The Marked Ones

DEDICATION

To my children, 

for never giving up

on trying 

to tame 

the monster 

inside me

Georgia was soaking wet. The rain glided off her head and down her face, making her eyes burn slightly on the way down. Her shoes splashed loudly as she ran to the pavement and onto Morris Street, dipping in and out of large puddles along the way. By the time she reached the other side, even her knees were drenched. Her feet felt damp and wrinkled, her trainers doing a poor job of keeping water out. Her socks were soggy and disgusting as they splotched with every step now. She pulled her hoodie tighter over her head, lamenting the thought of how her hair was going to frizz up. Her backpack bounced behind her, weighed down more by the rain.

She hoped the waterproof material would hold up and dreaded the thought of what her books might look like if it didn’t. The wind was beginning to howl and it sent the rain swishing in different directions. The chill was bad today. This time of year in Milwaukee usually spelled the end of the cold season, but despite it being the last week of March, winter still stubbornly clung on. It was the third time in the last two weeks she’d missed the bus. Being one of the only seniors at Beldon High without a car was at the forefront of her mind.

Beldon was a public school, so it wasn’t like the other kids were all wealthy or something, but still, she felt the mediocrity of being an electrician and a caterer’s daughter all the same. How could she not? Especially when popular students like Susan Green had parents with cool jobs. Her dad was an architect. Emily Bale’s mom was a food blogger. The wind began whipping at Georgia’s face now as she pushed against the rain, trudging her way towards Warbler Road.

Oh, for goodness sake!

Georgia’s mind lashed out as she was pushed left and right by the wind. Her parents said she was “petite. It was just a kind of way of saying “tiny”. Barely scraping five-foot two, all one hundred and thirty-eight pounds of her was miniscule in comparison to most of her classmates. Right now, that meant even the wind got to bully her. She kept her head down as she tried to walk a straight line. She could only imagine how silly she looked trying to fight her way down the street with the wind routinely tossing her off course.

This must be what it feels like to take a sobriety test when you’re tanked.

She smiled to herself at the thought. Somehow, it made her feel better. She could always laugh at herself. She needed that thick skin now to avoid feeling like the eyes of the world were on her as she wobbled her way down the street like a baby antelope learning to walk for the first time. The stores at this end of town were all closed and starting to mist up. The sky overhead was a dreary gray and looked even darker on the horizon. Thankfully, the weather meant the sidewalk wasn’t its bustling self today. There were still plenty of cars passing, but even at a glance, Georgia noticed the familiar sight of people lost in their own little morning routines.

Some spoke on Bluetooth as they rushed to meetings; others kept one hand on the steering as the other caressed the warmth of a Starbucks cup. Even the few people on foot were under umbrellas, too busy with their own fight against the torrid weather to notice the mousy little girl they passed. Gaining some comfort from these facts, Georgia quickened her pace. She could still make it to school on time. The walk wasn’t that far. Her mom had left early again, dashing off to a catering job at some swanky business conference. It was amazing how much time and effort she could put into meticulously prepping the meals she provided her clients but still forget to pack a lunch for her husband.

Of course, touching fifty-five meant dad didn’t quite understand that in today’s world, a woman’s place was no longer at a man’s beck and call. The irony was  not lost on Georgia when she had to step in and quickly throw together some ham sandwiches for herself and him. The circumstances were familiar; the end result always the same—missing the school bus again. Georgia’s teenage angst annoyed her, or at least it did when she was aware of it. She was now. She reminded herself that she was midway through and in a year’s time she would be in college, chasing her dream of being a writer, and all these crappy days would be a distant memory. The timing of her reverie was unfortunate. The moment she heard the grunt of a familiar engine behind her, she sensed something awful was coming next.

Splotch.

The plastic cup made a sound as off putting as the mulch that splashed all over Georgia as it struck her right shoulder. Her cotton hoodie had seemed a good choice when she checked the weather report that morning. As pink bubble tea stained the white fabric and dripped all the way down her shoulders and arms, she regretted wearing white now. Some of the black tapioca pearls stuck to her as she hastily brushed them off her; the little balls bouncing along the pavement and running away with the current as they left dark streaks behind.

“Oh my God!” Georgia shrieked. For good measure, Tyler Norton’s Mazda 3 swerved into a large puddle as it passed and splashed her with more icy water. Her legs and thighs winced as the water got through her double-layered tights and found bare skin. A hand stuck out the window of the car and flipped her the bird .