Bully Me: Class of 2020

by Shantel Tessier

  Of course, I don’t know that for sure. My complaint was anonymous, so they’re not supposed to know. I just always assumed they’d found out somehow.

  “Report us?” Calix asks, his voice like a cool winter night. When dark first starts to fall, when the sun first sets, and the quiet and cold set in, you convince yourself you can last until first light. But slowly, hour after hour, it just gets colder and darker and quieter until you find yourself shivering, half-frozen, and counting down the minutes until insanity, frostbite, or death. That’s Calix, in a nutshell. “You’re not going to report us. Karma, ne fais pas l’idiot.” Don’t be a fool. “You hit my car this morning—on purpose. I’m just going to assume you don’t have insurance. And we both know you don’t have any money.” Calix reaches out and runs a finger down the side of my face. I consider biting it, but that won’t make my day any easier.

  I’m surrounded.

  I settle for glaring, my hands balled into fists, my body quivering with unspent rage.

  “Consider us even—for now.” He smiles at me again, and then leans forward, putting his lips near mine. “But tonight is the Devils’ Day Party. We both remember what happened last year.” I haul back and slap him in the face as hard as I can, and he rears back, a sharp frown curving his lips as his cheek turns pink.

  “What a feisty little kitty-cat,” Raz growls, grabbing me by the hair and yanking my head back. The crowd around us hisses, as if they’re as wild and fae as the masks they’re wearing. “Do you like pissing us off? Because you’re so damn good at it.” He looks up, glancing to Calix before running his tongue over his lips—hungrily. “What do you think we could do with her this year? If I confess my love, do you think she’ll fuck me, too?”

  I jerk my hair from Raz’s grasp, despite the pain in my scalp, but when I make a run for it, Barron grabs me, folding me up in strong arms and yanking me back to front against his hard body. The sleeves of his white hoodie envelop me as he sucks on a lollipop and clinks it against his teeth.

  Raz peels bits of purple hair from his fingertips in disgust and gives Calix a look. Just then, the bell rings, and one of the administrators appears on the front steps, watching us with an expectant look.

  Nobody at Crescent Prep gives a shit about what the staff has to say, but—despite their bravado—they sure as hell care about news of their disobedience getting back to their parents. Most of them have a lot to lose, after all—trust funds, inheritances, monthly allowances worth more than my parents’ yearly wages. There’s always very, very careful to keep their games hidden.

  “Let’s tie her to a tree and leave her there overnight, see what happens when the devils come out to play tonight,” Raz suggests, fingering the edge of my now dirty academy jacket. His red eyes gleam as he rakes his other hand over his dirty blonde hair.

  “Mm. We’ll deal with her later,” Calix says, cupping my face in a cool hand and looking at me with crow-black eyes. “That is, if she’s brave enough to show for the party tonight.”

  “I think I’d rather deal with her now,” Raz says, reminding me that they might be called the Knight Crew to the rest of us, but that Calix Knight is hardly in charge of either Raz or Barron. No, I have no delusions that if Raz made up his mind to hurt me here and now, the other two would do little to stop it.

  Calix looks bored as he stands up straight, the wind ruffling bits of dark hair around his black devil mask. He turns away, pausing just once to glance over his shoulder, a magnificent halo of cruelty in his cold half-smile.

  “Do whatever you want. I’d rather keep to my family’s good graces.” He turns away, leaving me to Raz and Barron as he walks across the parking lot in his royal purple slacks and white jacket, as if the academy uniform is a set of plush robes and a scepter, like he’s some sort of king among princes.

  Barron shoves me forward, knocking me back to my knees on the gravel. I turn back to glare at him, fisting my hands in the loose rock and readying myself to throw a handful or two into his face. His brown and blue eyes bore into mine as he squats down and knocks the lollipop around in his mouth, his elbows on his knees, his white hoodie stained with charcoal at the ends of the sleeves.

  “Don’t come to the party tonight, Karma,” he says, rising to his feet just as I turn to launch the gravel at him. It hits him in the knees of his slacks as he stalks past, leaving me alone with Raz and Sonja. The rest of the group has already started to filter back toward the front entrance, glancing hungrily over their shoulders for one last look at whatever delicious cruelty the remaining Knight Crew might inflict.

  “Whatever you do, don’t get caught. One more call to Daddy Loveren and you’re in deep shit. We need you at the party tonight.” Sonja gives me one, last scathing look before leaning down just far enough to whisper in my ear. “How did you ever believe he could love you?” she asks, like she feels sorry for me.

  I decide it’s best to say nothing.

  If she leaves, it’ll just be me and Raz. I can probably fight him off, but I’m not sure if I could take them both on. I’m an artist, not a fighter. Although, over the years, I’ve tried. I never take their shit lying down, but I’ve never been able to match them blow for blow either.

  Sonja stalks off and I look up to see Raz staring down at me with narrowed red eyes.

  “You’re fucking disgusting, do you know that?” he asks, but I say nothing. Instead, the fingers of my right hand curl into the dirt and dust, and I ready myself for a fight. Raz is strong, but I don’t have to beat him. I just have to last long enough for a teacher to hear the commotion and come running. “Don’t let me see you at that party tonight, Trailer Park.”

  Raz grabs my bookbag as he passes, reaching inside and tearing out my lunch. He throws my bag aside and keeps going, twisting the top off the kombucha I packed this morning. He takes a drink and wrinkles his nose as I climb to my feet, brushing gravel and blood down my knees. When I move to grab my bookbag, Raz makes a sound of disgust.

  “Is this that rotten hippie tea shit?” he asks, turning and throwing what’s left of the drink into my face. The smile that lights his own face is wicked and awful. “Too bad. If you’d packed a soda, I would’ve just drank it. Try not to be so goddamn weird, you fucking liberal snowflake. I know it must be hard, with those dyke moms of yours.”

  “At least my parents love me,” I say, the words snapping hot and fast from the end of my tongue. As soon as they leave my lips, I almost regret them. Almost. Raz’s entire body goes stiff, but the cruel smile doesn’t leave his sharp lips.

  “I bet they do,” he replies, making a ‘V’ with his fingers and sticking his tongue between them in a lewd gesture. My eyes widen and fury sweeps over me in a hot wave. I chuck the dirt and gravel as hard as I can, right into Raz’s red eyes. He doubles over with a sharp sound—I bet that really hurts with those contacts of his—but I’m not done. Years of frustration overwhelm me, and I charge him, knocking him onto his back as he struggles to get the debris from his eyes.

  “Miss Sartain!” a voice shouts, and before I get a chance to do anything more than knock Raz over, hands are grabbing me by the upper arms and dragging me back. Mrs. Dupré kneels down next to Raz as Mr. Aldrich, the biology teacher, pulls me up and away from my bully.

  The last thing I see before he marches me into the office is the awful smile on Raz’s face.

  Chapter Four

  I’M GIVEN A week’s worth of detention for attacking Raz, despite my protests. The administration can only punish what they’ve seen with their own eyes, and as far as they could tell, my attack on Raz Loveren was unprovoked.

  But I know they don’t miss the wet, stickiness of my clothing or the bloody patches on my knees. It’s just easier for them to punish the poor kid than the son of a prominent senator. My mothers don’t donate extra money to the school to make up for their unruly child, not the way Raz’s family does.

  So, even though it’s Devils’ Day, even though everyone—including most of the staff—will be headin
g out to some party or another tonight, I’m forced to sit for almost two hours after school in the library. At one point, I see Raz walk by the window outside, shouting into his phone, but I can’t hear what he’s saying, and I don’t care. My only hope is that his asshole dad is finally cutting him off.

  When I’m finally released, I check my phone for messages from Luke and April. I sent them home to get ready for the party, promising that I’d get a tow truck for Little Bee. Neither of them wanted to leave, but April relies on Luke for rides, and she’s too far along in her pregnancy to sit around an empty school waiting for me.

  I brush my fingers against Little Bee’s fake eyelashes, attached to her headlights and only partially mangled from crashing into Calix’s Aston Martin. There’s only one towing service in Devil Springs, and when I dial them up, I get a pre-recorded message from the owner about taking the day off. If it’s an emergency, he says, call the police. Well, that’s hardly an option for me, is it? After hitting Calix’s car this morning, I can’t make a big deal out of this. Whatever damage I did to his fancy ride is worth far more than a car I got from my neighbor for a few hundred bucks.

  My thumb swipes down the screen of my phone, searching my contacts for a possible ride. Crescent Prep is about twenty minutes away from Devil Springs proper, and everyone I know is either prepping for the parties tonight, or going out of their way to avoid them. My aunt’s already left to visit a friend in Little Rock, and my moms are both at home in their studio, phones set to silent. If I call them, they’ll answer, but then they’ll want to know what happened to Little Bee and they’ll make a big deal out of it.

  I don’t have the energy tonight.

  Instead, I decide to walk to the bus stop.

  It’s a good thirty-minute walk, but I enjoy the peace and quiet, bookbag swinging by my side as I cut through the woods, taking a shortcut past the creek and around the edge of the lake. The terrain’s a bit rougher, but there’s little chance of running into anyone out here, so the extra effort it takes is worth it.

  Fortunately, I make it to the bus stop just in time to hop on, sighing in relief as my ass hits the seat and I put my head in my hands, forgetting briefly about my mask. My fingers come away stained with glitter as I tear it off and clutch it in my lap. After the crap I’ve been through today, I’d be an idiot to attend the Devils’ Day Party tonight.

  I’d be an idiot not to.

  I can’t let the Knight Crew start dictating where I go and what I do; I never have.

  I lean my head back against the seat for the rest of the drive, not even bothering to open my eyes when we stop and several other people get on. After ten grueling stops in the middle of nowhere, we end up at the edge of Devil Springs, where the Diamond Point Mobile Home park sits, surrounded by trees. It’s not a bad place to live; there’s not a resident here who doesn’t take pride in their home and yard. I’m not ashamed of it, despite what the Knight Crew might want to believe.

  “I’m home!” I call out, tossing my bag on the sofa and knowing that if my moms are in the studio out back, that they won’t hear me. I’m not sure whether I’m relieved or frustrated when Mama Jane peeks her head out of the kitchen.

  “I’m making tea. Do you want some?” I shake my head, and she frowns, slipping back into the kitchen to answer the whistle of the teapot. All around me, art fills the colorful walls from floor-to-ceiling. There are original oil paintings, framed prints, wall hangings made of metal, and mosaic tiles. The entire house is a spectacle, somewhere between a gallery and a maelstrom. “Are you sure you don’t want tea?” Mama Jane asks, reappearing with her red hair coiffed on the top of her head, the only mark on her otherwise perfect clothes and skin a bit of blue paint on her left elbow. An elfin mask sits atop her head, just in front of her bun, the skin speckled with freckles, just like the ones on her real face.

  “I’m sure,” I say, noticing as her eyes drift to my bloodied knees and stained dress shirt. Jane was raised in a house where people didn’t talk about their feelings. That means, of course, that we talk about our feelings a lot here.

  I brace myself for an interrogation, just before my little sisters rush in the back door, covered in paint and wearing matching butterfly masks. They’re not twins, but they might as well be. My moms decided to get pregnant at the same time, with the same donor sperm they used with me. The girls were born two days apart, and they’ve been a pain in my ass ever since.

  “What took you so long to get home?” Emma asks, sweeping her mask back from her gray eyes. They’re a bit bluer than mine, but less green than Katie’s.

  “And where’s Little Bee?” Katie asks, frowning, her own black and orange butterfly mask reminding me of the Diana fritillary necklace I received today. The broken pieces are still in my backpack, a mystery for another day.

  “Broke down,” I say, and Mama Jane cocks a brow at me, holding out the cup of tea I didn’t want. I take it anyway, just to get her off my back. I feel irrationally irritated right now, pissed off at the Knight Crew for my car, for hurting me, for making me feel like they might take things too far one day. I exhale sharply as Jane takes a step closer, opening her mouth to ask about the car.

  “It just wouldn’t start. No big deal. We can deal with it tomorrow.”

  “Karma,” she begins, her voice a warning, but I just need a moment alone to decompress. It’s been a long day, and I still have to decide if I’m going to the party tonight. It feels like giving up to stay home, but at the same time, I’m just so goddamn tired. If anything, that’s what the Knight Crew’s managed to do—wear me down. I could sleep until the end of senior year.

  “Karma, come paint with us,” Emma blurts before Jane gets a chance to continue. “We’re making a mural in the carport. It’s the Horned God.” Cool, a Wiccan deity on the side of our house in a deeply religious small town. I decide to voice my opinion aloud.

  “Great. Another visible sign to tell the world how weird we are.”

  “Karma,” Jane repeats, the softness in her face hardening just a bit. “Your sisters are excited about this project. They’ve been waiting hours for you to come home and look at it. I know you have the party tonight, but can you spare a minute or two please?”

  “You’re right,” I snap back, knowing that my anger’s misplaced, that I should be yelling at Calix or Raz or Barron or Sonja, and not at my family. The stress is just wearing down on me; I can’t take it anymore. “It’s my fault my car broke down, and I got detention for fighting with Raz Loveren, so I’m late. Maybe if you checked your messages as much as you stare at your art, you’d know about it?”

  I turn and storm down the hallway, slamming the door before either of my sisters or my mom can follow. The locks slide into place, and I stuff my headphones in my ears, using my phone to blast the band New Years Day until my head begins to ring.

  I have a text from Luke waiting for me.

  What’s up with the party tonight? April wants to go, but I don’t feel comfortable with her being there. Can you talk some sense into this girl?

  With a sigh, I sink down to the edge of my bed and rub my forehead with my fingers. My easel sits quietly in the corner, mocking me with a tiny canvas covered in black paint and silver stars. I’ve been working on it for months, adding layer after layer until the designs began to pop up off the surface. There’s a crescent moon in the center, a lone tree shining silver beneath it. I’m not sure what I’m going for with the piece. Mama Cathy says all art starts with intention, so if that’s the case, I guess I’m fucked.

  Staring at the piece, I feel my anger start to ride hot and heavy through me.

  Before I can think better of it, I stand up and tear it from the easel, using an X-Acto knife from my desk to score the canvas over and over again, imagining it as Raz’s face. Barron’s. Sonja’s. Calix’s. And then I throw it against the wall and sink to the floor.

  One more year, Karma, that’s it.

  One more year and I’ll be free of the Knight Crew and this stupid,
shitty town.

  But for now, I’m here, and I have to make the best of it.

  I’m going to the party tonight, I tell Luke, tapping out a quick group text to her and April. If you guys want to come, meet me at the bus stop at seven.

  It’s a bit of a copout, ignoring the message that Luke sent me about April—she’s probably right about April staying home—but I’m just not in the mood to deal with it. Instead, I stand up and throw my closet open, looking for something to wear tonight. You know, since my goddamn dress was stolen from the clothesline this morning.

  Whatever I wear, it has to be good.

  Because whatever Devils’ Day tricks the Knight Crew thinks they can pull on me, I’ve got to do better.

  Or worse, rather.

  Much, much worse.

  _______________

  The Devils’ Day Party is always held at Devils’ Den, a remote spring in the bottom of a shallow cave. Just behind it, there’s an old steam train and several passenger cars, sitting on a bit of broken track that leads to nowhere. About a five-minute walk from the spring are several glamping treehouses, locked up and waiting for the spring and summer rush. During the Devils’ Day Party, they’re inevitably broken into and defiled. The owner’s tried everything: security cameras, plywood over the windows, and even once, he sat outside with a shotgun.

  Didn’t matter.