We’d go to parks and have picnics, go for hikes, or even take the hour-and-a-half drive into San Francisco and spend the day there—although my mom didn’t like that too much; it was expensive. I didn’t see what the issue was when my aunt was happy to pay for everything.
“That smells amazing.” My dad toed his shoes off at the door, back just in time for dinner.
“Gross!” I gagged as my mom gave him a big hug and kiss.
We sat at the dining table to eat for the first time in weeks, and the TV even stayed off. Dad was exhausted, but Mom was in the best mood I’d seen her in for a long time. I figured it had something to do with a class she kept rambling on about. It was run by BestLyf—I knew nothing about them other than that they had a tall building in downtown Devilbend and employed a lot of people from the nicer side of town—and Mom had attended her first session over the weekend. It sounded like self-help bullshit and was likely to go the route of the yoga class she’d taken at the community center, or the pottery class she’d taken with Auntie Em, or the stack of adult coloring books she’d brought home one time. None of those things had lasted, but they’d each given her a brief period of excited energy.
When I went back to my room, my math homework was still sitting on my bed, mocking me in all its half-finished glory. I sent Turner a text whining about it and then packed up all the books, deciding to get up early and finish it tomorrow.
After sending the girls a pic of my makeup, I headed to the bathroom to wash it all off and get ready for bed.
I got a little pang of excitement when I returned to see my phone flashing with notifications. I didn’t get a lot of messages. Usually it was Mom or Dad telling me they were working late or asking me to do a chore.
I turned the light off, got into bed, propped my phone on my pillow, and settled in for some scrolling before trying to sleep.
The messages were from the girls, gushing about how good I looked and how flawless my makeup was. Amaya begged me to post them on Instagram every single time I sent a pic, and tonight was no different.
In between chatting with them, I scrolled Instagram, obsessing over makeup that was way better than what I could do and trying to ignore the fact that Turner still hadn’t replied.
Under a pic of some artfully arranged makeup brushes, there was a post from the “DNHS Confessions Page.”
“The new guy—Turner—is fucking hot!”
Usually I scrolled past, trying not to read what they said, but Turner’s name caught my attention. Like a masochist, I tapped on the page and scrolled through the recent confessions. No one knew who ran the page, but the description read, “Send us your Devilbend North High tea, and we’ll spill it for you! Oops!” Students sent in anonymous comments, gossip, and bitchy things, and the page posted them all, unedited. I had a feeling Kelsey ran it. Something like that would require someone mean-hearted to keep it going, and that bitch was always on her phone.
There were several posts about how hot Turner was and what people wanted to do to him. There were common ones like “Anna cheated on the science quiz” or “Meg and Josh were making out in the back of the admin building even though Josh has a girlfriend.” The juicy gossip was interspersed with just plain mean comments. At least one per day was about me. “Phil looks particularly fat today,” “Is that thing on her face contagious?” and so on. It was a running joke for people to then comment with some variation of “Who? What are you talking about?”
I growled and locked the screen, dropping the phone on the bed beside me and rolling onto my back.
Why was I reading that shit? Why was I doing that to myself?
Those people weren’t my friends. I didn’t like them, and they definitely didn’t like me. But it still hurt to read comment after comment about how fucking worthless I was as a human being.
I’d tried to switch off from it completely once. I deactivated my accounts and embraced being as invisible as they all liked to joke I was. It was bliss . . . for about two days. Then I opened my locker at school, and a sea of paper came flying out. Hundreds of printouts of posts, comments, and taunts I’d avoided while offline smacked me in the face, quite literally.
“We saw you deactivated your accounts, and we didn’t want you to miss anything important,” Kelsey had said, a self-satisfied smile on her face.
“Can’t believe you’re going to keep killing trees when you can read all this online. Don’t you know we’re in a climate crisis?” Madison’s threat had been clear—get back online or keep receiving printouts.
Defeated, I cleaned up the mess before one of them reported it to a teacher and got me in trouble. Then I reactivated my accounts. What else could I do?
And if I really thought about it, I’d missed the makeup accounts I followed, not to mention talking to the only people my age who didn’t treat me like shit—the girls.
My phone vibrated next to my thigh, and I picked it up reflexively, my heart kicking up a notch, as it did every time. I never knew if the notification would bring a mundane message from one of my parents or an anonymous suggestion I end my own life.
It was Turner.
Turner: Sorry I didn’t reply sooner. It’s been a crazy day. I had to help my dad with something. Did you get the math homework done?
I smiled and responded immediately, not even caring if that looked as if I’d been up just staring at my phone, waiting for him to message me. I was so happy to hear from him.
Chapter 6
I POURED SALT into the shaker and passed it to Chelsea. She screwed the top on while I did the next one, both of us taking our time, leaning on the end of the counter.
Barry, the cook, was out back having a break, and Leah had taken the night off. Tuesday nights were always quiet, so a good part of my shift was spent refilling the salt, pepper, and sugar shakers and restocking the takeaway cups, along with general cleaning and tidying. And of course, gossiping with Chelsea. Or rather she’d gossip, talking a million miles an hour, while I dropped in the occasional “OMG!” or “Are you serious?”
She used to talk a lot about her boyfriend and his friends, but they’d broken up recently, and now she talked more about some new course she wanted to do.
“Sorry, what was it called?” I realized I’d zoned out and overfilled the last saltshaker. I mopped up my mess as she repeated what she’d been saying.
“BestLyf.” She huffed. I was pretty sure that was the same thing my mom had been talking about the other day. “You OK, girl? You seem more quiet than usual. Distracted.”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry. Just tired.” I’d been staying up way too late talking to Turner on the balcony or on the phone. I gave her a smile, and she launched right back in.
“Well, remember the info session I mentioned a couple of weeks ago?” She waved the saltshaker lid around animatedly as she talked.
“Uh-huh.” I nodded and glanced around the diner, making sure the three currently occupied tables didn’t need anything.
“Well, it was so good. I mean, I only went because I had nothing better to do, and that chick I met at yoga was raving about it, and she seemed nice, but it was totally worth it. They even had sushi platters out after, and I didn’t have to worry about dinner.” She chuckled, and I gave her a wide smile. That girl was obsessed with raw fish. “It was the first time in, like, a month I managed to not think about Dave for more than ten fucking minutes.” At the mention of her ex, her face fell.
I dropped the large box of salt and squeezed her hand. “He didn’t deserve you.”
“No, he did not.” She squared her shoulders, and we got back to work. “I mean, I came out here for him. I left all my friends and my family back in Illinois because I thought we were in love and creating a life together. Then six months after we move here, he dumps me and moves to San Francisco! He is such a fucking asshole.”
I shushed her, glancing around at the patrons again.
She cringed. “Sorry. Anyway, I’ve been thinking about moving to San Fran myself
, just to stick it to him, ya know? But it’s so expensive. And then I was thinking about moving home, but I haven’t told my mom that we broke up yet, and I’ve kinda lost touch with my friends and . . . I dunno. Anyway, I think I’m gonna stay now. That info session really helped put things in perspective for me. I learned that it’s OK to put myself and my happiness first, so that’s what I’m gonna do.”
“You learned all that from one free info session? Wow.”
“No, silly.” She grinned. We finished with the salt and moved on to the sugar. “I’ve been to three free info sessions, and the other night I went to my first workshop, which they charge for, but it was so worth it.”
“You went to four events in two weeks?” I asked, a little surprised.
“Yeah! I mean, it’s not like I had anything better to do, and I was learning so much and meeting all these amazing, successful people. I think it’s lucky that BestLyf has one of its centers right here in Devilbend. Makes it possible for them to offer more events, ya know?”
“Uh-huh. Lucky. I’m really happy for you, Chelsea. It’s good to see you so positive again.” I didn’t know much about this program, but I wanted to be supportive.
“Thank you.” She beamed. “Hey, you should come. They’re super welcoming to everyone. It’s a really flexible program that’s tailored to your individual needs, the further along you get. The main focus is always on helping you be your best self—whatever that means for you.”
“Uh, yeah, maybe . . .”
The bell above the door dinged, saving me from having to awkwardly avoid going to whatever motivational self-help crap Chelsea had gotten involved in.
“I got it.” I rushed to the door before she could say anything else.
Donna, Harlow, and Amaya walked in wearing their school uniforms, looking cute in their knee-high socks and so pretty. I’d never look that pretty. The table of college guys in the corner watched them with unconcealed interest.
“Well, hello there, fair maidens.” I gave them a mock bow. “Welcome to our humble establishment. How may I be of service this evening?”
Donna and Amaya chuckled, but Harlow jumped right into the ridiculousness with me. “Your finest table, wench. We’re weary travelers in need of a warm meal to fill our bellies and a pitcher of your best mead.”
“Who you callin’ wench, bitch?” I dropped the act and stepped forward to give them each a hug before leading them to a booth.
“That uniform looks amazing on you.” Amaya tugged on the edge of my stained blue apron.
I gave her a skeptical look. “Please.”
“I’m serious. The apron cinches you in at the waist and accentuates your curves. I’d kill for half your boobs.” She grabbed her own admittedly smaller boobs and looked down at her modest cleavage. The table of college guys started squawking and carrying on, nudging each other like a flock of seagulls.
We all rolled our eyes at them.
“What are you guys doing here?” I asked, changing the topic.
“We went shopping after school and thought we’d grab dinner before heading home,” Donna said, perusing the menu.
“Oh, OK. What can I get you?” I pulled my pen and pad out of my apron pocket, fighting to keep my smile from shaking. I knew they did things without me, had their own lives—how could they not when we went to different schools and had other social circles? Or rather, they had other people they hung out with. I was just alone all the time. It still hurt to be reminded of it.
“You mentioned you were working tonight, so we thought we’d come see you,” Harlow added. My smile became more genuine.
“I’ll have the cheeseburger with a side of fries and a strawberry milkshake, and do you guys wanna share the loaded nachos?” Amaya looked up to find us all staring at her. “What?” She dropped the menu and crossed her arms. “I’m fucking hungry.”
I had no idea how that amount of food would even fit into her tiny stomach, but I recovered first. “Hey, no judgment. The nachos are really good.”
The others ordered, and Donna asked when my break was. I put their order in and, when it was ready, told Chelsea I was taking my break and went to sit with them for a little while.
I stole some of their nachos, Amaya playfully batting my hand back, but the ding of the bell over the door yanked my attention away.
Jayden’s dad walked into the diner in a suit but no tie, the top few buttons of his shirt undone. He was off the clock.
He paused at the door and scanned the room, then smiled and walked forward when he spotted someone. Chelsea. I frowned, completely tuning out the girls as I focused on their exchange.
She smiled widely, as if he’d just handed her a million dollars and not a folded-up scrap of paper. She slipped the paper into her apron pocket, and they spoke briefly before Boyd extended his hand. Chelsea took it, and he covered her hand with his other one, holding on for an inappropriately long time while leaning in to speak into her ear.
Then, as unexpectedly as he’d appeared, he walked back out the door.
What the hell was going on? Was Chelsea having an affair with Jayden’s dad? My stomach rolled at the thought. He was at least fifteen years older than her, but it would explain her sudden good mood and positive outlook. Was he even married though? I’d never cared to learn about Jayden’s family life.
“Earth to Mena!” Harlow waved a hand in front of my face as the others laughed.
“Huh? Sorry!” I snapped out of it. I had enough problems of my own to worry about, and I didn’t want to waste what time I had left with my friends thinking about anyone with the last name Burrows.
We talked shit, discussed the latest episode of the webtoon we were all reading, ranked the college guys in order of hotness. My break was over way too soon, but it was nice to spend time with them and feel normal for half an hour.
“I would’ve said to just hang out with your friends, Philly, but . . .” Chelsea smiled apologetically as she picked up two plates from the servery.
“It’s all good.” I waved her off. A few more people had come in for dinner, and we really couldn’t slack off anymore.
The girls hung around a bit longer, then came to say goodbye when there was a lull.
“It was so nice to see you guys.” I held on to them each a little longer than I had saying hello. I hated saying goodbye, even though I knew I didn’t mean as much to them as they meant to me.
“Same. Come over on the weekend.” Harlow bounced on the spot, her big headphones jostling on her chest.
“Yeah, we can have another pool sesh before the weather turns to shit.” Donna rolled her eyes.
“I gotta work.” I huffed. The weather was already getting cold. Fall was beginning to turn the leaves golden, and I needed a cardigan to sit out on the balcony in the evenings.
“What about during the week?” Amaya asked.
“Homework, and I don’t have a car . . .” I couldn’t get to their place on the nice side of town without a car, and my parents were never home early enough to drive me.
“God, I keep forgetting. I’m such a bitch.” Donna looked guilty. “We’ll come pick you up one night. We’ll sort it out later, OK? Get back to work.”
“Sounds good. I can tell you about this guy I’ve been talking to.”
“What?!” Amaya stopped midturn and faced me again. “Way to bury the lede.”
“Yeah, we’ve been here all night, and you only mention this now?” Harlow whacked me on the arm.
Donna’s eyes just sparkled, her smile brilliant and greedy. She wagged a finger in my face. “You’re not getting away with this. There will be questions, missy. So many questions.”
“And I will provide answers,” I promised. “But I really gotta get back to work. Bye!”
I rushed away without waiting for a response. When I looked over my shoulder, Donna was dragging the other two out the door as they glared at me.
I held in a laugh and went to clear a table. It was nice to have them so interested in some
thing going on with me—even if it was more because of the boy-related gossip than anything else. But as my shift came to a close, I started to worry about what exactly I would tell them. “Oh, I started talking to him on my balcony, and he goes to my school, and I’ve seen him (he’s really hot, BTW—way out of my league), but he has no idea what I look like. Also, we’ve kissed. Also, I’m pretty sure I’m falling in love with him.”
Fuck my life . . .
_______________
The next time I saw Turner, the sight of his broad shoulders, encased in a dark gray hoodie, stopped me in my tracks before I made it around the corner. I’d spent so much time silently observing him I’d know his build, his mannerisms, anywhere.
I just wasn’t expecting to see him at the bottom of the back stairs in the dingy end of the English and humanities wing. The last two classrooms had busted windows or other issues and weren’t even used. I went out of my way to take these stairs from time to time to avoid bumping into Madison and her friends, or Jayden and his friends. I could count on one hand the number of people I’d seen in this part of the school.
“Just tell me what to do to prove . . . please!” I missed half of what he said as I silently plastered myself against the wall, tightly gripping the strap of my bag.
I was about to walk away, risk the main stairs, but the desperation in his voice kept me glued to the spot.
“. . . that simple.” The small voice that responded was female. Now I definitely wasn’t going anywhere.
“OK, then how about—” Turner’s ocean-deep voice had some ripples in it now, but a sharp shush cut him off.
He resumed talking, but I couldn’t make out what he was saying.
I chewed on my bottom lip and tried to make myself walk away, but curiosity got the better of me. I took a deep breath and leaned around the corner.
Bully Me: Class of 2020 Page 47