Boy in the Mirror

by Robert J. Duperre

  “Hey,” called out that throaty, confident voice. “Hey there, stop. Jacqueline.”

  Jacqueline turned while students passed her on either side. Annette was rushing after her, now looking comical as she lugged her heavy purse in one hand and a flopping sheet of paper in the other. She stopped in front of Jacqueline, panting.

  “You forgot your picture,” Annette said.

  “Oh, thanks,” she replied, voice trembling.

  For the first time, Jacqueline saw the girl smile. “Did I weird you out or something?” Annette asked.

  Jacqueline thought about telling her no, but found herself saying, “A little,” instead. “Well, a lot, actually.”

  “Hey, the truth!” exclaimed Annette, clapping her tiny hands. “Rare trait.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Oh, and I’m sorry, too. I just saw you across the room, and I got a little…‌I don’t know, captivated. People tell me I stare a lot. I really gotta stop that.”

  “Yeah, that’d probably be best.”

  Annette’s grin grew wider. “Hey Jacqueline—”

  “Call me Jackie. That’s what my friends call me, anyway.” If I had friends.

  “Okay…‌Jackie. Do you like anime?”

  “Anime? As in cartoons?”

  “Hiss. Not cartoons. Never cartoons. It’s Japanese animation, you know?”

  She chuckled. “I guess. Haven’t had a chance to watch any in a long time. I’ve been…‌living in the boonies. But I really liked Sailor Moon.”

  “Ah, the classics,” Annette said with a wistful smile. “Listen, we have our own little club. Just a few of us, sitting around watching Cowboy Be-Bop, Attack on Titan, Soul Eater, stuff like that. We call ourselves the Otaku Clan.”

  “Otaku? What’s that even mean?”

  “It’s just a nickname. We were actually gonna call ourselves ‘Future Masters of the World,’ but this one was shorter. Neil came up with it. Said it means ‘nerd’ in Japanese.”

  “Who’s Neil?”

  “A part of the group. You wanna meet him?”

  “Uh, I guess so,” said Jacqueline. She started feeling queasy, her stomach churning in excitement.

  “Then let’s go!” said Annette. She laced her fingers into Jacqueline’s and began leading her down the crowded hallway. Jacqueline followed readily. When people turned to look at the strange pair of girls hustling along, hand in hand, she paid them no mind. She wasn’t invisible any longer. The armor she’d put up had been unnecessary.

  Right then, Jacqueline thought she might learn to like high school, after all.

  CHAPTER 12

  It was her first day of senior year, and Hannah Phillips felt like a princess returning to her court. Her classmates pretty much bowed before her as she made her way through the halls. Anyone who was anyone wanted to know her, to speak with her, to be her. Girls showered her with desperate niceties; boys stammered and stared. The student body was her subordinates.

  She walked proudly through the crowded hall, hand-in-hand with her man. If Hannah was the princess of J. Robert Oppenheimer High, then Drew Cottard was her prince. They both came from wealthy families: Hannah’s father had made a small fortune working for J.P. Morgan Chase, while Drew’s dad owned a food distribution company that had warehouses all over the U.S., and was embedded in town politics. They’d been dating since freshman year. Drew was fond of gift-giving, he was a voracious lover, his family had money, and though there were no promises they’d stay together after graduation—Hannah intended to go to Vassar while Drew was slated to follow in his father’s footsteps at Yale—their mastery of social politics could do nothing but help once they got to college.

  People nodded to them as they walked, even teachers. Hannah put on her best smile and returned the kindness. She beamed, until she found a frowning face in the crowd. That frown belonged to a frumpy girl, probably a freshman, with messy hair, glasses, and a face covered in acne. Hannah’s exuberance faltered. She slowed her walk and tugged on Drew’s hand.

  “What’s up?” Drew asked. His blue eyes squinted when he stared over at her. He was over six feet tall, which Hannah appreciated; at five-ten, she was used to boys looking up at her, a huge turn-off.

  “One sec.”

  Hannah released his hand and went to the nearest classroom. She pushed the door flat against the wall, until she could see her reflection in the center window. Her raven hair was silky and perfectly styled, straight but for a pair of ringlets that framed her face. Her makeup was flawless, the light sprinkle of golden eye shadow complimenting her dark green eyes. The cross around her neck hung just low enough to draw eyes to her assets. She stood back from the glass, flipped her hair back with her hand, and then went to glower at the girl who’d made her feel so self-conscious, but the girl wasn’t looking.

  “Bitch,” she muttered.

  “You look fine,” said Drew.

  “Of course I do.”

  Drew laughed.

  They continued down the hall. A pair of freshman girls looked their way and ogled before whispering excitedly between themselves. Three junior boys wearing letterman jackets slapped Drew high five and nodded at Hannah in respect and awe. It was closing in on seventh period, the end of the first day of school. Strangely, Hannah almost felt sad.

  “Guys, over here,” called out a girl’s voice. Hannah looked away from her doting subjects and spotted a small group hanging out in front of the auditorium along the school’s central hub. Hannah and Drew cut through the throng. Some stoner kid with long, greasy hair stumbled in front of them. Drew gently nudged him, knocking him aside. The kid spun around. “Hey!” he shouted, teeth grinding together.

  “Look out, Max,” Drew said with a smile.

  The kid’s expression softened. “Sorry, Drew,” he said, and loped in the other direction.

  Drew chuckled, and he and Hannah continued toward their friends. In the past, Drew would’ve snapped at the kid, but she’d taught him well. Can’t be popular if you’re always making enemies. Even so, she sort of missed Drew the Alpha Male. Not for the first time, she wondered if there was a drawback to having him leashed.

  Todd Sowinger, Drew’s best friend and a wideout on the school football team, came up to greet them. Hannah released Drew’s hand and let the ritual of male bonding take place. Drew and Todd embraced, slapping each other’s backs so loudly the sound echoed down the hall. Drew grabbed Todd’s head of close-cropped blond hair and tousled it. In turn, Todd playfully punched him in the shoulder.

  “You pussy!” exclaimed Todd. His wide, slightly off-kilter eyes flitted first at his friend, then in the direction the punk kid had departed to. “I woulda knocked the sucker out.”

  “Sure you would’ve,” Drew said with a smirk. “Then you’d get suspended. Lotta good that’d do.”

  “Too true, brotherman. Too true.”

  “You want someone knocked out, you do it where no one can see you do it.”

  Hannah smirked and approached a petite redhead with a dimpled smile. She bent over and they kissed on one cheek, then the other.

  “Been too long, Phoebe,” Hannah said.

  “You too, your highness. Where you been all day?”

  “You know…‌around.”

  Hannah had known Phoebe Wolfe since grade school. They were opposite in almost every way physically; Hannah was tall and lean, inheriting her mother’s former model body, while Phoebe was short and shapely. Phoebe was a cheerleader while Hannah was entrenched in less visible school clubs. And whereas Hannah radiated confident sexuality that seemed to frighten away most boys, Phoebe carried herself in a refined, almost prudish manner, making her more approachable. If only they could see what she’s like in private. Even their areas of study were opposed, with Hannah taking a few college courses with an aim toward being a lawyer and Phoebe entrenched in her AP science classes. But they did have their similarities: both were extremely bright and driven, and they had climbed the social ladder by each other’s side.


  “You look smashing,” Phoebe said in a faux British accent.

  “You do too, love,” Hannah laughed back. She peered over her besty’s shoulder as the last two of their small tribe, Jordan Thompson and Andrea Newsome, made their way over. She didn’t much care for them. Jordan and Andrea were popular enough, with Jordan being another member of the football team and Andrea being the star of the field hockey and basketball teams, but Hannah thought them too cliché to hold any real social value outside school walls. Both were black, and from struggling middle-class families on the other side of town. Jordan was only in their group because he was friends with Drew; Andrea because she and Jordan had known each other since they were kids. They were separated from the rest by not one, but two levels of class.

  It was like Hannah’s father always said: ‘Latching onto those of higher station is the only way mongrels succeed.’

  Jordan squinted in her direction, and then continued on with whatever conversation he’d been having with Andrea. Hannah turned her attention back to Phoebe to see that her friend’s eyes were locked on Jordan. Hannah had to laugh. Jordan was one of the few boys who’d thwarted the petite redhead’s advances, which only made Phoebe try harder. Hannah couldn’t understand it. Jordan was an attractive boy, tall and lean with wiry muscles, but there wasn’t anything special about him otherwise. She shrugged it off as one of Phoebe’s many little quirks.

  “So how was the first day?” she asked, trying to draw Phoebe’s attention back to her.

  Phoebe shrugged. “Okay, I guess. But the teachers! Shit, I thought Mr. Pendrake was bad last year. But Mrs. Stoughton’s ten times worse. She mumbles when she talks, she’s got a freaking spare tire around her middle, and I swear I know more about biology than she does. I thought we were supposed to get some actual college professors to teach our AP courses this year?”

  “Not ’til next semester. They’re sending us to the community college.”

  “Ugh,” said Phoebe, groaning. “That’s even worse.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  The bell rang, telling the students they had three minutes to get to their last class. The chaos around them intensified. Hannah offered hugs to everyone, including Jordan and Andrea, and her hand once more found Drew’s. They pecked each other on the lips, Drew poking his tongue into her mouth for the briefest of moments. Hannah pulled away; the spearmint gum he was chewing made the remnants of the chewing tobacco he’d sucked on during lunchtime taste all the worse. She turned her head aside and gagged.

  Drew looked like he was about to say something, but both their attentions were drawn away by the sound of Todd laughing and shouting. Hannah swiveled around to see Todd doubled over, pointing at the floor. “And the faggot!” he shouted. There was a group of underclassmen standing across from him. One of them, a tiny girl with whitish hair, knelt on the ground above an array of books that Todd had obviously knocked out of her hands. Papers scattered everywhere, a few kicked astray by hurrying feet. The girl scowled up at the still-laughing Todd, even as her friends, a motley bunch of kids of differing ethnicities, bent to help her.

  Hannah tugged on Drew’s hand. “C’mon.”

  “That was really shitty,” said a girl who looked vaguely Middle Eastern.

  “Whatcha gonna do about it?” Todd said with a cackle.

  “I’d beat your ass if it wasn’t a waste of time,” said the girl.

  Hannah gasped in astonishment, and beside her Drew chuckled. Just as the underclassmen were beginning to walk away, Todd reached out and grabbed the flannel that was wrapped around the Middle Eastern girl’s waist. He gave it a tug, and it came loose. Something metal clanked from somewhere in the fabric when it fell. Todd laughed again, only to be silenced when the girl whirled on him, planting the heel of one of her black boots on his foot. Todd hopped back, yelping. The girl’s friends laughed. Hannah squeezed Drew’s hand, just in case he had an inkling to interfere.

  “Bitch!” Todd shouted.

  “Says you,” said the girl. She was short and quite attractive, though her eye makeup was way too heavy. With her flannel now on the ground, her tight black leggings showed off curves a girl her age had no right having. In a lot of ways, she was like an exotic version of Phoebe. Hannah became all the more interested.

  The girl picked up her flannel, patted the front pockets, and then slid her arms into the sleeves. She stuck her tongue out at Todd and mischievously threw back her hair before turning to strut away with her friends. This time Hannah really did laugh.

  “You think you’re hot shit, don’t you?” Todd growled. “But you ain’t no Kim Kardashian!”

  The girl stopped, spun around. It seemed the other students passing through the hall knew not to get involved, because even though a good ten feet separated them, no one passed through the area between.

  “I’d hope not,” the girl said. “Kim Kardashian’s part Armenian. I’m half East Indian. Maybe you should learn world history. Or maybe you’re just a dumbass and it wouldn’t matter anyway, since you’d have to learn how to read first.”

  With that, the girl departed, slapping her friends high fives. Todd stood aghast, jaw hanging open. Hannah couldn’t stop laughing, and when she glanced around, she saw most other students hiding their grins behind collars and shirtsleeves. Even Jordan and Andrea smirked, shaking their heads. A teacher approached them, flagged Todd down. Todd slunk back, his neck bright pink. He slammed his fist into the wall as he stormed down the hall in the opposite direction.

  “I should talk to him,” said Drew.

  Hannah kissed his cheek. “He’ll get over it. Was only a matter of time before someone decided not to take his shit.”

  “Huh. I guess you’re right.” He peered the way the girl and her friends had gone. “Who was that girl, anyway? Never seen her before.”

  Hannah shrugged. She hadn’t a clue, though she had a feeling if she did, she would’ve liked her very, very much.

  CHAPTER 13

  Jacqueline’s heart thumped so hard that the last class of the day, Spanish, just flew by. She gnawed on the tip of her pen, the teacher’s words as incomprehensible as notes from a tuba. Her thoughts lingered on what happened last period.

  It turned out that Annette and another two Otakus were in her sixth-period study hall. The teacher had told the class that her only rule was no technology, so cell phones and such remained stowed away in backpacks, for the most part. Other than that, with it being the first day of school, the students were allowed to fraternize as they pleased.

  Annette had introduced her friends as Olivia Sabuco, an excitable and adorable Puerto Rican girl, and Ronni Bridgewater, a quiet, slightly overweight girl with a cute face. For forty-five minutes they chatted about anything and everything, from what they’d done over the summer to how excited they were for the new Diablo game to come out. Jacqueline had trouble adding to the conversation, but she was never excluded. Thankfully, her new friends never asked where she came from or what brought her to Mercy Hills, since that was something she didn’t want to answer.

  Then study hall ended, and Jacqueline met the fourth member of the Otaku Clan—Neil Phung, a Vietnamese kid who had a habit of flipping his long hair. Neil was a bit loud, maybe even obnoxious, but he treated Jacqueline like they were old friends. They’d decided to walk to their next class together, since they were all heading in the same direction, and the whole while they’d laughed and hooted while Neil cracked inappropriate jokes.

  Then came the confrontation. Jacqueline couldn’t believe what she’d done, how ballsy it’d been to both verbally and physically assault some upperclassman boy she’d never met. But then again, she’d had friends to protect, something she’d never really experienced before.

  Jacqueline scurried out of class when the bell rang, lugging her now-heavy backpack over her shoulder. She thought about the confrontation again. One minute they’d all been happily strolling along, the next some cute brute of a boy knocked Annette’s books from her hands. Jacqueline had
spoken up, feeling strong and brazen, her friends cheering her on. The heat that’d risen up her neck was eerily similar to what she’d felt during her confrontation with Papa Gelick, but luckily she hadn’t seen red this time. This boy wasn’t drunk, and he was probably in better shape than her former foster father had been. Had she pressed the issue, and the boy not held back, she’d probably be in a hospital right now.

  She skulked down the hall, eyes downcast, suddenly leery of seeing the boy again as she shuffled between departing students. Instinctively, she touched the bulge in the breast pocket of her flannel, gaining comfort from the warmth of the compact hidden there. She could hear the faint murmur of Mal in his prison, begging to be seen. He probably felt her rapid heartbeat. She had to make sure to let him know everything was okay once she got home.

  When she finally stepped out into the sunny afternoon, her fear vanished. Annette, Olivia, Ronni, and Neil were already outside, greeting her with wide smiles. Even though they’d whooped it up in the aftermath of the confrontation, Jacqueline had still feared she’d somehow frightened them away.

  The buses were lined up on the edge of the curb, and students joked and jeered as they stepped onto them. Jacqueline spotted the one she was supposed to take—bus thirty-eight—and approached the group.

  “There you are, Jackie,” said Annette with a grin. “Too slow.”

  She chortled. “I would’ve been out here first if my classroom was ten feet from the door.”

  “Ooh, this one’s lippy,” said Olivia, herself grinning.

  “You don’t know the half of it,” Jacqueline said.

  Neil flipped his long hair to one side and grabbed her hand, making Jacqueline flinch. “They’re not saying it,” Neil said, “so I will. You were awesome in there. Like a freaking short-ass Wonder Woman.”

  “Yeah, you were,” agreed Annette. “Thanks.”

  She shrugged. “Anyone would’ve done the same.”

  “I don’t think so,” said Ronni in her mousy voice. She pushed her glasses up her nose. “No one talks to those kids that way.”