Aiden stares at me. "Really?"
Dammit dammit dammit. This is what I dreaded. I look around the table at the guys and the girls, their expressions plainly saying, "Why?"
It took me the whole length of the first half of school, that is, until lunchtime to clean Brandon's locker and scrub it till it shone. By the time I put the garbage back in the dustbins, people started appearing in the halls. And they stared at me like I had gone senile.
"Why is she cleaning Brandon's locker?" I heard many whisper.
Because I dirtied it, idiots.
And just as I expected, pictures of me with trash-bags flooded people's inboxes and the sentence, "Jennifer is cleaning Brandon's locker!!!" spread like wildfire. And walking into the cafeteria, to my lunch table and finding everyone looking at their phones and saying, "OMG what?!" is clearly what I pictured.
"When I got to know that you fucked up Lancaster's locker, I was impressed." Aiden says, checking his phone again, to confirm the girl in the picture is me. "Though, you did it by mistake, you did a good job."
"But you cleaned his locker?" Lana asks, mystified.
"This is just a rumour, probably started by Brandon to avenge his locker," Stephanie states, peering into her phone. "It can be any photo of yours, edited to make you look pouring trash into trash bags."
"The editing is too good to be real," Evan argues. "It looks like a real photo!"
"Lancaster has got many techie friends who are brilliant at this," Nathan counters. "Photoshop makes it quite easy to edit a photo."
"I don't find it that easy." Anita says, and starts kissing Isaac again.
"Because you are not a computer nerd." Stephanie barks.
"Calm down, babe." Nathan pats her back.
Just tell them it's you. You don't care what they think, so it shouldn't be a problem.
But I have to act I care and I will need a good reason as to why I did this.
"It is me." I say. I expect pin-drop silence around the table. Not quite.
"First of all, you guys are dumb," Stephanie snaps at Lana and Anita. "Photoshop is quite easy and I photoshop myself into the dress I am buying online every time to see if I look good."
"Yeah but every photoshopped picture leaves some trace- like, when you look at a photoshopped picture, you instantly think, 'Oh, it's photoshopped'." Anita roars.
"Anita, keep your voice down?" Lana whispers. "And yes, I agree with Anita?"
"Steph, calm down." Nathan begins. "It's okay-"
"It's me!" I yell. "Yes! I cleaned Lancaster's locker!"
Six faces stare at me. No, five, as Anita is huffing and exhaling as if to say, 'Told you!'. But unfortunately, it looks like she's having an asthma attack.
"But why?" Aiden asks, frowning.
Reason no. 1. Lancaster blackmailed me that he would complain to the principal and get me suspended if I don't clean his locker and so I cleaned it up. No way. Brandon and Aiden would get into a fight.
Reason no. 2. Lancaster muttered something in front of me about getting me suspended if I did not clean his locker and so, I got scared and cleaned it up. No. Aiden will still pick a fight with Brandon, considering that he loved fights, not me and would not listen to what I say.
Reason no. 3. Lancaster's expression said that he would get me suspended if I didn't clean his locker and so I cleaned it up. Still inappropriate.
Reason no. 4. I am on my period and I feel sad and guilty for everyone and everything. Perfect.
"I am on my period and I feel sad and guilty for everyone and everything." I say and try to pout as genuinely and sadly as possible. It works.
"Oh, darling!" Stephanie hugs me. I nod. Lana looks teary- my God, her acting is so natural. Anita still looks unconvinced but Isaac pulls her into a kiss so, no problem.
Stephanie pulls away and offers me a sandwich. I take it and nod my thanks. I don't feel like eating, speaking or doing anything. I hate everyone. Particularly myself. Especially myself. I am disgusting.
"I wanna go home." I whisper to Aiden.
"Sorry, I can't drop you, babe." He says and apologises. "Football practice."
Football practice or hooking up practice? You know what, Aiden? Bad guys are supposed to be good inside. However rough and tough and cold they might seem, they have a golden heart and care deeply about their girlfriends. I read that in almost every teen-fiction story. But you? I cannot even look at you, you're so pathetic.
"No that's okay," I say. "I can drive home. I still have my car."
I get up, side-hug Steph and walk out of there. I just want to lie in bed and sleep. I walk out of the school building and run towards the parking area. As soon as I get in my car, I call mom.
"Jen? In the middle of school? Is everything okay? Are you alright?"
Typical worrisome mothers. Sometimes touching, sometimes overwhelming, sometimes irritating.
"Yeah, I'm fine." My voice trembles. Oh, God, no. Not here, not in front of everyone. Mom hears the tremble and gives me a moment to compose myself. Good old mom. Knows what to do every time.
"I just need you to inform the school authorities that I got home. Give any reason that is convincing enough."
"Is every thing okay?"
"I think I am feeling a bit sick. So, got to go home. And yeah, pick up Alz on your way back home. I am taking the car." I end the call before she can say anything and drive out of the school gates.
And whose fault is this?
Not mine. Definitely not mine. It's all Callaghan's fault. Her fault, her fault, her fault! She should have acted according to her caste i.e. a nerd and not cross the line.
But now that I have nothing to lose...
No.
Now that Brandon hates me..
No, Jennifer.
I do a 180 and enter the school again, stopping when I reach the parking lot.
I call Stephanie. "Hey."
"Hey. You reached home?"
"No, not yet. Listen, does Callaghan have a car?"
I hear her asking Anita.
"Yes she does. But-"
"What's the car like?"
"Why-oh! You need our help?"
"No. Be quick and give the phone to Anita."
I can hear her smirking as she hands the phone to Anita. "Our old Jen is back!" She whispers.
Anita happily describes the car. A white Honda Civic, with a windshield sticker that says in curly girly handwriting, 'Stay Classy'. Yeah yeah. We'll see.
I spot the car, take a red spray paint out of the trunk and smile.
I have nothing to lose. Brandon hates me.
After my work is done, I stand back and admire the masterpiece.
The whole car was sprayed with large letters saying, 'You two-faced, lying slut!'. The car is more red than white now. I pat myself on the shoulder.
Bitches don't give up.