Quilla
"Spend more time around people." Hmmm. Even if I did have the courage to do that, the people in question wouldn't exactly be happy about it.
"Talk to people."I'd try if anyone would want to be within earshot.
"Make eye contact and smile." Nope.
"Start a conversation." I couldn't start an imaginary conversation, forget a real one.
"Make small talk." They seriously needed to stop with actions involving use of the vocal chords.
"Introduce yourself at the end of the conversation." I didn't need an introduction per se...and again with the talking!
"Initiate a get-together." I could invite myself and my shadow.
"Ask them out for - "
I shut the laptop with a loud thud. "Nonsense. We are not asking Parker out."
Embarrassed at being witness to my own thoughts, I groaned and flopped onto my bed. The WikiHow page about making friends had been no help whatsoever. It wasn't made for people like me. The internet was as useless as and more infuriating than Mr. Phillips. And to think I had actually woken up early in the morning to research this.
"Wait a minute." I sat up again, staring at myself in the mirror. The image that stared back shone with hatred. "You are going to remember, Quilla. Get this into your thick skull. Friends are traitors."
I repeated that to myself throughout my shower and all the way to school. Thankfully, once I did get there, counting steps took up much of my attention. The problem began when I was in class, where I had nothing to distract me. After three hours of classes and two splitting headaches, I decided to try writing down every word the teachers said. My pencil flew back and forth on the paper and beads of sweat appeared on my forehead; my fingers ached and I was pretty sure that I had dug the pencil in so deep that it had torn the page in places. But things were about to get much worse.
"What's up with Killer Sanders?"
"Sssh! She'll hear you!"
The girl lowered her voice, but not enough that I couldn't hear her. "She looks so aggravated...look at the way she's writing."
"Vinnie, I'm...I'm scared...do you think she's going to lose control or something?"
My fingers tightened painfully around my pencil as I attempted in vain to control my temper. Why did they have to look at everything I did in a negative light? I was still a high school girl and I could very much be worrying about mundane high school problems! And how on earth were they drawing such far-fetched conclusions simply because I was writing fast?
"She could stab someone with that pencil..."
The only person I would want to fatally stab was myself, and I sure as heck wouldn't use a pencil for that.
"Don't say things like that! God, why won't the bell ring?"
My chest heaved as I tried to hold in my scream of rage and frustration. They were really starting to get on my nerves. I was starting to get on my nerves. This wasn't the first time some imbecile was spouting bullshit like this, but these two were a whole new level of stupid. These two were the kind who couldn't tell the difference between your and you're.
"She's shaking...maybe I should run to the bathroom..."
"We should ask to switch places!"
"Idiot! Who would want to switch with us?"
"This isn't fair, I don't want to die single!"
"Dial 911!"
BOOM.
The professor was rudely cut off as I raised my fist and slammed it onto the desk. With a rare surge of strength, I stood up forcefully, making my chair scrape backwards and hit the desk of the girl behind me. She let out a little scream. The whole classroom turned to stare at me as I clenched my fists and glared venomously at the two girls to my left.
"Miss Sanders, care to explain why - "
"These two were whispering nonsense about me!" I shouted, raising my voice in hopes of keeping the tears away.
"What?!" One of the girls who had been talking exclaimed. "That's a lie!"
The teacher scowled. "Miss Sanders, sit down."
"I'm not lying! They said that I was going to stab someone with my pencil! Why would I want to attack anyone with a pencil?"
"Lower your voice, Miss Sanders, or you will face disciplinary action."
My anger intensified. The coil in my gut began to unwind again and I felt my control slipping. In a futile effort to reign in my temper, I squeezed the pencil in my hand as hard as I could. My sharp ears caught the faint screech of the wood complaining under the strain. "They're lying," I growled in a lower voice, pointing accusingly at the two girls. "They wanted to call 911. They're mean."
My cheeks burned with humiliation in addition to the anger. I was dealing with this in the most immature way possible. Children in kindergarten whined to their teachers. High school students sucked it up and dealt with it themselves.
I was such a loser.
"We can talk about this after class, Miss Sanders. There was no need to disrupt the lesson. This kind of behavior is unacceptable."
Wasn't anyone listening to me? Did these people get paid to treat me this unjustly? Whatever - enough was enough. If I let these people get away with this nonsense now, they'd do even worse things to me later. I clenched my jaw, lips curling inward in a silent, tight-lipped snarl. Without moving my head, I snapped my eyes to the teacher's. He went rigid, eyes widening as they locked with mine, mouth falling open in a silent scream, fingers loosening and letting the marker in his hand drop. Trapped, like a bird in the eye of a snake. "I am not lying," I growled. "And I don't kill."
The scorn in the room had long since turned to fear. Belligerent satisfaction - sweet poison - alleviated some of the pain in my heart. They should have listened to me the very first time. Now they had to suffer the consequences.
My body burned. I felt like my clothes would actually catch fire soon. The teacher's lips were moving, but I couldn't hear him over the thundering of my heart. The muscles in my arms screamed in pain, unable to take the strain of the unprecedented strength with which I was squeezing the pencil. Prudence told me it wouldn't bode well to just stand there and glare without responding to the teacher, so I tried to read his lips.
Leave right now, he was saying.
Wasn't he aware of what was about to happen to him? "I said they were talking crap," I growled, my voice deeper and much less human than before. "What about them? Don't they have to leave?"
I'll decide that, said the teacher.
"Wrong answer."
Everything before my eyes went blindingly white. All auditory input vanished, as if someone had ruptured my eardrums. Surprised and rather scared, I blinked rapidly - and as if someone had flipped a switch, the white vanished. For a fraction of a second, I saw my classmates rubbing their eyes and heard their shocked, fearful whispers. So I wasn't the only -
BOOM.
This time, it wasn't me. It was thunder - louder than I had ever heard before, as if a bomb had gone off right next to my ear. Screams rose into the air as lightning flashed again, followed by even louder, angrier thunder. The windows rattled and their glass panes shattered, showering people with glass; all the while, I stood stock-still, petrified by the sound so reminiscent of another stormy, but much more horrifying night. The lights flickered eerily, and without warning, burst one by one. Glass shards got into my hair and my clothes, yet I stayed still. Because I could see what I already knew would be in the sky - dark blue clouds with an eldritch glow.
The fear dispelled my previous anger. As everything went quiet, I returned to my senses and looked around. The whole classroom was staring at me. What, did they think I was responsible for the weather now? I looked around, trying to look for confirmation of my suspicions, and realized they weren't staring because they thought I had somehow caused the freak thunder, but because I was shaking hard enough to make my own teeth rattle in their sockets. My fists opened, and crushed pieces of wood fell to the floor.
Now what?
Everyone was focused on the thunder anyway, so I took the opportunity to sit down and make myself as unnoticeable as I could. Of course, with me being me, that was not a very successful venture.
"Miss Sanders? Principal's office, now."
Even when he looked so shaken, this shitty man's priority was to get me out of the room. There was no way he wasn't a pathological idiot. Did he not see the condition of the classroom? Or of the other kids in here?
"You've got to be kidding me," I muttered. I stood up again, not having the moxie I had earlier but still not ready to give up the fight. "I told you," I said, "they thought I was going to stab them with my pencil. They were going to call 911."
"You know how ridiculous that sounds, Ms Sanders?" the teacher asked me.
"That's exactly why I'm telling you about it! It's torture to hear that kind of nonsense when I have not even done anything!" Whirling around, I faced the two girls head on, locking their gazes in mine. "I don't kill," I spat. "And even if I did, who would want to go through that much trouble for stupid bitches like you?"
"Ms Sanders, leave! Now!"
Gritting my teeth, I picked up my bag and marched out of the classroom. As I passed the teacher, I gave him one last baleful glare. "Shame on you," I hissed.
With that, I stormed out of the classroom, and when a couple of intact lights exploded, I found myself wishing a dozen shards would bury themselves into the teacher's flesh.
*********************
"Ms Sanders, please explain yourself."
I kept my gaze on my shoes. "Those girls were saying mean things about me," I said.
"There are more subtle ways to deal with such situations," the Principal said.
"But I wasn't doing anything. I was just writing fast and they decided I was agitated and was going to attack someone - with my pencil. A pencil! Why would I do that? And how dare they make such a conclusion? By that logic, will I be reported to the police if I am seen running when I'm late to school?"
"Ms Sanders." The Principal gave a grave sigh. "Those girls did call 911. They pressed charges of threat.of assault. You do know that things move along faster than usual when you are concerned. Now you are in the process of having two lawsuits filed against you. I'm afraid I had to call your parents."
All my spunk vanished. "You...called my parents?" I whispered.
Principal Johnson didn't sound as sure as he had been sounding mere seconds ago. "Yes," he confirmed hesitantly. I looked up to find him with his hands clutching the arms of his chair, as if ready to bolt at the smallest sign of aggression from me.
He was a massive idiot to think I would or could attack him, but I had bigger concerns than his stunted common sense at the moment. He had called my parents. My parents would call Mr. Phillips. Mr. Phillips would call the court. The court would call the institute...
No. I didn't want to go back in there. Anything but that. Desperately, I clasped my hands together in front of my place. "Please," I begged. "Don't call my parents. Anything but that. Detention, suspension, expulsion...I'll take it. But please don't call my parents."
"Ms Sanders..."
"I'm begging you, send my parents back. I'll do anything. I'll go to prison. But I...I..." I finally broke down, sobbing piteously in front of a man who didn't care. "Please!" I cried. "Anything but that! I'll leave town and never come back!"
"You needn't - "
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" Heart pounding, head spinning wildly, I slid out of my chair onto my knees. "I'm not lying!"
"I don't say you are - "
"I don't kill! They lied! I didn't do anything to them!"
I wasn't able to hold it in anymore. It was like throwing up. The wave rose in me with the force of a tsunami, seemingly splitting my throat apart as it rose up from my lungs.
"TRAITOR!" I screamed, crumpling into a heap.
"Ms Sanders - "
It was so cold. I hated the cold. I hated being wet at the same time. I was sweating and yet I was shivering uncontrollably. My body hurt. My heart hurt. I couldn't see or hear clearly. I couldn't control my thoughts or emotions. I was a fool. I was dramatic. I was alone. I was pathetic. I was doomed. What had I done to any of them? Those girls weren't my friends. Why did I let down my guard around them? I shouldn't have. I disobeyed myself. Now I was being punished.
Outside, the earth-shattering thunder boomed again.
********************
Felicia
I burst through the door and rushed towards the Principal's desk. "What do you mean, bullied? How did my daughter - oop!"
I almost tripped over a quivering Quilla on the floor. She was on her side, balled up, hands tugging mercilessly at strands of her own hair. "Why me..." she muttered, her eyes wide open but blank and devoid of any consciousness. "Traitors...I did nothing wrong..."
"What happened to her?!" I demanded.
Principal Johnson waved his arms about in a panic. "I don't know!" he replied. "She screamed and...this happened!"
"I didn't...do it..." Quilla mumbled.
"I called for the nurse - "
"There's no use." I looked at my poor girl, a broken mess on the floor. "It's an episode. She won't snap out of it unless it's on her own."
"I noticed that. The nurse could do nothing. She's been like this for fifteen minutes now."
It was unbearable, the pain in my heart. My little girl. Where did I go wrong? What sins had I committed in my past life to have my daughter suffer so much? It hurt to look at her. I'd do anything to take her place so she could have some semblance of a normal life. Automatically, my hands reached for her, wanting to pull her into my arms. "Quilla, sweetie," I called, the same way I used to when night terrors would assault her as a baby. And miraculously, she turned - right in the middle of her episode, she heard me. Tears brimming in my eyes, I approached her as trembling, stick thin arms reached for me.
And then I stopped. I closed my eyes, clenching my fists to control my emotions. If I opened my heart to this...thing on the floor, my daughter would never return. She was lost in there somewhere. The healthy, normal daughter I was blessed with was in there somewhere, and if I showed my affection to this form of her, I didn't think I could take the grief.
"I'm sure...you heard...about the lawsuits..." Principal Johnson stuttered. "Mrs Sanders, a-are you sure she doesn't need medical help?"
I looked away so I wouldn't have to meet those over-large eyes begging me to hold her. "I'm sure. If anyone touches her, she will get worse."
"If you say so, ma'am. About the families who pressed charges, they - "
"Will be sorry." I couldn't help but feel a twinge of satisfaction as the principal went pale. "My daughter has gone through a lot. Every day, her condition only gets worse. I am very upset that this school is not able to imbue proper values into its students."
"Mrs. Sanders, please understand our situation. Your daughter's reputation makes her smallest gestures get blown out of proportion."
"My child never attacks people," I stated firmly. "Considering what she has been through, she would be the last person to do that. Do you even understand how ridiculous the accusations leveled against her are? Stabbing someone with a pencil! I could almost laugh!"
Principal Johnson clearly wished he were anywhere but here at the moment. "You think it is okay to ignore Quilla's side of the story because of her past?" I continued, anger increasing with every word. "You just let this pass without any kind of investigation! how dare you!"
I itched to reach across the desk and slam David Johnson's dumb head into it. This is what these people had reduced my daughter to - a sobbing, half-conscious train wreck who couldn't even get off the floor on her own. All I asked was that she be allowed to live the rest of her life comfortably - but apparently that was too tall an order.
"I will make Quilla take a polygraph test if I have to," I said. "Lawsuits? Hah! When I'm through, those families and this school won't even have money to pay their own lawyers."
"Unnnnh....owww."
I looked down. Quilla was massaging her forehead, still trembling but no longer panicking. Coughing and muttering, she pushed herself up onto her elbows before sitting up, forcing herself to her feet and collapsing into a chair. Drawing her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them, she stared at Principal Johnson and me through a curtain of hair.
"I - I - I think we should continue to discuss our options tomorrow," Principal Johnson stuttered, his voice shaky and a couple of octaves higher. "I think Quilla needs to go home and rest."
"We will have a discussion alright," I promised. "See you in court, David Johnson. Come on, Quilla."
"No." Quilla unwound herself from her chair and stood up, swaying dangerously. "I'm fine." And before anyone else could say a word, she stumbled out of the room.
I stayed unmoving. I knew why Quilla had wanted to get away from me. If I had been in her place, I would have wanted to get away from me too. Resisting the urge to break down, I closed my eyes in an effort to get a hold of my emotions.
"Er...are you okay, Mrs. Sanders?"
"Mr. Johnson," I said, my voice choked up and pained. "What did she say when she started screaming?"
"Uh...traitor. She said traitor."
"Do you know why she said that?"
"Er, no..." he said, his tone clearly saying he had no desire to find out.
Not that I cared. "She said that," I half-whispered, "because the first person to betray her was me."
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