Kenya woke up slowly the next morning, feeling like she had been run over by several heavy objects. She’d forgotten how badly one of her episodes could debilitate her after it was over. Groaning in pain, she slowly peeled her sore body off the carpet. Her face felt sticky from her tears and lying on the carpet all night. When she sat up against the wall, a wave of nausea hit her so hard she had to use all her will power to keep from emptying her stomach again.

She carefully stood up after a few minutes and went through her morning routine, thanking her lucky stars it was Saturday. She thoroughly brushed her teeth then took a quick shower to revive herself. She still felt like hell and since she couldn’t afford air conditioning, the heat was wrecking havoc on her damaged system. 

After dressing in shorts and a tank top, Kenya sat on her couch as she continued to fight her remaining pain and nausea. She hated this shit. Two years without a single episode, she had thought it might have been a fluke. Last night’s episode had been a lot more severe than the ones from before. Her foster parents never knew, not that they would have cared, and neither did Chris. She was hoping the symptoms weren’t going to become a regular occurrence.

Her symptoms had started two weeks after her foster dad tried to rape her at the age of 15. She remembered telling her foster mom and instead of the bitch helping her, she’d blamed it on Kenya, claiming her husband wasn’t to blame for wanting her. She had accused Kenya of flaunting herself in front of her husband and blamed her for their marriage problems. She remembered the day she left the hell hole.

Kenya could smell the alcohol when she stepped into the house. Her foster dad was drunk again, a daily occurrence for him and his wife.

“You finally decided to grace me with your presence. What the fuck took you so long to get home?” he snarled at her, finishing off his beer. She jumped when he tossed it in her direction.

“I was at school doing homework,” Kenya said.

She was having a hard time keeping her anger in check. What made him think he could talk to her like he owned her?

“Get over here,” he ordered.

“Carl, I’ve got things to do. What do you want?” Kenya asked, her patience wearing thin. It probably wasn’t a smart idea to bate him but he was getting on her last nerve.

“I said come here!”

Kenya flinched, her heart rate sped up. She would never admit it but sometimes Carl scared the hell out of her. She walked into the living room and stopped a few feet away from where he was standing. He looked like shit. His hair looked like it hadn’t been combed in months, his grey shirt had two holes at the bottom and a big yellow stain near the collar, he wore sweats that were too small for his chubby legs, and he smelled horrible.

He stepped closer to her, trying to intimidate her with his size. She held her ground refusing to show him her fear.

“You think you can be all flippint with me and act holier than thou you stupid bitch.  Don’t ever talk to me like you’re better than me,” Carl said, his hatred for her clearly written on his face.

“That’s not my prob…”

The punch to her jaw stopped her sentence and sent her flying to the ground. She came to with a scream when Carl hit her back with some sort of belt. Kenya was lying on her belly, naked from the waist up. Carl’s foot was on her butt, keeping her in place. There was something wet trailing down her back, she was guessing it was blood. He was probably using his spiked belt; it was the only one that could cause that kind of damage with one hit.

“I’ll teach you respect if it’s the last thing I ever do, bitch!”

Kenya bit into her hand to keep from crying out when he hit her back again. The pain intensified even more when he opened a can of beer and poured it over her wounds. Tears continued to run down her face. She refused to let him know how much she was suffering. She just needed to hang on for a few more minutes.

The belt hit her back again and again and again; Kenya could feel it tearing off her skin. He poured more beer on her back. She fought harder to keep from crying out. It went on for what seemed like forever. If someone didn’t come home soon, she was going to die.

Kenya drew herself back from the ugly memory. The numerous scars on her back were a daily reminder of what Carl had put her through. Carl’s wife came home a few minutes after she blacked out and called 911. She spent three weeks in the hospital because of her blood loss. After the hospital she was put in a group home, she refused to go back to a foster home. During the two years in the group home she remembered having six episodes, each one worse than the last.

She never told the counselors or Chris because by that time, she had put in a request to be emancipated. No judge would have granted her what she wanted if they had known she had health problems. Maybe if she slowed down, ate better, lowered her stress level, her heart problems would go away.

Deciding to put her plan into action, she got dressed and took the bus to the grocery store. She was starting to feel better and eating an adequate lunch would probably do wonders for her.  After finishing her shopping, Kenya waited for the bus to arrive. She was so deep in thought she didn’t see the black car that parked a few feet away from the bus stop.

“Hey, Kenya. Nice day isn’t it?”

Kenya looked up in surprise when she heard the greeting.

“Hi, Tristan,” she responded, mentally instructing herself to breathe and not make an idiot out of herself.

He wore blue and white Hawaiian shorts, a white shirt which he conveniently forgot to button, and white sandals. Years of repressed hormones hit her all at once, causing her to become angry at herself. She’d gone her entire life without letting a guy distract her, no way in hell she was going to stop now.

“I was on my way to the beach and saw you sitting here. I know you still don’t me but it’s hot as hell out here and my car will get you home a lot sooner than the bus will. What do you say?”

She wanted to say, no. She wanted to refuse his help and insist that taking the bus wasn’t a problem for her.  She was tired though; her strength still wasn’t back completely. It was beyond hot and the bus was going to be another half hour since it was Saturday.

“I have air conditioning…” Tristan said with a teasing smile on his face.

“Okay. I’ll take you up on that ride,” Kenya said before she changed her mind. She went to pick up her grocery bags but he beat her to it.

“I got it,” Tristan his chest coming dangerously close to her face. Kenya smelled his clean scent and almost closed her eyes. She needed to get a grip.

After putting the groceries in the back seat, Tristan opened the door for her. She murmured a thank you as she slid onto the smooth leather seat. She wasn’t good with people or showing gratitude which is why she didn’t interact with anyone unless she had to. Why was he being so nice to her? In her world, no one was kind to you unless they wanted something from you. He could have driven by the bus stop, she wouldn’t have noticed. The heat wasn’t pleasant but it wasn’t anything new, she would have been okay.

“You don’t talk much do you?” Tristan asked after a few minutes of silence.

“I’m not much for small talk or forced conversation, sorry,” Kenya responded.

His deep laugh surprised her. Her smart reply was supposed to shut him up, not amuse him.

“You don’t pull any punches do you? I like that. You’re one hell of a fire cracker,” he said.

He liked her rudeness? What was wrong with him? She was deliberately being an ass and he thought she was funny? She quickly gave him directions to her apartment, avoiding whatever questions he asked her.  As soon as the car stopped Kenya was out the door like a fire had been lit under her.  She grabbed her groceries out the back seat and headed for her apartment building.

“Kenya, all I did was invite you to the beach with me. You’re acting like I propositioned you or something,” Tristan said getting out of the car.

“Listen, I appreciate the ride but my answer is no. I don’t like people. I don’t socialize or make friends. We’re from completely different circles and I don’t understand why you even want to be my friend or whatever. I like my solitude and I’d appreciate it if you left me alone. Have a nice day,” Kenya said.

Turning her back to him again, she went inside without waiting for his response.

Tristan got in his car and headed for the beach. The shell she had around herself was a lot tougher than he thought. His hopes had risen when she accepted his help but she firmly closed the door in his face with her last statement. He needed a different strategy in order to reach her and he knew it was going to be extra work. The image of her in a yellow tank top, black shorts, black sandals, and beautiful dark brown skin came to mind.

She was totally worth it.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

Kenya was on her way to the cafeteria when a familiar figure struck up a conversation.

“Kenya, I need a favor.”

Fuck! She hated favors.

“What do you need, Page?” She asked reluctantly.

“Can you sit with me at lunch? I really hate sitting by myself,” Page said with a sheepish look on her face.

Kenya almost told her no. The girl was odd and talked enough for the both of them but she was actually a nice person. When Kenya came to the conclusion that Page wasn’t going to leave her alone, she started listening to her rambling and learned quite a bit about her. So far she knew that Page didn’t like spiders, she was an avid romance novel reader, and she was allergic to cantaloupe.

“Sure,” Kenya replied.

“Great! The table I normally sit at is over there in the corner,” Page said, excited about finally having someone to sit with.

Before they could get to their seats, Emily and her two sidekicks blocked their paths.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t slutty Page and the African booty scratcher,” Emily hissed at them.

The mean girl routine? Really? High school was such a cliché sometimes. Kenya felt Page tense at the insults but she barely blinked an eye.

“How much rubbing did your two brain cells have to do before you came up with those lame ass insults?” Kenya asked. Page looked at her in surprise.

The look of surprise and anger on their faces was priceless.  “You are such a bitch,” Emily said after moments of silence.

“I don’t give a damn about what you think. Calling me a bitch isn’t going to accomplish anything. If you three would kindly move, you’re wasting my time.” Kenya walked between two of them, forcing them to move apart; Page followed her lead.

“That was really cool of you. No one ever stands up to them,” Page said when they sat down with their food.

“Why the hell not? They’re not that special,” Kenya said.

Page shrugged. “Their parents donate so much money to the school they practically own it. Plus, those three have a way of ruining someone’s reputation if they’re crossed.”

“What did they do to you? And don’t play dumb with me; I know you used to be one of them.”

Page shrugged again as if to say it wasn’t a big deal. “We had a camping trip last year and this guy that used to go here liked me but Emily wanted him. We were alone in my tent making out when Emily started screaming that we were having sex in the tent. I denied it of course but no one believed me. She started spreading the rumor that I was easy and had sex with whoever offered it. They constantly picked on me, threw things at me. The abuse got so bad that I considered transferring to another school. The school found out about it and put a stop to it.”

“And you didn’t stand up for yourself?” Kenya asked disgusted at the treatment she received.

“I just wanted them to go away. I thought saying something would make it worse. I don’t have your kind of attitude,” Page said meekly.

“Until you start giving a shit about yourself, those losers will keep hounding you. You care more about what they think of you then what you think of yourself. This is your senior year. You’ll most likely go to college and make something of yourself. They’re probably going to get married and get lipo at the age of 25. You don’t need their approval so stop looking for it. The only person that you need approval from is yourself.”

They both ate in silence after that. Page smiled at her food. Kenya was starting to come around.

Kenya sat in the guidance office waiting to see Miss Jacobs. For some reason the guidance counselor insisted on seeing her even though Kenya made it apparent that she didn’t need her help.

“Kenya, Miss Jacobs is ready for you,” the secretary said. Kenya nodded to her and walked into Miss Jacobs’s office.

The bleach blonde with big fake boobs and caked on makeup was not what she expected.

“Have a seat Kenya. I know you said you don’t need any guidance when it comes to college but I thought I’d meet with you to let you know what your options are after high school. We have some great community colleges here where you can get started. Let me get you some of their brochures.”

Was she serious? Kenya rolled her eyes as three brochures landed in front of her.

“Miss Jacobs, that’s not…”

“Even though these schools are community colleges, they’re very hard to get into. I know it’s a stretch to assume your grades and SAT scores are good enough to get you in but, anything is possible,” Miss Jacobs interrupted with a forced smile.

Kenya tapped down her anger at the subtle insults.

“That won’t be necessary, Miss Jacobs,” Kenya said trying the diplomatic approach. She was seconds away from assaulting Barbie.

“Honey, I know your kind doesn’t go to college very often but I highly recommend that you try and get a secondary education.”

Kenya could feel her blood pressure rising. Breathe, she told herself.

“Miss Jacobs, I didn’t say I wasn’t going to college. In fact I’ve already been offered countless scholarships by countless Universities. If you had bothered looking at my grades, you would have known that I’ve averaged a 4.6 GPA since freshman year because of my AP classes. I’m also one question away from a perfect SAT score. I’ve taken enough college credit courses to completely bypass my freshman year. I’ve applied to Harvard and Yale. I’m one of the top students at this school so I shouldn’t have a problem getting into either one of those schools. Like I said, I don’t need your help. I’ve got my secondary education covered. Have a nice day.”

Kenya left the guidance counselor’s office feeling good. The look of surprise on Miss Jacobs face was priceless.

“Community college my ass.”