She knew the key to this arrangement rested with the father of the child. Even though she banged on the gate of the Drakni Drive home for a week straight, Shrika would not let her in. Her belly grew, and she cursed the father and how he rolled on top of her in the middle of the night and imposed what she never wanted to offer.Fatima’s life had been rearranged, but not the father’s life. She could feel the resentment sweep through her like a hot flush of wind funneling through a slum trail. She reluctantly thought that with patience and a bit of persistence she could get the father to accept responsibility for the child, even though the balding servant shut her out.Sometimes she sat on a cool spot overlooking the slums, hung her head, and wept with anger and bitterness. Then she would see something beyond her anger. The father presented an opportunity. Maybe he would miraculously change his attitude, and the servant would change his mind, and all would be well under Allah, and the boy. Study, bring a number 2 pencil... blah blahblah." It was a different feeling from the finals panic that used toplague her, now it was full of reflection. How much baggage had beentossed out? Probably everything; hell, all new luggage does that.She looked inside her locker and fingered the books that lay within.It's over... it really is over. Bobbie never expected to feel bittersweetabout leaving school, her whole life it had been a chore and a miserableplace.But, what she had come to think of as her senior year had changed allthat.There were so many things that would stay in her mind long after sheleft the blue and white corridors of Delacroix High.She ran hand down the door of her locker. Feeling the chipped paint fromthe year's vandalism.Even that wasn't taking up a large amount of space. It was somethingthat had happened and blown over.Jeez. Am I going to miss this place? She smiled wistfully.I guess I am.The table seemed a little quieter with Kim and Heather gone. Bobbie'sphone.
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