Orthodontia and Other Means of Correction

I drag the toe of my dress shoe along the sidewalk in front of the field house. It makes a pffffffft sound with each drag.

To my right, there is a colony of ants swarming on a discarded piece of someone’s sandwich. I study them so I don’t have to look my English teacher in the face. I wonder how long until one of the maintenance men paid to keep this place looking perfect comes to collect the remnants of some student’s lunch.

Mrs. Castillo is patiently guiding me through deep breathing exercises because she said she’s noticed I am stressed.

“Take a deep breath in…one…two…three…four.” Her voice is soft.

I know she’s just doing her job, but this whole thing is making me jumpy. There are more important things to do than breathe right now.

I have real things to worry about—soon my stepmother will be here with the baby. The baby they tell me is mine to take care of even though I am only ten and have no idea how to take care of an infant brother.

Plus, I will need to ace a history test tomorrow.

And there’s the cross-country meet Friday, and I am inexplicably slower this year than I was last year, which makes my father furious. He’s been waking me up early to run, telling me I need to beat all the boys on the team.

“Two…three…four…”

I scan the campus—take in the art barn with its stained-glass window, the dining hall, the soccer fields that will soon fill with middle school bodies in matching practice uniforms.

It’s perfect here. At least, that’s what my father said when we submitted my application, and again when we went to the Gap to buy me all new clothes so I looked like the other prep school kids.

And it is perfect here because it gets me away from home.

I’m too young to notice that it’s perfect for my parents because my last school must have kept sniffing around after that DCF agent came to our house.

All I know is that the manicured lawns and carefully written notes signal order.

My gaze drops to the ants again—one ant hovers outside the pack. Just like me, standing with Mrs. Castillo, waiting for my orthodontist’s appointment while all my classmates are inside getting changed for mandatory sports.

I’m lost in the kinship with my ant friend when suddenly there is a hand on my shoulder that I didn’t expect.

I recoil and throw my hands over my head to protect myself.

Time stretches before I remember I am at school. I am safe here.

I lower my arms and see Mrs. Castillo’s cheeks have gone pink and her dark eyes are wide. Her thick eyebrows arch almost to her hairline.

I glance back at the ants.

“Aubrey, I would never hit you.”

She’s staring at me. I nod, heart racing.

“Oh yeah, of course.” I can’t come up with an explanation fast enough, so I just let my lame response hang there.

This has happened before.

She clears her throat.

"Is there anything you want to talk about that’s happening…at home? Or bullying? Is anyone,” she coughs, “hurting you?”

The silence drags.

It’s not like the teachers don’t know something weird is happening in my home. I even told the science teacher the truth.

I’d rolled up the back of my pleated skirt to show her the deep purple bruises during the fall semester.

But then no one did anything.

My frenemy held my hand that afternoon on our walk back to our class, wondering what would happen next.

But all our musings were wrong.

Nothing happened.

I look into Mrs. Castillo's dark eyes and open my mouth to speak, but she rushes to talk over me.

“As a reminder, teachers are mandated reporters.”

She’s staring at me, eyes hard.

I shake my head.

“No, I’m fine.”

She nods, her face relaxing.

I return to dragging my foot again, trying to feel how the gravel surface catches the edge of the rubber.

Pffffft

Pffffft

Pffffffffffffft

“Okay, well…maybe we go back to the breathing. I am sure it is helping reduce your stress.”

She begins her count again, and I dutifully follow along, gaze flicking between the entrance to campus and the ant swarm.

Then there is my step mother's car.

Pffffft.

“Three…four…”

I bend down to grab my backpack. The zipper needs to be closed. Vocabulary for Sixth Graders is sticking through the gap. I shove it back in and yank it shut.

“Well, I’ve gotta go, Mrs. Castillo.”

I hope my voice sounds final, confident, safe.

The school bell rings, and a mass of students comes crashing out of the gym, heading for their respective sports—hundreds of orange and black jerseys.

My breath is shallow in my chest as I walk towards the car. The door opens with a creak, and I clamber in.

“What were you telling that teacher?” My stepmom’s voice is high and tight. I can feel her glare through the polarized lenses of her giant sunglasses.

“We were watching some ants eat a sandwich,” I say. “Littering is a big problem on campus.”

She slides the car into gear.

I stare out the window, clenching my jaw so hard the wire pops loose from my braces and drives into my gum.

It's always doing this.

I don’t even bother to slide it out; I just let the blood drip onto my tongue.

The orthodontist will tell me to stop clenching my jaw so hard when I get there.

I will tell him I will try.