my mother. She’s a lying stranger.

I stood up abruptly.

‘Zara,’ my “mother” said quietly, the desperation in her voice reflected in her eyes. ‘Please.’

Fierce anger flared in the pit of my stomach. I couldn’t look at them anymore.

I turned on my heel and ran out of the front door, ignoring the strangers’ voices shouting after me.

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