by Nora Cobb
“Vicki,” says Theo, “you ran a great campaign. Maybe you’re not the prez, but you’re the one who publicly went after an insane psycho bully.”
I sigh again, slumping into the desk chair. “They weren’t thankful enough to vote.”
Luna drops her cigarette butt into her empty coffee cup. “If you had won, three hundred and sixteen people would have had no chance at ever getting a job in the industry.”
“She’s right,” adds Theo. “You won a moral victory, just not the battle.”
I’m still dazed by it all. Did the whole school plan this to humiliate me? I place my hand on my forehead. “It’s getting late, and I have homework for History of Cinema tomorrow.”
“Which film did you watch?” asks Theo, eager to change the topic.
I fling my bag over my shoulder. “Sunset Boulevard. I watched it with Dad last night. Spoiler alert—she was as delusional as I am.”
Theo gets up and pats my back as he walks me to the door. “You didn’t win, but you’re brave, kid.”
“Coming?” I ask Luna.
She nods, grabs her bag, and we head to the day lot. The sun is dropping fast as the light sensor streetlights buzz overhead. The weak light mingles with the setting sun as we walk along in silence.
“Vicki, you should be proud,” Luna speaks softly. “No matter the outcome.”
“I know, I’m not a sore loser. Just a morose one.”
We laugh as we walk down the incline toward the lot, but we stop short. Where my car used to be is a huge blob of color. I squint as if the action will make what I’m seeing make sense. That’s my Mustang, and someone has taped my campaign posters all over it. I shake my head as I hurry toward it. A few other day students are standing around watching my panic but offering no solutions.
I toss my bag on the ground and swear. “So, is this like getting your house TP’d? The paint better not be ruined.” I start peeling off tape as carefully as I can.
A boy starts filming, his phone held high as he concentrates on the screen as if he’s not a part of anything. Luna blocks his view with a dirty scowl and her hands on her slim hips.
“You should be helping, not shaming,” she says.
“It’s funny,” he replies in a monotone. He doesn’t care because it’s not happening to him, but he cares enough to have something to post later.
“No, it’s not,” Luna’s melodic voice becomes shrill. “Vicki stuck her neck way out for you. And you didn’t even have the courage to give her a vote.”
The other students, who are predominantly female, stare him down until he puts his phone into his back pocket. He glares at me as if I’m the one being a jerk. Maybe Silas told him to film my reaction. He probably did.
“You lost to Silas,” the kid bites out. “What did you expect?” He jumps in his Outback and speeds out of the lot.
Luna frowns at my car as she leans in close and starts picking at the tape with the tip of her nail. Two other girls that I don’t recognize start peeling off posters alongside us. The blonde with wavy hair and a vintage Dead tee glances over her shoulder and then behind me. She’s as paranoid as me.
“They have a list of names,” she says under her breath.
“The list?” I ask, suddenly more interested in the conversation than the paint job.
“No,” she shakes her head, “a list of who voted for you.”
“Shouldn’t that be a secret?” whispers Luna.
The other girl with straight dark brown hair answers. “Yeah, it should, but it isn’t. I thought it was a joke until I tried out for a part in a telenovela being shot in LA. I was playing a nurse with one line. One line would have gotten me in the union. They called me back and I had the part until I didn’t.”
“How do you know it was them?” I whisper, smoothing my hand slowly over the blue paint.
“One of their peons asked me my name. I didn’t think anything of it. Until I found out later I was the only person they asked.”
“Tell her what else happened,” the other girl says.
The brunette takes a deep breath. “I had been at a party at Chase’s house with a group of kids. He wanted the girls to remove their tops. I said no. I wanted to vote for you.” Her voice trails off.
I sigh, and we don’t speak again until the last poster is peeled off my car, and I thank them before they hurry to their own cars.
“They didn’t even tell you their names,” says Luna, watching their cars pull out of the lot. “Do you think it will only be one prank?”
I know it won’t be. “Maybe,” I smile thinly. “After tomorrow, I’ll be forgotten like a silent screen star.”
Luna nods. “Two,” she replies. “We can’t forget Theo.”
The tape residue makes a weird geometric pattern highlighted by the bright lights in the parking lot. We lean against my sticky car, and I fold my arms, feeling a weird kind of acceptance over recent events.
“So, I voted for myself.”
“Of course, and you should’ve.” Luna lights a cigarette and takes a drag.
And I reach my hand out for it. “You and Theo voted for me, so who was the fourth?”
***
Tuesday is worse, and I should know better. Students have lockers in the day center, which makes no sense. A few extra steps and you’re in your car. But, I keep a few things in there anyway. The stuff I don’t want to take back and forth—gym clothes, extra campaign stuff, which is now trash, random school papers, and umbrella.
“Vicki?”
The kid I saw in the center on the first day hurries over before I can open my locker.
“Yes,” I reply.
He hands me a permission slip with my dad’s signature on it. Confused, I frown for a moment. That piece of paper was in my locker.
“Son of a bitch,” I scowl. “Again? Why do they like to mess with paper?”
I glare at him, and he takes a big step back.
“Sorry,” I shake my head. “It’s art school. Aren’t they supposed to be more creative?”
He shrugs. “Some of them are just talented hacks.”
“Thanks…” I hold the paper up.
He smiles. “Bobby Medina.” We shake, and the guy’s got a firm grip, a little moist, but it’s a hot day.
“Vicki.” He looks uncomfortable. “Your stuff is in the boys’ bathroom and locker room. You won’t be able to get all of it back unless you go in there.”
There’s the creativity I thought they lacked.
“I could help you,” he offers.
“Aren’t you afraid of being bullied?”
He shrugs, and we start walking towards the main campus. Bobby isn’t a bad-looking guy. A little soft physically, and he’s wearing white briefs that peek out above the waistband of his belted jeans. Maybe I’ll tell him about it when we’re better friends.
“I was used to being bullied until I came here,” he says.
“Really?” I ask. “What grade are you in?”
He looks at me with wide eyes as if I should know. “I’m a senior,” he answers.
For a moment, I gawk at him and then try to cover it up. He looks like a twelve-year-old with dewy skin and rosy cheeks. Every girl at Redwood would be jealous of his thick, long lashes.
“I know I look young for my age.” He looks down at the gravel path.
“Don’t knock it,” I reply. “One day you’ll be glad.”
“I’ll be glad to escape the friend zone someday.” Bobby looks off into space as if he can see the future. “Anyway, I got teased a lot at my old high school, and being called Arty McFarty didn’t help. I’m sorry I didn’t vote for you, but I can’t go through that again.”
I understood. “Don’t apologize.”
“I’m glad you stood up to those assholes,” he shudders, “and good luck.”
Bobby hurries off into the visual communications building, while I head toward Alex Hall. Should I have laid low? The teasing might have ended after a week. Now, I have a rep for being a re
bel. I had it before at Montlake. I had a reputation for partying, for being an outsider, and for doing wild things before anyone else. But I was always accepted by other kids. Maybe even envied. Not now. Nobody wants to be me.
***
I sit in the back of History of Cinema, making a list of all the shit Dom, Silas, and Chase could do to me. It’s brutal to think about, and my imagination makes me anxious, but I keep writing stuff down. Bartering for sex, public humiliation, intimidation—I add another degrading thing to the list. Seeing it written down makes it real and visceral, as if I were casting a spell against myself. Cursing myself but also healing myself and gaining strength by facing fear and telling it to go somewhere else and fuck itself. I have to prepare and prevent what I can from happening. I have to harden my soul and thicken my skin. Not just to get through the year but to be independent. Next time, I might not be rescued in the middle of the night and driven home.
This is a training camp, and if I can’t get through this, I’ll fail out there. The first time, I messed with drugs to hide what I didn’t want to see. The abuse my family was capable of. I love Dad, but he is ruthless when he wants to be. I love Troy, but he was a bully to anyone who got in his way. And my mother; she was never nurturing or caring. I didn’t want to see these things, and drugs were my escape into a different plane of existence within the one I functioned in.
***
It’s almost lunchtime, and I head over to Theo’s room. It takes him a while to answer the door, but I know he’s in there. The humid smell of sex hits me in the face as I walk in. Theo’s hair is in a wild tangle on top of his head as he tightens the knot on his robe. A bored guy is sitting at his desk, looking at his phone.
“Sorry, I should have texted first.”
Theo looks over his shoulder. “Just give me a second, Rhys.”
The guy yawns and scrolls with one finger on his phone. Theo grabs a plastic shopping bag as he herds me out into the hallway. “I found your gym clothes. They were in the boys’ locker room.”
“Who’s that?”
Theo smiles then answers. “Rhys from Australia. I might share my room with him.”
I shake my head. “That was fast. You might want to be careful.”
“It’s okay. He just transferred.”
“Are you coming over for lunch? Luna’s waiting by the car.” Luna had to sweet talk a boy into retrieving more of my papers from the boys’ bathroom.
He nods. “Just give me a minute.”
I narrow my eyes and scowl. “Make it a quick minute, Romeo.”
***
Redwood doesn’t have a strict lunch hour. We have to attend class and finish our homework on time. I make another video of my dad explaining parts of a plant with illustrations. It’s so cool that we have a dad-and-daughter thing to share. Botany is so separate from everything else. It gives us something to talk about other than my mental health and his new start-up. No tech, no film, no drugs. Just nature. I start to appreciate Jagan and his attempts to share his enthusiasm.
My Mustang is the same as I left it, and we head for my house. The drive is quiet, except I can hear them thinking. In the back seat, Luna is fidgeting with her lighter. She’s not allowed to smoke in my car. And from the passenger seat, Theo is sighing and glancing at my profile.
“I have peripheral vision,” I announce. “What’s going on?”
“You have to promise not to get upset,” replies Theo, “and drive the car off the road.”
I almost curse red hot. “Why would I do that?” I squeeze the steering wheel until it hurts my bones. Instead, I take a deep breath and blow it out of my mouth, but I’m anxious. Did something happen that was on my list?
Luna sighs loudly and dramatically, and I guess being in the back seat makes her braver.
“Silas, Dom, and Chase went around telling people not to vote for you,” she says.
“I did the same,” I reply, shrugging my shoulders.
“But you didn’t check the ballots before they were put into the box,” she replies, “and threaten people if they didn’t change them.”
“You’re fucking kidding.” I look at her in the rear-view mirror.
Luna shakes her head. “They stood by the ballot boxes and demanded that they see the ballots first.”
My voice rises like a boiling kettle. “But an admin was supposed to be supervising.”
I almost miss the turn into my driveway and have to jam on the brakes. Luna and Theo lurch forward and are yanked back by their seat belts. I didn’t check if anyone was behind me, and I’m glad no one was. I reverse, pulling into the driveway, and cut the engine. But no one moves to get out. I want to finish this conversation first.
“What happened to the admin?” I ask.
“She was told to take a break,” Theo answers. “Her daughter is on a soap that shoots in LA.”
“So, it was a dirty election? Motherfucking scum-scraping pond scum.” I love my car, but I slam the steering wheel with my fists.
Theo quickly opens his door and jumps out. He leans over and speaks to me from the open door. “Vicki, I didn’t realize how well connected the boys are.”
“They’re a fucking trifecta,” replies Luna, jumping out.
It takes all my strength not to slam my car door closed. “Even Silas? He’s a child star who hasn’t worked since puberty.”
“He’s on the inside,” replies Theo. “And he knows where people go in the woods to shit their dirt as my grandma used to say. They’ve spent their time at Redwood establishing their bad reputations and collecting intel. Hollywood is not their only focus. Soon, you’ll need their okay to work anywhere.”
“They’re the new generation of screwed-up movers and shakers,” adds Luna. “I’m learning that fast.” Even as a model, she’s affected by these cruel boys.
We walk toward the front door. Dad’s car isn’t in the driveway, and he’s probably off looking for an office space. We pile into the kitchen and immediately pull food out of the fridge. Theo and Luna have been to the house enough times to feel at home. I want carbs, and I plop a container of cold lasagna on the counter, debating if I want to eat it hot or cold.
“So, why am I bothering?” I slump onto a stool at the kitchen island. “Why did I waste my time trying to help a bunch of sheep?”
We eat lunch and chatter about random shit, avoiding the topic that’s on my mind. I check my phone, and we’ve got less than ten minutes to get back to campus for class.
“We better head back. I’ve got Video on the Move, and I’m presenting today.”
Luna grabs her oversized tote bag. “Did you finish your project?”
I smile. “Yeah, it’s in the fucking cloud.”
We get back into the car, but I don’t talk much. Luna and Theo discuss anime girls and if Luna wants to do cosplay wearing one of Theo’s skimpy costumes in public.
“Of course I do. I’m not ashamed of my body.”
“Great,” beams Theo. “I want to create a buzz for a comic I’m self-publishing, and SDCC is having a separate convention to showcase new talent.”
Not to be rude, I flip on the radio to distract me from my thoughts. I’ll have to stay one step ahead of the trifecta of cruelty even after graduation. The thought of it makes my head pound and leaves a pasty taste in my mouth.
***
Video on the Move is a corny title for a useful class. Marcy Bowen is a Sundance-nominated director who put her career on hold to raise her son as a single mother. Now, she’s a teacher and wants to teach students how to make quality videos using their phones. She has cred after making several award-winning shorts with her iPhone. After Marcy takes attendance, we begin our presentations.
“Vicki, it’s your turn in the spotlight,” she says.
Watchful gazes follow me to the front of the classroom. I have to figure out why I feel awkward presenting my work, but campaigning makes me pumped up with energy bordering on obnoxious. All fear is the same guttural reaction, and I want to tap
into what makes me daring. I know I’ll need it sooner than later.
“I made a botany video with my dad,” I say softly. For now, I’m just relieved my voice doesn’t crack.
We have cloud access at school, and we upload our homework to our accounts. I log into mine and click on the video. Instantly, I know something is wrong. Cheesy music and exaggerated moans fill the classroom. I gawk at the monitor and watch a blonde with hair the same length and color as mine kneels in between the open legs of an old, balding man. He has his socks on and a stretched-out wifebeater T-shirt. He grabs the blonde by the hair as he moans, “Come on, baby. Please your daddy.”