One | determination

Her hands sticky on the wheel, Mae takes another curve way too tight as the clock in the old family Volvo ticks down another minute she doesn’t have. 

Now orange cones everywhere. Road Work Ahead. Really? Today, of all days. 

“Be here by seven-thirty sharp,” Mrs. Rooney had warned. “No delays. Anyone who’s late will simply miss the trip.” 

Which could actually be okay, depending on how you look at it. All those Foxmoor faces, just waiting to stare at her like she’s a nutcase, or turn away, unsure what to say. She wouldn’t mind missing that. They probably think she’s so screwed up she can’t do the one thing everyone looks forward to all year, Mrs. Rooney’s famous Wilderness Week. 

Mrs. Rooney puts everything she’s got into her trip, but it sounds more like an excursion with a bunch of girls who think “wilderness” is what happens when the gardener doesn’t show up. And with all eight girls from Junior Bio stuffed into one tent, how’s that supposed to work?

But Mae won’t miss this trip. It’s her best chance to show them there’s more to her than they saw on that one sickening day. If she doesn’t grab it, it’s over for her at Foxmoor, for good.

“Turn green, damn it,” she commands a traffic light, beads of sweat gathering on her forehead. “If I have to run after the bus as it leaves, they’ll all laugh their gorgeous heads off.”

She winds through a damn detour, then almost runs a stop sign. “This must feel like a racecar ride, Mom. I know it can’t be fun.”

“It is hair-raising, I’ll admit.” The way she’s gripping her armrest, Mom will break a knuckle. “But I wanted to come see you off. Still, I do wonder …” Now she’s using her “I’m Just Concerned” voice. “You’ve had to deal with so much at Foxmoor. Should we have tried harder to find a different school? It was all you wanted, that last day of summer school.”

“The day of my freak-out-of-the-century, you mean. I was done with Foxmoor.” Mae sighs. “Still am, I have to say.”

It’s all a blur … her final presentation on Leonardo, for European History. Within what should have been an easy half-hour, her weeks of research on his masterpieces, all wrecked, by

Foxmoor’s snake-in-lip-gloss, Jessica. She and her crew, Chloe and Olivia, used their own unique brand of torment to push every button Mae had managed to keep un-pushed for years. Let’s just say, things didn’t turn out well. “Freak-out” is putting it mildly.

And now she’s supposed to live that down? Good luck. 

“I couldn’t have gotten to another school that quick, anyway. But remember, no law says I have to go to any school. At sixteen you can just take the GED and be done with it.” 

The way Mom winces at that … but that’s expected. “You know Dad and I think ‘testing out’ is too much like ‘dropping out’. Not something to rush into, especially with your talent in the arts. And what about Ms. Strand? You always say she’s been the best thing for you at Foxmoor.” 

“She definitely does know painting. And she gives me all the studio space I need, for any project. But some of those girls, they’re another story.” Like the time Jessica and her bitches posted a pile of filth about Mae and some scuzzy guy they totally made up, then kept tweaking and reposting it for days. Somehow, she got through that hell. 

But their next bomb broke whatever was left of her. Mae ended up sprawled face-down under the bleachers, with no clue how she got there. Or how Ms. Strand found her. Or when the Psych Emergency Team took her away.…