Nowhere but Up by Pattie Mallette, with A. J. Gregory Read Free Book Online

spending a school day at a mall.
    I sensed something weird on the bus ride there. I sat on a two-seater by myself while my best friends sat across from me. The girls chatted away in their private world, leaning into each other at such an angle that I couldn’t help but feel they were ignoring me. They nodded my way every so often as I tried to force my way into their conversation. They were polite but curt. It felt awkward. And I felt left out.
    Did I do something wrong? Did I say something wrong?
    As the bus bounced along the highway, the massive billboards and gray office buildings flashing by, my hurt feelings festered. I ignored the rest of the choir as they loudly belted out their singing parts, preparing for the big debut. When the bus finally rolled into the mall parking lot, my friends barged their way to the front of the bus, leaving me to quicken my pace to keep up.
    We had an hour to walk around before we had to meet to line up for the concert. The teachers barked out orders, reminding us not to be even a minute late, then finally gave us permission to go. We were like stallions being released into the wild, or in this case, into an endless array of stores where we could salivate over a pair of Doc Martens, blinding-patterned Hammer pants, or the latest Guns N’ Roses CD.
    While I stood in the middle of my best friends, I couldn’t ignore the tension, like they were almost forcing themselves to be in my presence. I noticed they were looking at each other with knowing glances. Finally they nudged one of the girls forward to face me. She looked sheepish, uncomfortable, and couldn’t look into my eyes. It was obvious she didn’t want to say what she was about to but knew there was no way around it.
    “We don’t want to hang out with you today, Pattie.” She paused and raised her eyes to the ceiling before letting out a deep sigh. “And, well, we don’t want you to hang out with us anymore or be our friend.”
    The words punched me in the gut. The blow was so sharp, it punctured a hole in the protective layer I had built over the years to defend against rejection and abandonment. The wound traveled further and deeper than just being told someone didn’t want to be my friend. It struck a familiar chord at a level I didn’t even know existed. My eyes welled with tears.
    Another one of my so-called friends quickly piped up. She sounded more confident and not at all apologetic. “Yeah, and don’t go crying like a baby.”
    I panicked. My mind went into overdrive. “What did I do wrong?” I asked. “Was it something I said? Or did? Give me a chance to fix it. I’m so sorry . . .” My voice trailed off in a stuttering mess of apologies. I felt like they had just poured a pound of salt over the already open wound of rejection.
    Just as the tears were about to descend, I clenched my jaw and used every ounce of strength I could muster to keep myself from crying. I was proud of myself. My eyes welled so much I could barely see, but not one tear dropped. Not one.
    I knew what I had to do: Pull myself up. Be strong. Keep it together. Pretend as if that conversation never happened. It was the story of my life—building up ever greater walls to shut down my emotions. I ended up walking around by myself, aimlessly wandering through the mall. I was devastated. Utterly and absolutely devastated.
    Though it may seem like a silly event, it wielded enough power to stick with me through the years. It confirmed, in my mind, that I wasn’t important. That I didn’t matter. That nobody wanted me, not even my best friends.

    The next year, my rebellious streak grew stronger. There’s no way around it. I was a troublemaker. As I became more delinquent, my conscience grew weaker. The first time I had stolen something, a chocolate bar, I’d been saddled with guilt, the adrenaline pounding in my veins. But after stealing a few more chocolate bars and then other bigger and more expensive things, I’d become quite adept at