The next day, I was sad. Not only because my rest period had ended and it was time to hand over my fate to Horry, but also because Ethan wouldn't be picking me up anymore. Who wouldn't be sad when they couldn't get free rides all over the town instead of having to walk?
Are you sure that's the reason you want Ethan to drive you? I ignored the irrational thoughts and forced my butt out of the bed to get started on the day. My clothes were, as usual, messily scattered throughout the room, and I had to walk around the room, eyes half-shut, stumbling into tables and the bed as I got ready. By the time I had everything I needed, my phone showed six-thirty-five.
I hadn't even stepped out of the house, and I was already five minutes late. Great. Yawning, I dragged my legs down the stairs and out of the house.
It was a cold day, so I pulled Jack (the jacket) closer to my body and headed towards school. Just as I was about to round a corner, out of habit, I turned around to glance at the spot where Ethan waited everyday to pick me up. I blinked. Then I blinked again, trying to clear the sleep out of my eyes. Because, standing there, in all its glory, was the black car with dust covering its hood, and the only person who could park a car that terribly was Ethan.
Right after making sure I wasn't hallucinating, I ran towards the car. And sure enough, there was Mr Grumpy, his face against the steering wheel and eyes closed, sleeping almost peacefully. Forcing down a laugh, I rapped on the window sharply to wake him up.
He sat up in a jerk, eyes wide as he took in his surroundings. I giggled at the surprised expression on his face. He rubbed his eyes groggily and opened the door for me and jumped out.
"Sleeping on the job, are you, Mr Grumpy?' I asked him teasingly, attempting to put on a posh British accent to sound authoritative, and failing miserably.
He yawned and continued rubbing his eyes, which seemed to refuse to open fully. "I've been waiting here for twenty minutes." He yawned again. "And fell asleep" - another yawn - "you're going to get into trouble with Horry. Get in." He reached backwards to get into the car, but ended up hitting his hand to the car's door. Poor guy was so out that he didn't even wince.
I smiled, genuinely warmed by what he was doing for me. I made a mental note to get him coffee the next time. "Actually, I think you should get in. I'll drive."
When he didn't react to what I said, I took him by the arm firmly and dragged him to his seat before sitting at the steering wheel.
"Should I be worried?" he asked me when he realized what was happening.
I rolled my eyes. "Trust me, if you aren't worried while you're driving, there's nothing to worry about when I'm driving." With that, I wore my seatbelt, and started the car with an evil grin on my face.
It wasn't even a minute into the drive that Ethan was yelling his head off about something, but I couldn't hear him over the wind. Although I had a pretty good guess it had something to do with my speed. I drove in and out of lanes without letting off on the gas pedal even at the turns, leaving everything in dust, driving over the speed limit in an attempt to reach school faster - and to scare Ethan out of his mind. I didn't slow down until we came across a stoplight.
"What the hell are you doing!" Ethan yelled at me, all the sleepiness gone, eyes wide. Hair more disheveled than usual, his face turning red, and his hands clinging to the seat belt.
I grinned. "Driving."
"I know that!" he snapped. "Are you also trying to get us killed?"
"No. Just trying to get us there on time and wake you up," I said. "It's working, isn't it?"
He couldn't answer my question - or maybe he could but I didn't hear it because the light had turned green, and I hit the gas pedal again. I drove like I had a host of the undead on my tail, weaving through the small number of cars whose owners had decided to wake up at such an ungodly hour. Not unlike most of my abilities, my driving skills had been bestowed upon me by dad, who always - and when I say always, I mean seven days a week - ran late, and ended up having to drive over the speed limit all the time without getting caught by the police - just to make to work on time. He had these list of rules which needed to be followed if a person chose to drive fast, and if those rules were followed properly, there was no way they would get a speeding ticket. Those included going just above the speed-limit but looking calm and composed while doing it, pretending to be surprised if a cranky cop stopped you, promising be more careful after that, and not driving like a crazy maniac until you're out of the cop's sight, and flashing your license innocently but not too proudly whenever asked to. I was a father's daughter, so he simply added these tricks into my driving lessons, knowing that I would need them at some point or another.
Simple tricks. But they worked. I didn't get a single speeding ticket since I'd started driving two years ago, and I almost always drove over the speed-limit - except when I had to drive a high Ethan home. Then I made it a point to compete with the slowest sloths to see how slow I could go. Right now, I was having the time of my life scaring him like he'd scared me the past week.
By the time I sped into the school driveway, Ethan was a comical sight. His jet black hair was askew, eyes wide, all the sleepiness gone from his naturally pale face to be replaced by fear which had turned it paler, knuckles white because of the force with which he was holding onto the seatbelt.
I laughed.
"I'm - I'm never letting you drive again," he said, with as much conviction as he could muster, but only managing to sound a little braver than a tiny mouse.
I rolled my eyes. "I have a license. You don't. So I'm the one who gets to dictate the terms here."
He shook his head - almost like he was trying to shake off the shock - then narrowed his eyes at me. "I own the damn car!"
"Yes," I agreed, grabbing my stuff and stepping out of the car, "but I'm still going to do the driving from now on. You know it's much safer that way." Sure, I drove fast, but Ethan drove rashly and inconsistently, and that was a lot more dangerous than what I did.
He couldn't disagree, so he just glared at me silently.
I leaned forward and pinched his cheeks, bringing back some colour in them.
He swatted my hands away in annoyance. "Stop that!"
I reached for his cheeks again."You look like a grumpy cat. Do you even know how adorable they are?"
He took my hands firmly and pushed them away, a cross expression on his face. "I'm not adorable. Don't call me that."
I laughed at that. I was already running late, and would probably get into more trouble with Horry, but the moment was too good to be true. "You woke up - what? Before five-thirty in the morning? - just to pick me up, even though you didn't have to. That's probably the most adorable thing ever."
He shrugged, a small smile blooming on his face at my recognition of what he'd done for me. "I couldn't miss my daily dose of getting my ear eaten-off by your continues chattering, could I?"
"You couldn't," I agreed, wondering if it was possible for anyone to get cuter than what he was right then - even with dark circles under his eyes, making him look like an over-worked raccoon. "I'll see you in the afternoon, although I wouldn't be surprised if Horry kills me for coming so late, and buries me in the middle of the school to make an example of me."
He waved at me as I walked out.
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Horry took it easy on me for the first two - three days. Both, Horry and Preston didn't push me hard for an entire week, afraid that they'd injure me more if they tried. That one week gave me time to ease myself into the training schedule which I'd missed for quite some time. It also gave me time to adjust to the arrangement I had with Ethan. Since he had to make it to my place so early in the morning, I made it a point to supply him with coffee once he reached my house, then drove from home to school while he drank the coffee and woke up fully. It worked perfectly.
Of course, things weren't that perfect with my amazing boxing team. People like Shirley, Cheryl and a couple of others were pretty happy that I was back; but then there was Hannah and Victor and their buddies, who glared at me as though my presence was the most offensive one on the world - even more offensive than the presence of Donald Trump. I never thought I could break a record like that, but I was proud I did.
For some reason, Victor seemed to hate me more than usual. Stupid things like talking behind my back scornfully didn't bother me very much - but when someone tried to trip me up while we were on the morning jog, and Victor nearly elbowed my face as I was fixing my boxing-gloves, and couple of his friends attempted to push me down a flight of stairs, I realised there had to be a good reason for all the hate.
Instead of talking about it and clearing the hostile air, I took a slightly forceful route by doing to them exactly what they were doing to me - when a guy tried to trip me up, I elbowed him in the stomach; when a girlfriend of Victor tried to over-turn her disgusting plate of salad over my head, I specifically bought green-peas soup, waited until it was spoilt, and then 'accidentally' emptied the whole thing on her shirt. And when Preston set me up to spar with Victor, I faked a punch to his stomach and hooked an arm around his body to squarely smash his nose. The punch was so wonderful that it not only had him bleeding from the nose, but also bruised the inside of his eyes.
He had to lie down for an hour to get the bleeding to stop, and when he finally did stand up, his eyes were swollen, along with his nose.
I gave him a smug glance before flipping the bird at him when Preston's back was turned. If he thought he could screw-up my practice sessions, break my leg, or hurt me in any way possible, he would have to think again.
Unfortunately, it turns out, he did think again. And nearly won.
-----------------------------------------------
It was a surprisingly warm morning, but I'd, as usual, managed to get five minutes late for the training session. I hurried in with my hair all messed-up, hoping Horry wasn't going to murder me for getting late so many times in the week.
My hopes went crashing into the drain when I saw his blood-red, war-ready face on entering the school grounds. I readied myself for an hour-long lecture, two extra laps around the grounds and fifty lashes delivered with an spiky lash before walking up to him courageously.
And then I realised my tardiness would be least of my problems when my eyes fell on another man beside Horry - a tall man, with thin yellow hair slicked-back neatly, wearing an extravagant (especially for this early in the morning) suit with a bright red tie, standing straight with his belly sticking out and a wide red face with the cruellest pair of beady eyes I'd ever seen in my life. Also, his arms were around a boy I'd punched the other day - specifically, Victor, in all his blue-hair, black-eye, broken-nose glory.
I would've laughed if all three of them weren't glaring at me dangerously as I entered. And if the man beside Victor didn't look bafflingly familiar.
Who the hell is he? I wondered, frowning and slowing down in my steps. If I was going to get into trouble - which I definitely was - I wanted to know who I was getting into trouble with.
And then hit me like a train. My eyes went from Victor to the man as I formed the conclusion that he could only be Victor's father, mayor of our town, a graduate of Greenville high school which he owned partly, an ivy-leaguer who'd passed college with high grades, and better known as Mayor Watson. But according to my dad - when my my mom wasn't listening - an over-privileged dumb piece of shit with his head up his ass. And according to my mom, a selfish, narcissistic, liar who didn't deserve to have any control over our town, who bought his way through life with the green paper he inherited from his father.
Let's just say, neither my mom nor my dad liked him. And if both my parents agreed on something, you'd better listen to them.
I didn't bother addressing the tense atmosphere. I walked right up to Horry and said, "Sorry I'm late, coach. Should I start warming up with the others?"
Horry took one long look at me. "Wilson, I need to talk to you about something." He glanced at Watson's obnoxious face. "Did you happen to assault Victor yesterday?"
Assault Victor? Was that even possible for someone my size? Half the time I felt like a dwarf in front of him! As much as I hated Victor, when it came to physical strength, the guy far more equipped than me. The only reason I'd been able to land that punch on his face yesterday was because he was incredibly, inspiringly, and almost passionately dumb.
Glowering at me, Watson stepped forward threateningly. "Happen to punch him? Can't you see the proof of it here?" He grabbed Victor's face by the chin and lifted it up roughly. "His nose is bruised! He has a black eye! I demanded you to punish the girl, not question her!"
"Okay . . . " I raised my eyebrows at the reaction. Someone would think I ran over Victor with a truck, reversed it just to run over him again - and then ditched him in a dumpster and set it on fire (not that it would be such a bad idea). I decided to ignore the man and focus on Horry. "I did punch him, actually. But it was during practice. I was supposed to punch him. It's his fault his reaction was slow. I definitely did not assault him. Is there a problem, coach?" On a normal day, most of my answers to Horry included so much sarcasm even I had trouble trying to figure out which part had been sarcastic, but the situation wasn't exactly one in which sarcasm would've been acceptable. I was already out-numbered one-to-two. I needed Horry on my side.
"During practice, was it?" Watson said, his voice low and malicious. "And pray tell, since when do you girls practice with my son?"
So that's what he was playing at. I took a glance at Victor. There was no doubt where Watson's outrage was coming from: yesterday, Victor must have gone home with a bruised face, and when daddy dearest asked him what happened, Victor told him Wilson and her terrible friends took him by surprise and assaulted him. Because it would've been shameful to admit a girl my size (more than a foot shorter than him) could actually beat him in a fair fight, and also because that way he would be able to get me into a lot of trouble. Now his darling daddy was here to punish me for apparently assaulting his son. I didn't know if I should laugh or cry. Victor had lied to protect himself from embarrassment, but did he think this through? Preston had witnessed the entire practice session yesterday. All I needed to do was bring him into this. I would go scot-free, and Victor would stuck with his lies. Whatever Watson accused me of for the day, Victor would be accused of much worse.
On a more important note: did I mention that guy was an idiot?
Watson wasn't done with me. "Look at her. She's speechless! You thought this incident would go unreported, did you?" he sneered, an ugly, dangerously self-satisfied expression coming over his already ugly face. "You are in so much trouble, Wilson. And this time, your parents aren't going to be able to get you out of this! In fact, I won't be surprised if they were the ones who put you up to this - it's no secret they don't like me, is it?"
The words shocked me to the bone. Not because they were the worst things anyone had said to me - or because of how untrue they were - or because I would never drag my "shameless" friends into a personal fight and use back-handed tricks to hurt anyone the way Watson was implying I did - or because even though it was known all over the town that my parents had publicly opposed to Watson being elected four years ago, they would never ever ask their own daughter do something that petty; but because of the hate and the threat of violent consequences that hung behind them, demonstrated by his imposing posture and the power he had as a politician and a rich man, while I just a little girl.
He took another threatening step forward. "If I ever find out they had any hand in hurting my son, I'll drag them all they way to the court. I'll make sure they don't practice again. You won't answer like this when I do."
For a moment, I was scared. I was ready to curl up into a ball and hide. Fear struck me like a bullet, throwing my body into a frozen-panic state. He was a strong man with powerful connections, and he was scary. He could do anything he wanted and get away with it. I was a girl with a tiny stature and crazy hair. He was threatening to hurt me. I wanted to run away and never come back.
Then my eyes fell on the crowd that had gathered around me. The entire team was watching, fascinated, curious to see my reaction, reminding me that I was no more a scared little girl afraid of a tiny mouse. I'd changed. And I wasn't going to let a dick-headed douchebag scare me. The others were expecting a Em-Wilson reaction. And I was going to give it to them.
I smiled. Not a sarcastic smile. Not a sad one. A happy one. "I'd love to do that, Mayor, but I don't think that's a possibility for you. Your poor lawyer is already working on four different lawsuits against you."
I turned away from him, refusing to acknowledge his reaction. I acted as though the words and the man behind them were as insignificant as a fly, and said to Horry, "Coach, should I start warming up? I got late as it is, and I don't want to hold others up."
Horry opened his mouth to say something, but I cut him off. "Maybe we can discuss whether or not I punched Victor's face in a fair fight later today afternoon, with coach Preston. He was there yesterday when Victor was bleeding out on the floor and crying like a baby after practice," I spoke in a clear, no-nonsense voice. As much as Preston hated me, and favored Victor over me, he would never lie about me. He was biased, but truthful - something I couldn't say for the Watson family, apparently.
Watson stepped forward, face turning whiter with rage by the second, his beady little eyes noting the way the team was hiding smiles. He felt humiliated by my utter disregard for his presence. And I didn't give a single shit. Victor turned as pale as his father - but I had a feeling it was more in relation to the fact that he looked like he'd pissed his pants than to anger. Watson lifted a shaking finger and pointed at me. "You-"
"Go on and warm-up, Wilson." Horry interrupted, studying my face carefully. He knew I wasn't lying, and wanted me out of Watson's way before I could get myself killed. "You're doing ten laps for coming late. If you're late again tomorrow, you'll be doing much more than that."
I bit down on my tongue. Someone would think Horry would let me off one day, especially right after the epic reply I had to Watson's words. But before I could protest, Horry gave me a warning look. "Get going. Now!"
The way he spoke, someone would think I was a petulant little brat with behavioural problems. So I smiled, pulled apart the ends of my shirt with my hands as a replacement for a skirt and bowed deeply in front of them like a lady in the Victorian times - then stuck my tongue out at them and took off sprinting, the loud laughter of my teammates following me around the ground.
I didn't have a bad day, apart from the ten laps around the school grounds that nearly relieved me of all my calf-muscles - which wasn't that bad after Shirley joined me.
I stayed away from Victor and his group of idiots by taking special care to avoid them at all costs. When I realized that the whole day, there were Victor's cronies stalking me like some creepy gangsters, I decided not to stay alone during and between classes. In this case, Sarah, dearest Aiden's sister became very useful. She and I had similar timetables, and our lunch fell together, so for that one day, I tagged on to her and her followers with determination, unwilling to have a confrontation with Victor. And it worked very well. Victor couldn't catch me alone the entire day.
I couldn't help but feel a little lonely and out-of-place throughout the day, though - what with having a bunch of assholes following me around, my only friend stuck in class, Tyler not answering his phone and, well, for some inexplicable reason, having an itch to call Ethan up and tell him to drive me to the nearest ice-cream shop to discuss the merits of chico-chip-cookie over plain chocolate - if only to escape this tension. I was restless and had a sudden craving for freedom from my terrible school.
At lunch time - against my own good judgement - I found myself sitting with Sarah and her group of dramatic gossip queens with the combined I.Q. of a single bunny rabbit, talking about hair-creams and face-shampoos - or was it the other way round?
I didn't know. My attention was more on texting Ethan, who had, for no reason at all, finally decided my messages were worth answering, and had taken it upon himself to convince me to stay in school a few more hours. Just as I was sending him another silly emoticon - because they seemed to annoy him - Sarah tapped my wrist with her scary-big, fake fingernails.
"Yeah?" I looked up at her perfectly red mouth, curved into a ridiculously cinematic smile.
"Did I tell you Aiden came back?" she asked me excitedly. A round of "OMG, really?" and "He's so hot!" went around her gaggle of friends.
I threw them a dirty look. "Did I tell you I care?"
She arched her shapely eyebrows. "Still bitter about the whole stupid Barbara Thompson fiasco? You know it wasn't his fault!" I opened my mouth to reply heatedly, but she held up her hand to stop me. "That's not the point. I need your help with something."
I wanted to squeeze her long neck and tell her the "stupid Barbara Thompson" fiasco wasn't stupid. She wasn't the person who suffered. It wasn't even the "Barbara Thompson" fiasco, it was the Emmaline Wilson fiasco, after which Emmaline Wilson contemplated eating herself to death.
I badly wanted to grab her by her shiny hair and stuff her make-up layered face into the trashcan - just to see how many layers of make-up would come out and how many would stay, but decided it wasn't worth it. Moreover, utter idiocy to the point of retardation cannot be cured with the use of violence. It would only cost her some more brain-cells - something she couldn't afford to lose if she wanted to survive in civil society. Instead, I gave her a fake smile - about as fake as the existence of her brain. "What do want me to help with?" Whatever it was, I needed to show some genuine conviction to help her before giving her the best excuse I could for not being able to.
"You know how protective Aiden is about the guys I date, don't you?" she asked me.
I did. That was probably one of the reasons I'd put him so high up on the pedestal. He was caring and protective of his wild sister, who absolutely loved doing crazy things - like that one time she made a profile on a dating website which stated her age was twenty-five, went out with a thirty-year old who tried to take her back to his place, and would've succeeded if Aiden hadn't checked her computer and driven to the their location at one in the morning and dragged her home before she could get into a shit-load of trouble. She was just a fourteen-year-old when she did that, and a year later, when the same man was caught by police and convicted of human-trafficking, Sarah actually laughed and said: "No wonder he was in such a hurry to get me into his car!"
And that was just one of her endeavours.
Now, the way she was talking, I knew she was doing something dumb. And I was proven correct almost immediately when she went on to say, "I met this guy through a friend, and started dating him. He's awesome in every way - except he's a year older than me and spent the last year in jail for some thing or the other. He has a small anger-management issue, but he's working on it now."
"That's nice. Do you want me to hook you up with a psychologist?" I asked, wondering if that's all she wanted from me. I could introduce her and her boyfriend to a psychologist. That wouldn't be a problem at all. And considering Sarah's brain-capacity, she needed one, too. Maybe she and her boyfriend could go to the psychologist together. That would be cute.
But she rolled her eyes as though I she hadn't met anyone as naïve as me. "No. I need you to vouch for him. Aiden's not going to let me date a guy who went to jail - so I need you to tell him Leo, my boyfriend, isn't bad."
I nearly chocked on my own saliva. "You want me to do what?"
"Aiden agreed to meet him today," she went on, ignoring my face of pure horror, "I need you to come there and tell him Leo's good for me. I need you vouch for him and convince Aiden he's not going to hurt me." She leaned forward and took my hand in her cold, manicured one, blue eyes lined with a pound of eyeliner wide and pleading.
I shook my head slowly. "I can't."
She held on tighter. "Please? I could ask someone else, but you're the best option. Your parents are known all over the town as trustworthy people - and they're doctors. If anyone can convince Aiden Leo's mentally fit and won't hurt me - it's you."
I shook my head again. "Not happening. I'm not vouching for a person I don't know." I knew better than anyone else that I was a liar. And a big one at that - but this lie would cost me something - something I wasn't willing to give. If, at any point, this boyfriend of hers - Leo - did lose his head, was actually unstable and hurt Sarah, I would be the cause. The guy had been to the jail, for God's sake! Who knew what he did? And although Sarah didn't deserve to be called my friend anymore, there was no way I was letting her get into trouble that way.
"Please?" She tightened her grip on my hand, widening her eyes to an impossible size.
"No. And before you ask - no, I'm not changing my mind," I said. Her face fell. I sighed. "Even if I did agree to this, there's no way I would've been able to do it today. I'm busy."
She pouted disappointedly.
"I'm sure you'll be able to figure this out," I told her, getting off the table in a hurry. Another five minutes with Sarah, she and her friends would convince me to do this. Moreover, the next hour would be spent on them discussing how awesome Aiden was, and I wasn't sure I could take it. Too many bad memories associated with him. "I'll see you later."
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I was having a perfectly good day, having sent Ethan a highly edited hideous picture of me attempting to look like a Barbie doll. Why did I do that? Business studies class got boring after one of my favourite teachers left to be replaced by an idiot, so I decided to crash Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet play being ruined by Shirley's classmates.
There was some talent show or the other coming up, and a few of Shirley's classmates decided to do a slightly different version of Romeo and Juliet, a version including a masquerade prom, Romeo as the prince, Juliet as some kind of modern Cinderella, a shoe which the Juliet loses in the prom, the dumb prince chasing her down with her shoe-size, and a happily ever after.
Yes, a happily ever after. I didn't understand how they could call it Romeo and Juliet after giving it a happy ending! Now, even Sarah would know the difference between the epic Romeo and Juliet and The Tale of The Idiotic Prince and His Careless Princess (better known as Cinderella), but apparently, Shirley's classmates didn't, and they refused to at least change the name. Right after having the argument with them, I decided to make amends to the play and save poor Shakespeare from rolling in his grave.
When they were having their costume-rehearsal, Shirley and I locked up the people playing the main characters in a closet (it wasn't that hard; all we had to do was turn the key when we found them busily making-out in it), then Shirley dressed up in Romeo's clothing and I dressed up in Juliet's (along with the masks which conveniently helped along our disguises), and we caused mayhem.
The rehearsal started with Juliet walking onto the stage 'gracefully', with her beautiful gown 'flowing' around her. That's exactly what I did. But when I finally got to the part where Shirley - as Romeo - in those ridiculous clothes told me how beautiful I was (seriously, I was wearing a disgustingly pink gown and a freaking mask, how did it make sense for a 'prince' to fall in love with my mask and decide he wanted to fuck me?), Shirley, in her best impression of a handsome prince told me I was beautiful, I shoved the middle finger in her face and told her I was madly in love with the potted plant standing behind her, and actually walked all the way to the plant before Shirley, snorting with laughter, told me that, as a prince, it was her birth-right to marry anyone she wanted to - even if her name was Romeo and the right shoe-size was the criteria for deciding.
Not long after, they were onto us, and would've caught us if we didn't run into the make-up room, and we locked it right after running into it. We had an hour of freedom, which we used wisely by rubbing make-up into each other's faces with gusto. I used the lipstick as an eyeliner for Shirley, all the while saying: "This is a whole new bold look! Trust me, you'll be every girl's envy! How many woman can boast of having Em Wilson as their make-up artist?"
And then Shirley took her best shot at turning me into a Barbie, a mission that was made easy by my blonde hair and would've succeeded if only we weren't laughing our heads off while doing it, and she managed to get the blush all over my neck and hair.
That's how poor Ethan ended-up with a picture that would be the source of his nightmares for the rest of his life.
The whole incident put me in a good mood for the rest of the day. I forgot about Aiden, about Victor and his accusations, about how Ethan's absence was bothering me so much.
Everything. That is, until Victor's father marched in during practice, demanding justice for his son. Preston put him in place quickly - even humiliated him so much that I had a feeling Victor was going to get kicked out of his house. I didn't care - and would've let the whole thing pass if only Victor didn't decide to blame me for getting caught in his own lie.
When practice was over, and everyone was going to have pizza while I'd stayed back to pretend to pack my bag so I wouldn't get seen stepping into Ethan's car, Victor stopped me on my way out, with Hannah by his side.
"What do you want this time?" I asked him, sighing. I knew what I wanted: ice-cream and Ethan. Yeah, I wasn't even going to deny it. I was too exhausted to think about anything - courtesy of Preston. But Victor and his minion were standing at the door, blocking my exit.
He leaned against the door-frame, looking way too amused for a guy who was in a lot of trouble with his own father. "Nothing. I was just wondering . . . you know, when you first started training with us, I though you were a new girl in school. Did you know that? We'd spent years in the same grade, and I didn't even know who you were."
"That's nice," I said, wondering where this was going. "Should I give a shit?"
"Oh yes, you should!" he exclaimed, smiling for some reason. "You see, I asked a friend if he knew you; turns out, he does! He's Barbara Thompson's boyfriend."
"What?" I blinked in surprise and my throat suddenly dried up at the mention of Barbara Thompson.
Victor stepped forward. "She says she loves rabbits." His voice was now softer, an excited glint in his eyes at obviously hitting a soft spot. "Especially the ones which wear braces."
My stomach gave a turn. This could not be happening. No one was supposed to bring it up again. A lump formed in my throat as the memories came surging back at his words. Strong emotions I had pushed down for years rushed to the surface, making me clench my teeth against them. My hands became clammy on the strap of my bag. Pointing fingers, jeers and laughter, losing friends to a stupid video.
He smirked. "Lost your smart-mouth, did you?" Hannah popped a stick of chewing-gum and started chewing like a cow.
I closed my eyes. Victor's mocking face reminded me too much of the others' mocking faces, spouting cruel words and laughing. I couldn't breathe, just like I couldn't back then when it felt like the tiny world I knew came crashing down on me, leaving me incapable of forming a comprehensible thought. They were all laughing: Sarah, Jessica, Emily, Allen, Christine, Nicole, Irina - no, not Irina. Irina didn't laugh. But the rest did.
"She looks a little out. Want me to punch her?" Hannah's voice cut like a dagger through my memories. Irina never laughed. She wasn't even my friend. Not until . . .
"Don't bother. I don't think punching is going to help," he said. "Although I would love to. I'm in trouble because she wouldn't keep her fucking mouth shut." I frowned. Wouldn't keep her fucking mouth shut. This wasn't the first time he said that. Irina wouldn't keep her fucking mouth shut.
He snorted derisively. "You think you're some smart shit, don't you? Bringing Preston into this." I heard him sigh. "No. What you are is stupid. Did you think I was going to just let you walk all over me? I could kick you out of this school and no one will give a crap. Except that side-kick of yours."
"I wonder if she'll sleep with me if I pay her. Has a nice body for a sixteen-year-old," he said.
My eyes flew open. I didn't mind if he attacked me - well, I did, but there was no way I was going to let him talk about Shirley that way. The thing was, everyone knew Shirley was way too mature to be sixteen; many of the seniors tried asking her out and most of them talked the way Victor did - and I'd always ignored them because it didn't concern me. And yet . . . I wouldn't put it past Victor to actually do what he said he would: hurt a girl and ditch her after he was done. Anger burst through my body, burning a path down all those memories to set a stage for the most important one.
I glared at him. She wouldn't keep her mouth shut. Sixteen years old. Victor didn't seem even a bit bothered by my glaring, he stood there with his arms folded across his chest, a proud smirk on his face, the epitome of arrogance. I wondered if hurting other people made him happy. He lifted a golden eyebrow. "What? You gonna hit me?" He stuck his face forward. "Why don't you try, huh? But, trust me, this little secret of yours is going on the school website. And if you don't want that, I suggest you take back what you said to my dad and apologize for everything you did."
Hannah frowned. "Wait a second, what's this little secret, again?"
Victor sighed. "I said I'll tell you if she doesn't do what I want her to." He looked at me. "Your choice. No one remembers. But they will once I give them a tiny reminder. You don't want a repeat of what happened three years back, do you?" He watched me carefully, although I could see he'd already assumed he'd won. He already expected me to bow down to him like Irina did.
And that's the reason I often called him shit-for-brains. "Not particularly. The same way I'm sure you don't want everyone to know what happened two years ago," I spoke finally, with no malice and no emotion, just like a robot would. My voice echoed across the empty gym.
Hannah held up her hands. "Wait. Are you trying to play the blackmail game?"
"Maybe." I took a glance at Victor's face. "You thought no one knows, didn't you?"
He said nothing.
"Irina came to me." He stiffened at her name, the arrogant cover falling away as I went on. "She was scared and crying. She thought she was going to die. Your father threatened her. You just stood by and watched while he did. Her parents nearly abandoned her. She came to me when you ditched her."
I stepped forward so that we were standing toe-to-toe. He smelled of soap and fear. The kind of fear I smelled on sixteen-year-old Irina when she came running to me after she found out Victor managed to get her pregnant. Her whole family and his were so conservative that they would've literally murdered her if murder of pregnant teens was legal. When Victor found out, he dropped her like a hot potato. People pointed and put her down, until she broke down and sought comfort in the only person who didn't: me. "You do remember her, don't you?" I asked him, burning holes through his bright blue eyes. He didn't look quite so happy anymore. "Your father would've managed to kick her out of the town to live on her own, with no money, no support, nothing - if my dad didn't intervene."
He stumbled back, running straight into Hannah. I continued attacking him relentlessly. "She was just sixteen. And she adored you." I took another step forward threateningly. "What did you give her in return?"
He opened his mouth and shut it. His legs began shaking. Turned away, unable to meet my accusing gaze. "You called her the worst things possible!" I dropped my bag and grabbed him by the neck of his shirt to force him to look at me. "You think I'm scared of my secrets getting out?"
He started breathing faster. He made a feeble attempt to push away my hand. It didn't work. I sneered at him. "Well, I don't. My secret was barely a fucking secret! Whereas you have a skeletal in your closet. The skeleton of a bright girl whose life you nearly ruined!"
I let go of his shirt, picked up my bag, pushed past him and walked out. "It's a good thing she's a fighter."
The night wind flapped my pants as I stomped away, my emotions all over the place. I remembered the whole incident too well. When Irina came to me, I went to my father almost immediately. After that, I didn't know what happened, although I did figure out Irina had left town.
A year ago, my father finally opened up about what happened: Victor's father threatened her, tried to pressure her into getting an abortion until Irina finally gave in. The while thing was done quietly with no one's knowledge, and by the time my father could step in, Irina was an emotional mess. She did get an abortion, but wasn't mentally fit for it. The pressure of thinking about herself as a murderer while keeping it a secret from her whole family broke her. She needed help, and my father did what he could: took her to psychologist, spent hours talking to her parents until they finally got convinced that dis-owning their daughter for having sex out of marriage was wrong, and also convinced them to move to another place away from Victor and his father. All this wouldn't have happened if Victor's father, famous for being against sex-education, who boasted that his son was a perfect angel who wouldn't even consider sex before marriage, didn't want people to find out differently.
For a year or so, Irina was completely destroyed, more mentally than physically. It took her multiple counselling sessions, a different town, a different environment and different friends for her to fight back. Now, even though she was still just eighteen years old, she was in the first year of college, having managed to skip a grade and take advanced classes. Six months ago, she called me. We had a long talk. And after I finally ended the call, I wrote my first article on the need for sex-education in school, and more importantly, the need for more open-minded people. It never got a place in the website. I wanted to keep it secret, locked away, until I could finally write it again without sounding personally affected by the whole thing. Until I could write it as a journalist, and not as the friend of the victim.
"Hey! Wait up!" I heard a voice behind me, cutting through my train of thought.
I spun around and found myself face-to-face with Hannah, running to catch up with me.
"What?" I asked, frowning at her. She'd lost her gum somewhere, and her hair was flying around in the air.
"What the fuck just happened back there?" she exclaimed, motioning to Victor, who stood stone-still exactly where I'd left him.
I shrugged and continued walking fast. She matched my pace. "I'm not letting you go until I get my answers, you know?"
I rolled my eyes. "Your boyfriend-"
"Not my boyfriend!" she snapped.
"Alright," I said. "The guy whose orders you follow without question isn't a saint. Wasn't that obvious? He got a girl pregnant and claimed not to know her. Would've managed to get her killed. I don't see why you're so surprised."
She grabbed my hand and forced me to look at her. "He did what?"
I pulled my arm out of hers."You heard me."
She shook her head, her eyes scrunched-up in thought. "But that's not . . . " She stared into my eyes, looking vulnerable for one moment. And then it was gone. Replaced by anger. Disgust. "He actually did that, didn't he?"
I turned away and started walking again. "Yes. I'm surprised you don't know. You are his girlfriend, aren't you?"
"He wishes." She snorted disdainfully. "Slept with him once, that's it."
"Right. Is that why you follow him around like a puppy?"
"No. We follow each other because we have mutual hatred for you," she said.
I stopped walking to look at her. "For me? Why?"
She shrugged. "You're a bitch. That's why."
I opened my mouth to defend myself, but couldn't find a retort. Hannah was, in one way, completely right. I was a pretty bitchy person unless I was dealing with my friends. Heck, I was a bitch to even my friends. I shook my head at her and started walking again.
"Look. I didn't know Victor would do something like that." She walked with me, speaking earnestly. "Honestly, I don't even like him that much. He's dumb. I only listen to him because being nice to him gets me good grades. And we both hated you, so that worked in our favor."
"Is there a point in this conversation?" I raised my eyebrows at her.
"Yes."
I folded my arms across my chest, having reached the school gates and unwilling to let Hannah get even a glimpse of where I was going.
"The point is, I'm sorry," she finally admitted, chewing her lip. "You're definitely a bitch, but if what you said was true - which I'm sure it is - I'm sorry. I don't hate you anymore."
I blinked in surprise. "Really? Two years of trying to get me off the team, and now you're sorry?" I asked disbelievingly.
"Yes," she said, with no hesitation. "I'm done with that. If there was ever a moment you helped a person through something like that . . . well, you have the right to be a bitch for the rest of your life." She held out her hand for a shake hand. "I still don't like you very much, but how about we shake our hands to not being enemies anymore?"
I glared at her hand suspiciously. For all I knew, this was a plot to pull some shitty prank on me. "Nice to know. How about we don't shake and agree not to make each other's lives miserable?"
"Okay." She let her hand fall to her side. "I'll see you later." She turned away and ran.
"Where are you going?" I asked curiously.
"To punch Victor in the face for lying to me!" she shouted back.
I didn't know how to react to that. Things were moving too fast for me to understand. Also, I was too tired to think about anything else than: I need my freaking ice-cream!
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Author's note: Hey guys! I know it's been a long time, but I don't have much to say for myself except that I was, as usual, too bloody busy and way to unhappy with the earlier versions of this chapter to be able to post it. Anyway, it's here now, and I hope its makes sense. Questions:
Is this chapter confusing in anyway? Does it need better explanation/description in any parts? Does it not make sense in any parts? Let me know!
Are there too many characters to keep track?
Do you see any grammatical/other types of mistakes? Don't hesitate to point them out!
How's the pace working out for you? Too slow? Too fast?
Is Em the strangest character you've met yet or is there someone who can out-strange her?
What do you think the Barbara Thompson incident is?
Do you think Hannah's playing a prank or is she being genuine?
Thoughts/feedback/criticism
Thanks for reading! :)
Cyan