Chapter Two
Things I would tell my fifteen-year-old self now that I’m grown:
“Don’t settle.” Donna
~Tempest~
My cup overflows, that’s what the mug in front of me says. I swirl the tea bag while the steam rolls off the top. Before I can even take the first sip of my breakfast steep, my computer pings and pings again, four times over alerting me to new emails.
This is Monday.
I swirl my mouse on the Haven’s Harbor anchor shaped mouse-pad. The monitor in front of me comes to life.
Email one subject line: Haven’s Harbor charity 5k details inside.
Email two subject line: Ms. Adams feature opportunity available.
Email three subject line: Regarding Arika’s participation in the protest.
I stop, forgetting to even look at the other email, and click.
Ms. Adams,
I am writing to you today to make you aware of Arika’s participation in a protest at our school.
Last week the faculty were notified of a potential protest on a project required in tenth grade US History. We took it as a rumor and not something that would actually happen. However, wanting to be diverse, we did, as a history team come up additional option to the project to best suit the needs of the children disagreeing with the assigned task.
While the majority of students understood the expectations of the project, we also know there were a few who felt the project was inappropriate and planned to boycott the project all together. The students were informed that an alternate project could be provided should they have a moral issue with the first project. All they needed to do was ask so we would be aware of who would be doing which assignment.
You know we strive for diversity and to make sure we meet all the needs of every student here.
The majority of our student body completed their journal on the great cultural divides in history. The expectation of each student was to make a journal as a repressed person in each decade of history.
The purpose in this project was to drive the students to empathize with individuals who faced adversity in our history, therefore, paving the way to life as the students know it now.
It has been brought to our attention that Arika was the student orchestrating the protest.
We offered an optional project based on your daughter’s emotional stance that our journal was glorifying sexism, racism, and forcing the children to mentally be suppressed like the individuals in history.
Therefore, it was Arika’s responsibility to turn in her report, a journal giving thanks, rather than forcing her into the mindset of their time period. We thought to say thank you to the many people in history who have opened doors and paved the pathway to allow students today to have a benchmark and platform in which to debate a project, but still learn those key points in history..
Arika did not do this report. In fact, this morning as she arrived at school, she lined the hallway in front of my classroom all the way down with students holding a chain. She attempted to turn in some papers, but given she disregarded the assignment as a whole, I refused them.
Her act of defiance has her spending the week with Mr. Dunn in In-School Suspension.
I feel that we need to schedule a parent-teacher conference together to better understand how we can help Arika to understand the importance of this particular project. This project is one-third of her overall grade in my class to which she will be given a zero for her lack of participation and outright refusal to follow instructions. The suspension is for her disruption of educational opportunities for the other students.
Please reply with a date and time that works for you and I will make sure I am available.
Thank you,
Mrs. Starling
Academy of Arts High School
History Team Lead Teacher
“Dammit, Arika,” I say lifting the receiver of the phone on my desk. Dialing the school, I feel the emotions overwhelm me.
“Take her, Tempest.” Stephanie says with tears falling down her face. “The papers are in the bag. She’s yours, Tempest. Be her haven because I can’t.”
“Stephanie, come with me.” I beg of my best friend. “I will help you. I’ll keep you safe, her safe, and the two of you together.”
“You’ll be a better, smarter mother than I ever can. Take her, Tempest, and give her the safety I can’t.”
“What do I know about raising a baby girl?”
“She will test you, Tempest, but you are strong.” Stephanie kisses her baby’s head one last time before placing the small bundle in my arms. “Raise my baby girl to be stronger than her momma. Raise her to fight for what she believes in, Tempest.”
I hang up the phone as the tears fall hot down my cheeks.
“Dammit, Stephanie, I can’t do this. I’m messing her up!” I shout out before looking to the ceiling. I know there are no answers. I know Stephanie can’t magically appear. In the end, you can come back from a lot of things in life, but death isn’t one of them.
Why does this have to be so hard? Stephanie was supposed to raise her daughter. Only, he found her before she could safely have Arika and escape. The plan when my best friend found out she was pregnant was to run away before the baby was born. He was in the military – the Navy to be exact, and was away more than he was home. They weren’t married. The plan should have worked.
Except it all went to hell when he came home early and found out Stephanie was indeed pregnant.
Little baby Arika Haven Adams – yes, Stephanie gave her my last name and had my name put on the birth certificate – five pounds, one ounce, eighteen precious inches long, and born three weeks premature because her dad beat the hell out of her mother, sending her into labor.
Stephanie spoke with a social worker at the hospital within hours of giving birth. With her assistance, she was able to get papers drawn up giving me custody of baby Arika before I even knew what she was doing. And what’s worse, to this day, I don’t even know how legal all of this is except the birth certificate makes it seem like Arika came from my body and Stephanie never existed. It kills me, but after what he did to her I can understand.
The buzzer goes off before I can get myself together from the onslaught of emotions. I press the button on the box. “Yeah,” I clip out.
“The school is on line two for you, Tempest.” Cameron Linn says through the intercom. “They say you called and hung up before they could answer.”
Blowing out an exasperating breath, I pick up the phone receiver. “This is Tempest Adams,” I answer.
“Hi Ms. Adams, this is Dixie from Academy of Arts High School. My apologies for missing your call, I didn’t get switched over fast enough.”
“I hung up, it’s not your fault Dixie. Can you please tell Mrs. Starling, I received the email and I am available for a conference tomorrow afternoon at three?”
“Yes, ma’am I sure will.”
We hang up and I slump in my chair. The memories invade while I fight to push them back.
“He’s gonna kill me, Tempest.” Stephanie says looking down at the pregnancy test in front of her. “God, what have I gotten myself into?”
“Maybe this will be the change he needs.”
She looks at me with fear in her eyes. “He’s not the same since he deployed on that mission.”
“Come on, Shawn Callahan is the last person you have to worry about.”
Shawn and Stephanie have been this match made in heaven since they started dating our freshmen year of high school. Stephanie was the perfect Navy girlfriend. She has been supportive even when he decided to become a SEAL.
“He came home, and Tempest,” she looks around like a shadow may find her. “Tempest, he’s not the same. He’s snapped. If I don’t do things right, he hurts me.”
I gasp.
Shock.
Humiliation.
Fear.
All the feelings wash over me like it was just yesterday when my best friend told me her long time boyfriend was abusing her. I was stunned and then embarrassed that I pushed aside what she was going through. Then the fear hit and it’s gripped my heart ever since.
Stephanie is gone. Shawn is in a military prison somewhere for killing her – manslaughter was his charge and conviction, but murder is what I call it.
Arika is all that is left of something that was once so good that turned so bad.
That’s love, though. A fairytale that rarely has a happily ever after.
Yeah, I’m fine on my own. Now, if I could only be so confident that I can tackle parenthood solo then we would be in business.
I have five hours until my teenager will be home and I have to sort out an appropriate punishment for her defiance even though I can understand where she’s coming from.
Nothing in life worth having ever comes easy.