by Nora Cobb
After the inside of my locker is decorated with used condoms, I don’t bother driving my new car to school. Uncle Phil does the rich kid thing, and on Tuesday morning, when I feel better, a silver Audi A3 is in the driveway with a red bow on top. I sit inside for a few minutes, inhaling the new car smell and running my hands across the leather interior while Phil takes pictures on his phone. Later, I bawl like a baby, and I don’t know why I kept seeing my parents’ faces when I looked at the car.
After another week of snippy insults, condoms slipped into my backpack, and trash at the bottom of my locker goes by, I want to quit. All day Friday, I hide in the secret courtyard until it’s time to go home. Lucas continues to drive me home, but the make-out sessions have stopped. When I suggest that Beth drive me instead, he agrees. Why do I like him when he’s only breaking my heart? I’m tarnishing his golden status with a trailer trash scandal.
On Monday, I receive a notice to report to the principal’s office after school. Listlessly, I walk toward East Hall with a sick heart. Missing classes is a serious offense at Montlake, and I have cut most of my afternoon classes for almost two weeks. Not bothering to get a pass or to complete my assignments, I know that I’m going to be roasted by the principal. Failing Ms. Petrenko’s pop quiz was the red flag and the last straw.
The admin office resembles a boutique hotel lobby. The admins work behind a long counter, and on the opposite side, the students can lounge around on stuffed couches, sipping coffee from the self-serve coffee bar. I enter the office and the secretaries pretend to be too preoccupied to even acknowledge me. Even they believe the rumors, or I’m about to be expelled. I wait tight-lipped behind the counter until Ms. Schneider finally looks over at me. Her expression is morose, and today she resembles a British nanny in some terrible American remake.
“Ms. Page,” she announces my presence as I step into Principal Cromwell’s office. Mr. Cromwell would look cool if he shaved off his thinning hair and grew out his goatee, but I’m not here to be a fashion consultant. My heart sinks to my feet when I see a concerned Ms. Petrenko standing beside his desk, clasping her hands. I look for a chair to sit but Principal Cromwell has a Napoleon complex. He expects everyone to stand in his presence.
“Ms. Page, we have a problem, and I want to know why.” His voice is stern and strained as if he’s been shouting. Judging me, he waits for an answer, but that wasn’t a question. So I ask one.
“What would you like to know?” I sound sincere.
He holds a paper up, which shows the classes that I’ve missed. We have six classes a day, and I have missed eighteen over the last two weeks. “These missed classes are grounds for expulsion.”
I gasp. I was in denial, and denial just bit me in the ass. A pain starts behind my eyes, and the warmth is starting in my nostrils. I know I’m about to cry. Studying my hand, I don’t respond.
Cromwell’s tough expression shows no sympathy, so I’m surprised when he expresses it. “Maybe you took on too much after the death of your parents. The school should have offered you counseling.”
“Natalie.” Ms. Petrenko puts her hand to her lips. “I didn’t know. When did this happen?”
“Over the summer,” Cromwell answers for me.
“Natalie, dear,” Ms. Petrenko stands next to me and speaks kindly. “I thought you might have been struggling but your grades are good.” My future is at risk, and she believes that she can help me. “Is it because you miss your parents? Maybe you should have taken a year off?”
“No, it will be okay,” I speak for myself, “I just need time to make up the work.”
Ms. Petrenko quietly talks to me again. “I noticed the girls picking on you at practice. And I’ve spoken to them. Are they still bothering you?”
My mother would never have allowed this shit to happen to me at my old school. Once in junior high, my mom went off when I was accused of stealing another kid’s sneakers after gym, which I hadn’t. My mother was smart and pretty. She would have put a lightweight princess like Arielle to shame. And my mom didn’t need a trust fund to get things done. I’m my mother’s daughter, so why am I fucking this up?
“Maybe it was too soon,” Cromwell sighs. “I thought you were doing well in your classes, and the other seniors have been reaching out to you. You were getting good grades and making new friends.”
“Friends?” Finally, I crack and start shouting. “I was roofied at a party!”
Ms. Petrenko’s eyes widen as she gasps, but Cromwell recovers quickly.
“Roofied? At a party?” he grills me. “Not a Montlake party. Do you mean a party at the public high school?”
Ms. Petrenko gives him a harsh look. “Excuse me, Mr. Cromwell? Do you really think this place is spotless? Natalie, what happened?”
“Nothing,” I start denying. “I drank too much and passed out. But someone helped me, so nothing happened.”
Cromwell stares into my eyes as he tugs his hairy chin. “Do you know who did it?”
“I can’t say,” I reply, looking at my shoes. “But I’ll let you guess.”
Cromwell’s left eyebrow slants as he glares at me. “I can’t guess, Ms. Page. You need to tell me.”
“But I can’t,” I plead.
He tosses the paper on his desk. “Fine. Ms. Petrenko, help Ms. Page to collect her things. She’s being expelled.”
“You’re expelling me?” I ask, dumbstruck.
“There’s a zero-tolerance policy for drug use,” he replies smoothly.
“What part of I was drugged didn’t you understand?” This is wrong. My mouth clenches as my heart pounds in my ears. My fists are clenched because I want to punch something hard.
Ms. Petrenko is waving her arms, trying to grasp the situation. “Mr. Cromwell, Natalie is the victim here.”
In a calm and analytical voice, Cromwell replies, “And I can’t help her if she won’t tell us who is responsible. I could handle it myself, without getting the police involved if she tells me. But if she won’t, I will not have Montlake’s name dragged through the mud.”
What a slimy rat. Now I know where the students get it from. If I don’t tell, I’m out, and the police will be involved.
“I just want to finish school and get out of here,” I plead as I start to cry.
“And I will help you do that,” he folds his hands on his desk and glares, “once you’ve told me who did this.”
Tears won’t move this devil. My head is spinning as I fall to pieces. I don’t want to tell, but why should I protect the person who hurt me? Why am I taking the fall for him?
“It was Troy Saunders,” I finally say.
Reaching in his desk drawer, Cromwell pulls out a box of tissues and Ms. Petrenko hands it to me. He smirks as if he’s delighted with the response. I wonder how much Troy’s parents will donate to keep Cromwell quiet.
“You will be given a second chance, Ms. Page,” a smiling Cromwell announces. “In the interim, I will remind all the students of the anti-bullying policy.”
I blow my nose then mutter under my breath, “Yeah, that’ll get the bullying to stop.”
I’m not being expelled but I still feel a sense of foreboding. Cromwell is no longer interested in my problems. He stands up from his chair and begins to straighten his tie. “Ms. Petrenko, will you help Ms. Page find her next class?”
We hurry outside into the brisk October air that cools my flushed face. Inhaling the fresh fall air soothes my aching head.
“Natalie, I’ll talk to the girls again,” Ms. Petrenko offers as we walk to North Hall. “And maybe I should say something to the coaches.”
“No!” I shriek. “Please don’t say anything.” Tears slip down my cheeks. I realize too late that I shouldn’t have said anything. Jacob warned them, but he was warning me too.
CHAPTER 16
LUCAS
Before practice, I text Troy to meet me in the fieldhouse. The square brick fieldhouses are at the far end of the athletic field where the teams have their lockers.
Nobody hangs out there unless they’re on a team, and players don’t repeat what they hear in the house. The bullying has gotten out of hand. Natalie’s face crumpled after Jacob had his meltdown on Troy outside of the student center. I didn’t like seeing her broken. It was supposed to be a little teasing to keep her from getting too sure of herself. But that was criminal. I also made it clear that it had to stop. But Troy simply doesn’t care.
Jacob is sitting in the locker room in his shorts. I saw him on the field earlier, pounding the shit out of a dummy. Everyone on the team avoids him when he’s pissed, and I wonder if his dad is in town.
“You okay?” I ask him as he pulls on a plain T-shirt.
“Stop.” It’s a warning tone, and immediately, I back off.
“Save it for Troy,” I advise him as Troy walks into the locker room.
“Save what for me?” He narrows his blue eyes on us.
“Lay off the girl,” warns Jacob.
“I don’t want her kind at Montlake.”
“Why? Because an unconscious girl rejected you?” I state calmly.
Troy puts his hand up. “Your girlfriend Arielle is the ringleader. You can’t control her because you’re pussy-whipped.”
I knock his hand away. “At least I know what one looks like.”
Troy gets in my face until Jacob steps in between us. I’m fast on the ice, but Troy has a powerful arm, especially when he’s boxing someone out of the paint. But Jacob isn’t threatened. His old man is a beast, and if Jacob can go toe to toe with him, then we’re as good as stick figures.
“You will back off,” an unusually calm Jacob looks down his nose at Troy, causing Troy to look away first.
“Go ahead,” he laughs, “kick my ass. Is your old man still teaching you how to manage that anger?”
“Cute,” smirks Jacob. “Did you get the roofies from your dad?”
That comment is low and hits a little too close to home with Troy.
“Leave my dad out of this, douche,” Troy replies. “I got them from your supplier, Anthony.”
“I told you I don’t take anything.”
“Sure, your muscles are legit,” taunts Troy.
This time, it’s my turn to tear them apart.
“Just back off,” threatens Jacob.
“It’s not me acting out,” Troy looks at me. “This time it’s Arielle. Girls are worse bitches than you. And you’re playing around with an outsider. Arielle never competes. She’s never had to, and she doesn’t know how to deal with it.”
“Fine, I’ll choose.”
Troy gives me a hard look, and I know he’s plotting. He’s always been behind Jacob and me. If we get an A, Troy gets a B+. If we get a girlfriend, Troy gets a date. He’s a co-captain, while we are full captains. Judging by the look he’s giving me, he’s not a friend I want to have around when I fuck up.
***
Alongside Jacob, I head out of the fieldhouse, walking across the field, leaving a pissed Troy behind to lick his wounds, or plan payback.
“You need to rope Arielle in.” Jacob stops short, and I stop to face him. He has a weird look in his eyes that I can’t read. Sometimes, I wonder if the guy is wrapped tight.
“You still driving Natalie home?” he asks.
“No.” I watch him as he looks toward the parking deck. I also look to see Natalie entering the deck.
“Are you done with her?” He motions his head in her direction.
“Why do you care?” I press my lips together hard and wait for his response.
Jacob shrugs indifferently. “I plan on taking her to homecoming.”
“You are?” I laugh out loud. “You’re the one that started this shit.”
“And you have a girlfriend,” he shoots back. We start walking again toward the art building.
“Do what you like, bro,” I reply. I’m friends with Troy and Jacob because this is how our roles will play out. Bonds are formed here that will last until we die, or until we piss our fortunes to the wind. You have to keep friends like these closer to you than your enemies.
“I will,” scoffs Jacob, running a hand through his dark hair. I notice how heated he becomes when he’s defending Natalie. I just stand there and watch. I may have jumped in, but Arielle will make me pay later.
“The best man will win,” Jacob smirks, tossing his hair and lifting his chin.
“Thanks,” I reply.
“Asshole,” Jacob frowns. I already know what he’s thinking about me. “I got one more place I got to go before I head home.”
We mock homecoming as we walk toward the art building and head down into the building, then up into the courtyard. Anthony is alone in the courtyard, smoking a regular cigarette instead of a spliff. He looks shocked to see us, and oddly, he quickly puts it out.
“Mr. Lange,” I announce cheerfully. “We need to talk about your future at Montlake.”
Anthony looks nervous as Jacob goes to grab him by the jacket. Anthony dodges out of Jacob’s grasp, but Jacob is toying with him. He moves to the left, and then a quick right to imitate Anthony’s addled moves until he catches him swiftly in his grip, and gives the loser a brutal shake.
Regrettably, Jacob gets off on fear, just like his old man. Fear wears off. Me? I prefer more finesse in my approach. I grab Anthony’s backpack off the wall and dump the contents out onto the ground. Anthony tries to break free to stop me. But Jacob pulls his arms behind his body, effortlessly restraining him. I pick up a bottle and examine the roofies inside.
“Troy forced me to sell him those,” Anthony gasps.
I shake my head. “And now you’ll tell him you’re out.”
Anthony begins to argue. He’s actually pissed that I’m telling him not to sell roofies to Troy.
“No, that wasn’t a request. That was an order,” I repeat myself, a lot sterner this time. “He’s cut off, or we go to Cromwell about this.”
He must really need to sell because Anthony’s mouth drops open again to argue. But I hold up my hand, and Anthony waits for an explanation.
“It’s causing problems that might bite all of us in the ass. You’ve been the campus dealer for a lot of people, and their parents would love to meet you.”
Anthony stumbles on the uneven, moss-covered bricks as Jacob gives him a hard shove. He grabs his bag away from me and bending down, scoops the bottles and the baggies back into his bag. I swipe a joint off the ground and nod my thanks as I leave with Jacob.
CHAPTER 17
It’s morning, and the sunshine is vivid against a perfect blue sky as I drive myself to Montlake in my new silver Audi with tinted windows. One weight is lifted off me and I’m actually bobbing my head as I hum along to a song streaming in my car. It’s safe to park in the main lot, now that everyone knows Jacob will kick their ass if I so much as point a finger in their bullying direction. I wish my first day had been like this instead of the fucked-up mess I collided with that day.
Since I registered late for my parking permit, my spot is on the fourth level of the lot. It works out because the teachers also park on the top level. It’s added insurance that my car won’t be keyed or trashed by the end of the school day.
Despite Lexi’s helpful warning, I’m wearing my cheer uniform to school, and as a nod to Beth, I punked it up. I found a khaki mini skirt with pleats sewn down on top but the lower half flares out. It stops at my thighs. I pair it with my school-sanctioned red cheer sweater and a hundred- dollar white T-shirt that I found online. It looks pretty cute, and I’m feeling full of myself as I bounce down the parking deck stairs, heading for the ground level.
On the second level, I hear shouting as people huddle around a fight in progress. I should’ve learned by now not to be nosy, but I can’t help it. And it’s a repeat of my first day. I push through the crowd, standing shoulder to shoulder, and see Troy with Anthony pinned to the ground. A raving Troy has bloodied Anthony’s nose. My vision goes red as the anger I’ve been tamping down for weeks comes surging through me. It’s mor
e about me than Anthony as I tug Troy’s shoulder and scream until my throat is hoarse.
“Let him go, you sick bastard!”
Troy looks over his shoulder at me as if I’m the crazy person. He swats at me as Anthony struggles to get up. Grabbing and pulling his blond hair, I go at Troy again. He leaps off Anthony while twisting himself out of my grasp. Troy touches his hair then looks at his hand to see if I’ve done any permanent damage. His blond hair is sticking up in all directions, but he’ll live.
Troy snarls. “What the fuck is your problem?”
“My problem? You’re the sick fuck that can’t keep his hands to himself!”