Rhys starts to push past people, to get to me, or maybe to her. I don’t know anymore. But I do know that I need him more. I can’t go through this alone. So I lean in and whisper one word in her ear. ‘Slut.’
She grabs me by the shoulders and drags me down, hurling me against the wall. My back slams against the beige paint, and my feet give out from under me. I let out a dramatic gasp and start rubbing my head, even though she barely touched me. Her weak little arms couldn’t actually hurt me. ‘Ow! My head!’
Lily bends down and tries to hoist me up, but I swat her away and stretch out a hand to Rhys who immediately leans in to take it. He pulls me up to my feet and turns to Trina.
‘What are you doing?’ he asks her.
Her face reddens and tears fill her eyes. She grabs her bag from the floor and pushes us out the way, rushing down the hall.
I resist the smile edging across my face and turn to Rhys. ‘What a psycho. She just attacked me for no reason! She’s probably just embarrassed about what happened at the party. Did you hear?’
Rhys moves to the side and mutters something.
‘What did you say?’ I call after him.
I grab my bag from the floor and hurry after him. ‘Meet you in class,’ I say to Lily. When I catch up with him, I grab his arm and gently tug him around. ‘Why didn’t you text me back?’
He turns to face me but his eyes drop to the floor. ‘Sorry, I’ve just been busy.’
‘Liar.’ I flick my hair back and wrap my arms around his waist. ‘Whatever. Anyway, do you want to come over after school today?’
He shifts under my grasp and inches away from me. ‘I can’t today.’
‘OK, tomorrow?’
He wriggles loose and is now standing further apart from me, his hands down by his sides. He slides them awkwardly into his jeans pockets. ‘I don’t think so, Luce.’
‘But I thought after the party that we’d—’
‘Look, I should check on Trina. This isn’t like her.’ He steps backwards and tries a smile out but then thinks otherwise. It fades, almost as quickly as our brief reconciliation. Then he’s hurrying down the hall. Away from me. To her.
Her.
I slide my phone out from my rucksack and lean against the wall. I open up my profiles on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Snapchat, everything I have, and start typing. And once I start, I don’t stop.
ULANA
‘Wow. There are words in here I’d never even say out loud, let alone post on a public forum!’ Aiden stares at his phone screen, mouth agape. ‘I can’t believe how vicious Lucy McNeil is being towards Trina Davis. Look at that post from an hour ago!’
He shows me the phone but I turn my head away.
‘Are you still mad? I swear, Ulana, I tried to get that letter from the boys.’ Aiden sits beside me on the bench, his body turned into me. ‘I didn’t want that read out obviously.’
I shift further away, looking out at buildings I don’t even notice. ‘It was so humiliating.’
‘I know. I’m sorry. For me too.’
I turn back to him. ‘You were humiliated? I think it was me pouring my emotions out in that letter that got passed around your friends like a…game or something.’
‘Everything you said in there, I feel the same so it was embarrassing for me too.’ His knees playfully nudge mine. ‘Look, I’m sorry that happened. But I mean what I said, I feel the same. Can we not spend our afternoon talking about my friends? We barely get enough time together as is.’
My body softens into the seat. ‘Fine, I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have chanced writing a note in case it got misplaced. I’m just glad I didn’t put my name on it.’
Aiden smiles. ‘No, but you did put quite a lot of kisses at the end.’
I gently pinch him and watch him laugh and wriggle away. ‘One last thing then I’ll stop talking about your friends. You have to get Steve to take those photos down. Do you have any idea what will happen to either of them if their parents or the school sees them? They could be expelled. Well, Steve more than Sophia. She didn’t do anything wrong except trust the wrong guy.’
‘I know. Believe me, I’ve talked to him about this. He’s not taking it seriously.’
‘He has to! He posted naked photos of someone online for everyone to see!’
‘You should hear the things some of the girls at school have been saying to his face. He deserves all of it. Someone will report him soon on Facebook and they’ll be taken down.’
‘He shouldn’t have to wait for that. He should take them down now because he’s hurting Sophia, someone I thought he once cared about, once loved. Doesn’t it bother him seeing her upset like this? Or was he never serious about her to begin with? He was probably only after one thing.’
‘You know Steve and I have never really got on. We’re friends with the same people, that’s it.’
‘The whole situation makes me so angry!’
Aiden wraps his arm around my shoulders and leans into me. ‘Nervous for Sunday?’
My shoulders stiffen and my mouth feels suddenly dry. Why am I so nervous for Sunday?
‘Are you worried someone will see you?’
‘No,’ I shrug. ‘I think the plan Sophia and I have is pretty rock solid – if she’s still willing to do it with everything going on. I’ve already told my dad that I’m going to hers for lunch on Sunday and she said she’s staying in all afternoon so if they call to check up on me, she’ll make sure to answer the phone before anyone else can. And I don’t think they’ll call anyway. They have no reason to doubt me.’
Those last words linger in my mouth. They have no reason to doubt me because I’ve never lied to them before. Because I’m a good girl. I’m not this girl.
‘You OK?’
‘Yeah. What time is it?’
‘It’s almost quarter past,’ he sighs.
‘Well, I’ll be seeing you on Sunday so we’ll get an extra day together this week.’ I lean in and wrap my arms around him, pulling away when I hear rustling among the trees.
‘Relax. It’s just the wind. No one’s there.’
‘See you tomorrow at school,’ I smile, picking up my bag and heading back down the path to the school. I always leave through the main doors in the front so no one can question where I’ve been. And Aiden always leaves through the woods. We never walk together. Not even to class. But Sunday, it will be different. I’ll be at his house meeting his parents for the first time. Like a normal couple. Normal. Like those girls I see at school. And I have a couple of days to get used that idea, to that fantasy.
The smile is stuck on my face, pressing into my cheekbones, when I see a familiar figure slumped against the doors of the drama department. His hands frantically move across his phone and tiny thin lines are carved into his forehead. The smile quickly drops, as I pick up my pace.
‘Steve!’ My voice is louder than I’d expected, the sound reverberating off the walls of the hallway.
He looks up and quickly tucks his phone into his jeans pocket.
‘What’s wrong? Don’t want me to see your newest Facebook post? I will soon enough. Aren’t you getting tired of this? I know I am.’
He rolls his eyes and kicks at the ground with the toe of his dark grey trainers. ‘Don’t you have to hurry home, Ulana? Bit late for you to be out. Daddy might get worried.’
‘At least I have someone who cares about me.’
His eyes shoot up and I know I’ve gone too far. I forgot that Sophia told me last year that Steve’s dad left when he was younger and that he still struggles with seeing him. A small fluttering in my belly brings heat to my cheeks. I’m disappointed in myself for bringing that up. My mouth parts as I begin to apologise, ‘Steve, I—’
‘You don’t know anything. Stay out of it.’ He gestures me away with his hand, like I don’t mean anything, like I’m nothing.
The heat returns to my cheeks but this time it’s a different emotion I’m feeling course through my body, through my veins. ‘Do you
have any idea what you’re doing to Sophia? This stops or I’ll report you!’
He shrugs, yanks his phone from his pocket, and starts walking away from me. ‘So, report me.’
‘I will!’ I yell down the hallway at him. I spin round and march past the nurse’s office, until I hit a short boxy lobby. A stained navy rug sits on the ground beneath my soles, a large cluster of pink chewing gum still attached to the corner by the glass cabinet. Framed team photos and gold trophies line the shelf of ‘Birchwood’s 2017–2018 Achievements.’ The 2018–2019 shelf sits empty, awaiting a better year for field hockey, football and rugby. I never understood sports. Why spend the time running after a ball when there’s so much knowledge to gain inside a classroom or inside a book? Sports can be played and taught anywhere in the world, but education, the kind that elevates you to a doctor or an engineer, is a privilege reserved for very few countries. That’s why we moved here to the UK. For opportunities. For a life. My trophy will never sit on that shelf and I’m just fine with that.
Turning my back to the gold goblets, medals on strings and round pins, I face the welcome window into the headmaster’s office. I step closer, my fingers trembling over the door handle. All I have to do is knock and when I tell Mr Tomlinson what’s happening it will stop. Immediately. He’ll call Steve’s parents, and – and – Sophia’s parents. Oh. Of course. I can’t say anything. Because if I do, Sophia’s parents will get called in too. I’d have involved them and Sophia will get in trouble. They’ll see those photos. They’ll know. And Sophia will never forgive me.
My fingers drop from the handle and I step back slowly until my spine touches the glass cabinet. The trophies loom over my head and a grinning Steve stands beside Aiden in the framed football team photo behind me. I know, because I’ve looked at that photo a hundred times. Aiden looks really cute in his team uniform.
I shuffle away from the cabinet and out the main doors. Sophia’s face sits in my mind all the way home. I don’t know what to do to help her. Just being there for her, just being a shoulder to cry on, it’s not helping.
It’s not enough.
TRINA
Journal Entry 5: 24.10.2018
I can’t breathe.
I can’t eat.
I can’t sleep.
I can’t do all the things I used to. Things that I once liked, that I once found enjoyment from.
When I go into town, I’m back at the party. The crowds. The voices. The laughter. The noise. All that noise. Yet all that silence. As if the world has stopped. As if it’s waiting for me. But to do what I don’t know. Maybe I’ll never know.
When I watch my favourite TV shows, everything reminds me of that night. The short skirt on the actress. The beer in the hand of the guy playing the dad, that actor my mum fancies. The long hair of the girl on Hollyoaks. The crying on I’m a Celebrity Get Me Out of Here. The cheering and clapping on Strictly Come Dancing. Are they clapping at me? Or at him, cheering him on? Egging him on.
When I sit down to eat dinner with my mum, the smells even bring me back to that night. The wine in my mum’s glass, the apples in her fruit crumble smell like warm cider, the meat reminds me of the pepperoni pizzas that Lee’s brother ordered at midnight. And my mum just asks me, ‘What’s wrong?’ over and over again.
Over.
And.
Over.
What am I supposed to say? How am I supposed to answer that question? Because it’s not a simple answer.
Inside, I’m on fire, burning to a charred crumbling crisp until nothing that resembles me remains. But outside I’m below zero, frozen in the same position, never able to break free, to move forward. I’m stuck. I’m trapped.
That’s what’s happening to me. It’s all happening to me again. I relive that night every day, every minute.
When I go to the shops, the sequins remind me of the top that I wore that night to the party, the necklace in Topshop looks like the one I wore. The window display and red letters at H&M remind me there’s an outfit from there that I can’t take back like I had planned. I can’t return it because it’s ripped, torn, stained. Like me. It lies hidden in a bag under my bed, at the back, away from hands, eyes, opinions. Not like me. I’m not that lucky. I have to face people. I have to take it.
And when I get home, when I think I’m safe, my phone beeps: ‘Have you seen what Lucy posted?’
What gives people the right to post whatever they want on a public forum? They sit behind their screens, safe from the world, and rant horrible things about people that most of them would never have the guts to say to that person’s face. Cowards. All of them. Except Lucy. At least what she writes she would say – or has said – to my face at one point. But all those other people who comment on her posts? No, come the next day they say ‘Hi’ to me in the hallway. They bite their tongues and wait until I pass them before taking out their phones and telling the world what they really think of me.
Cowards.
I can’t believe people form opinions so quickly. Actually, of course I do, it’s me. They hate me. They call me whatever they want behind my back, and now to my face. Lucy McNeil and that Lily Shepherd. Like she can talk, she stole Sophia’s boyfriend from her. Like she should be throwing mud at me. She’s tainted by rumours just as much as me, but that doesn’t matter. Because Lucy protects her. No one is there to protect me.
I’m all alone. Or at least, that’s how I feel every day now.
I actually thought that I would be embarrassed for people to find out. But now I’m angry. Because that’s not what happened. They don’t understand. They never will. They think what they want about me. Nothing will change that, especially not my words. They mean nothing.
That guy might be guilty for what he did to me, what he took from me. But all those people who pass judgement, who post comments online along with Lucy, who whisper things about me under their breath at school when I walk by, who pass notes about me in class, all of them are just as guilty. Because they’re hurting me too. They’re taking advantage of me too. They’re taking away something from me too. Something that I’ll never get back.
I hate school right now.
I asked Mum if I could change schools but she said I can’t. That unless I just drop out, I’m stuck there. Why should I have to drop out? Why should they chase me away?
This is all Lucy’s fault.
She thinks I stole Rhys, but they were over long before I met him. He never even looked my way before that. He probably didn’t know my name, or that we went to the same school. But when he did look my way, it was amazing. He made me feel amazing. Now he avoids me like the rest. He didn’t even stick up for me last week when Lucy got in my face. I barely touched her and she flopped to the ground, making pathetic noises. And he didn’t ask me if I was OK – why is no one asking me if I’m OK?? Does no one care? I want to stand in the middle of the cafeteria and scream, ‘I AM NOT OK!!!’
I will never be again.
I’m so angry. Why am I so angry at everyone all the time?
It’s just so unfair.
People like Lucy McNeil will get what’s coming to them. I’ll make sure of that.
SOPHIA
I throw open the bathroom door and find Trina at the sink, her face red and damp. A paper towel gripped in her hand, she turns back to the mirror and starts scrubbing at her skin. ‘Are you OK?’ she asks, her voice a higher pitch than usual.
Dropping my bag to the floor, I march into the first cubicle and lock the door. Sliding down, the cold crude plastic against my back, I pull my knees into my chest. The tiled floor is cold and a little sticky underneath my grey skirt. I don’t even mind. I can’t stay here anymore. I can’t keep coming back here day after day, when nothing changes. He’s still here. He’s still destroying my life. And he doesn’t even care. How could I have ever thought that I loved him? I hate him.
The tile creaks and Trina’s black buckle boots appear at the bottom of the cubicle door. All I see is boot and an inch of ankle. Black tra
iner socks peak out from the tip of the boots. A sliver of colour also sticks out on her left ankle, possibly the remnants of an old tattoo. She knocks gently on the door, the vibration enough to slightly rock the loose cubicle latch. ‘Sophia?’
Outside I hear the second bell. If my history teacher reads out attendance and I get marked down again for an unexcused absence, he might call my parents. I’ve been missing a lot of classes lately. I go to school. Every morning. But sometimes I don’t go inside. I wait until my mum disappears around the corner in her red Range Rover, then I walk away from the doors, as far away as possible. Until I don’t hear the bell, the students, the teachers. Until I don’t hear Steve.
Sometimes I do go inside and I stay for a class or two, maybe even half the day. But when lunchtime hits, when all we have to do is sit, eat and gossip, I usually leave. I’m terrified I’ll see Steve or hear people talking about me, about my body, calling me that word behind my back. I know they’re thinking it even if they don’t say it. That one word.
S.
L.
U.
T.
Those photos have cost me. That one split second. That one decision. And now that one word stays with me. Walks the hallways with me, sits beside me in class, stops me from walking into the cafeteria, and is now apparently causing me to fail history and maybe even French too. My favourite subject. And ironically, biology. I guess my extensive understanding of the human body couldn’t even save me from a D on my last essay.
‘Sophia?’
Leave me alone. I just want everyone to leave me alone.
‘Are you OK?’
No. I’m not. I’ll never be OK.
She knocks again. And again. And again. Until I eventually slide my hand up to the latch and pull it to the left. The door pops open and now Trina is standing in the doorway. Her black trousers are frayed at the bottom by her boots and hang loosely on her hips. I don’t remember the last time I saw her in anything other than a skirt a little shorter than what we’re allowed at school. She usually wears more make-up than the entire teaching faculty put together, but today her face is scrubbed clean and her eyes are grey and wide. She has a large purple bruise on her right elbow. She just stands there, looking at me still sitting on the floor of a dirty bathroom. Then she shuffles further in and squats down, her back against the cubicle wall opposite to me.
We Are Not Okay Page 11