by Cole Gibsen
I should have told him it wasn’t necessary. Chances were, my locker would be vandalized again the second it was removed. Instead, I murmured a barely audible “thanks” and tucked the pass inside my shirt pocket.
He nodded and turned away. As he disappeared around a corner, once again I found myself alone.
I opened my locker and pulled out my books for second period. The pill might have killed my panic attack, but it didn’t touch how emotionally drained I felt. I was numb from the inside out, though all things considered, maybe that wasn’t a bad thing.
I slipped my books into my bag and hoisted it over my shoulder. The second I closed the door, the word scribbled on the other side glared at me again.
Just this once, I wished I could be more like my mom. She wouldn’t let something like a word scrawled in marker bother her. In fact, if someone dared to deface her property, she’d launch an investigation until the culprit was found, and then she’d sue him or her for defamation.
Not for the first time, I wondered how I could be the genetic offspring of someone so clearly made of stone, when my bones were as hollow as a bird’s. Unfortunately for me, even with bird bones, I couldn’t fly away.
I shrugged my backpack higher and started down the hall. I was almost to the door, my hand raised for the knob, when the bulletin board on the wall caught my eye.
Below the flyer for the model UN club and beside a clipboard with sign-up sheets for the school’s fall musical Grease, another flyer announced the results of cheerleading tryouts. I held my breath. Making the team would fix everything.
I slid my finger along the page. The JV squad was listed first, and I skimmed through the names until I came to the words “varsity cheerleading squad” in bold letters. I shuddered in apprehension as I drew my finger down the list. Christy Holder’s name was at the top, followed by a dash and the word “captain.” Next was Amber’s, followed by “co-captain.” Below her name was the list of everyone who had made the squad.
My heart climbed inside my throat as I slid my finger past each name until I came to mine, or at least what was left of it. My name was scribbled out with black ink, and a new name had been handwritten in: Taylor Bradshaw.
Ice shot through my chest. I squeezed my eyes shut and opened them, hoping the scribbles were a trick of light—that maybe if I blinked enough, the ink would disappear and my name would shine through. It didn’t. Not even after I mashed the heels of my hands into my eyes and rubbed furiously.
My name had been on the list. Christy had picked me for the squad. But then my private messages were plastered across the hallways and she changed her mind.
Could I really blame her?
My stomach convulsed, and for the second time that day, I thought I might be sick. I yanked my backpack off my shoulder and fumbled in the front pocket until I found my Tums. I popped two in my mouth, grimacing as the chalky cherry flavor coated my tongue.
What really stung was that Amber, who was not only the co-captain of the squad but my friend, had done nothing to stop her from replacing me with Taylor—a sophomore of all things.
That still, however, didn’t answer my question as to why.
“Sucks, doesn’t it?”
I jerked upright with a gasp.
Nolan. He stood at the other end of the hall, leaning against a locker. He held his phone up and watched me through the screen. Anger burned through the numbness I’d taken comfort in. How long had he been recording me this time? Before I could order him to stop, he tucked it inside his book bag.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
He shrugged, pushed off the row of lockers, and walked toward me. When he stopped, he was so close I had to crane my neck up to look at him. His hazel eyes projected sadness behind the lock of hair that had fallen across his face. I refused to back up, even though his nearness made me nervous. His shit-eating grin proved he knew it, too.
He leaned down, his face drawing closer to mine. He smelled good. Irritatingly good. Like pine needles and oranges instead of the overpowering scents most of the guys at school wore. For one paralyzing second, I thought he might kiss me. I inhaled sharply, making his grin widen. But instead of kissing me, his mouth bypassed my lips and hovered above my ear. “Welcome to the other side, Flay. You won’t last a week.”
Before I could respond, he strode away, leaving me trembling in his wake. I wanted to shout after him, to tell him he was wrong, but the doubt he’d stirred sealed my lips. I didn’t know how I was going to survive the day, let alone a week.
Chapter Five
The bell rang, signaling the end of third-period contemporary literature.
My heart hung in my chest as if strung from a line of tenterhooks. In class, sitting by a window, as close to freedom as I could possibly be, I was safe. Despite the hissed whispers and glares, the other students couldn’t shout names at me, couldn’t corner me or slam into my shoulder as they pushed past. In the hall, I was vulnerable, swimming in a sea of piranhas wanting to devour me whole.
“Miss Flay?” I looked up to find my lit teacher, Mrs. Lochte, standing beside my desk with her hands on her hips. “Where were you today?”
Two girls giggled to each other before walking out the door. The only student remaining in the class was Nolan, and he made a show of putting his books away with exaggerated slowness. For the first time, I regretted my decision to take a class a grade level above my own, my reputation as my mother’s daughter be damned. It wasn’t so bad back when we were content to ignore each other, but now the last thing I wanted was to be stuck in a classroom with him for an hour every day.
“Miss Flay?” Mrs. Lochte repeated.
I licked my lips. “Um…” I wasn’t sure what she meant. Did she somehow find out about my first-period trip to the nurse’s office? Even if she did, why would she care? “I was here.” No lie there.
She frowned, and I knew I wasn’t off the hook yet. “Were you, Miss Flay? Because every time I looked in your direction, you were staring at your shoes. Shoes don’t teach contemporary literature, Miss Flay. I do. I expect your attention focused on me during class, do you understand?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I answered in my most sincere voice. Another thing I’d learned from my mother—politeness and sincerity, even faked, went a long way when it came to getting out of trouble.
“Really?” Nolan asked. “How will you have time to concentrate on something as mundane as English class when you have reputations to ruin?”
Before I could respond, Mrs. Lochte turned her viperlike gaze on him. “Mr. Letner, am I to assume you don’t have somewhere to be? If that’s the case, I could always use help organizing my bookshelves.”
To my pleasure, his smile withered. “Nope. I definitely have somewhere to be.”
“Then be there,” she said.
He gave a salute and sauntered out the door.
As soon as he was gone, Mrs. Lochte redirected her attention to me. It was all I could do not to flinch. “Now, Miss Flay, are you clear as to what I require from you?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good.” She gave a curt nod. “Now you’re excused.” She returned to her desk and began typing on her laptop.
I slid out of my chair and snagged my backpack off the ground. While part of me couldn’t wait to get away from Mrs. Lochte, another part was equally terrified of what awaited in the hall. I shuffled to the door, hoping if I lingered long enough, an invitation for shelf organization might be extended my way, but it never came. I had no choice but to enter the hallway. So I sucked in a deep breath, opened the door, and left.
I only managed five steps when someone bumped into my shoulder.
“Fuck.” Whatever small part of me still cared about appearances crumbled. I dropped my backpack and whirled around, my fingers curled into fists. I’d never been in a fight before, and I’d probably get my ass kicked, but I knew I couldn’t continue on like this. “Watch where you’re fucking—”
The words died
on my tongue.
Payton stood before me, her eyes filled with a hurt I didn’t understand. “It’s you…”
“Of course it’s me.” Gradually my shoulders loosened and my fingers uncurled. “Why haven’t you answered my texts? Do you have any idea what’s happened to me today?”
She pressed her lips together, her eyes shimmering with tears that refused to fall. “I know, all right? Amber told me everything.”
Dread pooled in my belly. “What exactly did Amber tell you?”
She opened her mouth, but before she could answer, Amber appeared at her side and looped an arm through hers. “Yeah, um, sorry, Regan, but we can’t be seen talking to you. It’d be social suicide.”
I blinked, trying to make sense of her words. “I don’t understand.”
Students slowed as they passed, their necks craned for better looks.
Amber shook her head in mock sympathy. “You can drop the innocent act now. I told Payton what you told me—that you thought she was annoying and you were only friends with her because she was good at digging up dirt.”
I reeled back as if I’d been slapped. “That’s a lie.”
“I told you to be careful, didn’t I?” Amber continued. “I knew you’d get exposed eventually if you kept stirring up shit. I just honestly had no idea how far you’d fall. You’ve got to understand we have ourselves to look out for. We can’t take the plunge with you.”
My mouth dropped open. “But this is as much your fault as mine. You can’t just abandon me.”
She made a face. “Sweetie, think of it as self-preservation. It’s not forever—just until this nastiness passes. Even animals know to steer clear of their own kind when one is wounded.”
“You’re such a bitch,” I blurted out before I could stop myself.
Amber’s eyes narrowed and her jaw tightened. “What did you call me?”
Payton slipped free from Amber’s grip and glanced behind her at the growing crowd. “Guys, do we have to do this right here? Right now?” A look of panic flashed across her face, and she slowly inched along the lockers away from us.
Amber ignored her. “Better to be a bitch than a two-faced, backstabbing fake. At least with me, people know exactly what they’re getting.”
I looked at Payton. “You don’t honestly believe I’d say those things about you, do you? We’re best friends.”
“How could she not believe it?” Amber responded. “You’ve talked shit about everyone else in the school. Why wouldn’t you do it to your so-called best friend?”
Anger boiled through my veins. Why was Amber doing this? Why abandon me and lie to Payton about things I never said?
And then it hit me.
“You posted the messages.” How had I not seen this coming? I’d kept her close, but obviously not close enough. Had she been cozying up to Payton all this time? I turned on Payton, the anger morphing into pain. “Why are you listening to her? You know what kind of person she is.”
Before she could answer, the crowd shifted and Nolan pushed through with his cell phone in hand. A blond girl named Blake stood by his side. “What’s this?” he asked. “Friends turning on friends?”
“Nolan.” Payton’s voice held an edge of warning. “Stay out of this.”
“Stay out of it?” He turned the camera on her. “What’s happening needs to be documented. Years from now, you’ll wonder how a lifelong friendship disintegrated. I mean, it must’ve been something really bad, because if something trivial broke you apart, how good of friends were you in the first place?”
“Nolan,” Payton said again, “get a fucking life and stay the hell out of mine.”
He ignored her and swept the lens over Amber and me. Amber raised her middle finger. I, on the other hand, froze like a rabbit caught in a rifle’s crosshairs.
Nolan put the phone away, then he and the blonde turned and disappeared into the crowd.
“Fucking douche,” Amber muttered. After a few seconds, she shrugged. “C’mon, Pay, let’s go.”
Payton stared at the ground, unblinking. I silently willed her to remember the fact that we were best friends. I’d never do this to her. Never.
“Come on.” Amber huffed impatiently before turning and pushing through the crowd.
Payton wadded a fistful of her skirt. She glanced at me before quickly averting her gaze and hurrying to catch up with Amber, who was already halfway down the hall.
How good of friends were you in the first place? Nolan’s words circled through my mind like buzzards over a carcass. Instead of a body, the dead thing was the friendship between my best friend and me.
If I didn’t have Payton, I didn’t really have anyone.
To my horror, tears pricked the corners of my eyes. But I couldn’t cry—not in front of everyone. Wasn’t that my mother’s number one rule? Never show them you are weak.
I tried to hold back the tears, but I was too late. All I could do was scoop my backpack off the ground and run for the nearest bathroom.
When I reached the door, I pushed against it with my shoulder while wiping my cheeks with my palms. It didn’t help. A sob clawed through my chest. I slapped a hand over my mouth to muffle it.
I headed for the stall farthest against the wall and locked myself inside. I heard the outside door squeak open and the sounds of several girls talking and laughing as they entered. I climbed on top of the toilet seat, praying they wouldn’t try to push open the locked door.
“Oh my God, did you see her face?” a girl asked.
Several giggles answered.
“I think she was about to cry,” the girl continued.
“Not like she doesn’t deserve it,” another girl replied.
“Totally had it coming,” a third chimed in.
“It sucks to be her,” the first girl admitted. “Her life is totally ruined.”
The other girls murmured their agreement. I heard the whine of the bathroom door open. A second later, their voices faded, then disappeared entirely after the door swung shut.
Once I was sure they’d gone, I climbed off the toilet and leaned my back against the stall door. Did I have it coming? Maybe. But why now? Why Amber? And why was Payton going along with it? Why, why, why. The word played on repeat in my head until I was wrung out, hollow and empty.
Eventually, I left the graffiti-covered stall and shuffled to a sink.
I stared at the red-eyed, defeated girl in the mirror. If my mom were here, she’d tell me to stop wasting my time with the pity party. I should be implementing a plan—trying to figure out how to rebuild my reputation that was taken from me. But the only plan I did have involved friends.
Something I didn’t have anymore.
So I racked my brain for a new plan, something I could put into action on my own. But as I stared at my reflection for several minutes, nothing came to me. The longer I stood there, the more the possibility of salvaging my life felt like it slipped through my fingers like threads of sand.
How the hell did I fix this? I had no freaking clue.
So I did what I did best. I popped another pill.
Once the numbness settled through me, I left the bathroom and ventured into the hallway. Lunch was almost over, so I made my way through the scattering of last-minute students to class.
No one sat with me. No one talked to me. The silent treatment would normally freak me out, but after the hellish morning I’d had, being ignored was kind of a relief. It meant they were getting bored. At least, that was what I hoped it meant. The alternative was too ugly to think about.
When seventh-period Spanish let out, I pretended to be confused over the homework assignment so I could stay inside the classroom for an extra twenty minutes, just to be safe, while Señor Batey translated the noun list twice. When he finished, I glanced up at the clock, satisfied that the building and parking lot would be empty enough for me to make my escape.
In the hall, I fished my car keys out of my purse and headed for the exit. I needed my history book from my l
ocker, but I was going to have to make do and prayed I’d pass the quiz without studying. No way was I going to stop long enough to be confronted. Besides, if anyone else had decided to “decorate” my locker, I didn’t want to know about it.
The hallways were relatively empty as I walked, my footsteps echoing hollowly against the stained linoleum. An occasional student passed on his or her way to a club, but luckily, no one paid me any attention. I reached the front doors and breathed a sigh of relief as I stepped outside and into freedom. When I wasn’t immediately assaulted by an angry mob, I figured the worst was behind me.
And then I saw my car.
It was parked behind a large truck so only the bumper was visible at first. When I passed the truck, I skidded to a halt. My backpack slipped from my shoulder and fell to the ground with a thump.
Empty soda bottles, chip bags, and wadded-up pieces of paper covered the hood and roof. The words “liar,” “backstabber,” and “two-faced” had been scribbled more than a hundred times in several different shades of lipstick on all of the windows. As I approached, I saw that a large scratch—most likely made by a key—had been gouged across the driver-side door.
I sank to the ground beside my backpack. I had a therapy appointment in twenty minutes that I wouldn’t make if I didn’t leave right then. But how could I? I’d have to go through the car wash at least ten times to get all the lipstick off. I knew because Payton, Amber, and I had lipsticked a girl’s car last year after she hit on Payton’s boyfriend. It had been Amber’s idea, of course. We’d hid in Amber’s car and laughed every time the girl went through the car wash then burst into tears when she pulled out and the pink and red letters remained.
Maybe Christy was right. Maybe I was finally getting what I deserved. I’d played my cards with karma and this was my payout. The only question was, after everything I’d done, did I ever deserve to be happy again?
That sounded like a question for my therapist, but talking about what was going on was the absolute last thing I wanted to do. Words were just that, useless sounds passed through lips that faded as soon as they were spoken.