Bully Me: Class of 2020

by Shantel Tessier

Somebody—nobody knows who—hit the man in the back of the head with a baseball bat and left him inside one of the treehouses until morning. After that, he pretty much gave up. We have exactly two police officers in Devil Springs, and they have far more important things to worry about on Devils’ Day than a bunch of teens getting drunk and fucking in some stupid luxury cabins made for tourists.

  I’m standing at the edge of the clearing, the bonfire leaping and dancing in front of me, reaching orange claws up to the heaven where a crescent moon sits—much like the one on the Crescent Prep logo. Much like the painting I just destroyed. My heart aches a little at the thought, but I push the emotion aside, eyes scanning the gathered crowd for any signs of the Knight Crew.

  They’re not hard to find, gathered around a very familiar yellow car with mangled eyelashes. Calix lounges on the roof like a dark god, smiling at his worshippers, his dark mask fixed in place—both the physical one he’s wearing, and the emotional one he uses as a shield.

  “Karma, listen, I … don’t expect you to believe me.” Calix turns away, his face tight, raw with emotion in a way I’ve never seen. Either he’s a really good actor or else … “But I never hated you.” He looks up at me with a burning intensity, one that steals my breath away, makes my heart pound like thunder. “I’m in love with you.”

  I choke on shame and guilt, my hands curling into fists at my sides.

  “Hey, let’s not start tonight off with bad thoughts,” Luke says, outfitted in a sequin dress shirt, black slacks, and boots. If it weren’t for the hideous goblin mask on her face, I’d say she was as handsome as I’d ever seen her.

  “This is fascinating,” April murmurs, her green eyes sparkling behind her glasses as she takes in the scene like a grad student might observe subjects for their master’s thesis. “It’s so … wild.”

  “Hedonistic, isn’t it?” Luke asks, flashing a sharp grin. “Full of debauchery? A bed of licentiousness? Heathenish? Corrupt? Primal? Pagan?”

  “Okay, Luke, we get it,” I say with a small laugh, feeling a bead of sweat drip down my spine. I can’t believe they dragged my car over here, I think, seething on the inside, wondering how the fuck the Knight Crew managed that one when I couldn’t get a tow truck myself. My initial response is to freak out, and I’m pretty sure Luke knows it.

  “Look, you crashed into his car, this is their retaliation. Don’t react to it. That’s what they want you to do.” Luke looks askance at the Knight Crew, luxuriating on the remains of my car like it’s a chaise lounge in a faerie palace. I have to close my eyes to keep my murderous thoughts at bay. “My parents always give in at Christmas and send me money; I’ll buy you a new car.”

  I open my eyes and glance over at Luke and April, both of them watching me with wary expressions, like they’re prepared for me to fly off the handle. Because the three of us are Crescent Prep outcasts, bullied by the Knight Crew, always hiding in one corner or another, I sometimes forget that even among misfits, I’m the pariah. I’m the only one at this school who’s poor, who gives a shit about a five hundred-dollar junker.

  “Luke,” I start, but she cuts me off, putting her hands on my shoulders and giving me a squeeze.

  “I can you get a much nicer car than Little Bee—as much as I appreciated her lovely eyelashes.” She grins and I make myself smile back, even though that’s not what I want. I don’t want charity. I earned the money for that car by working at my mothers’ shop.

  Instead of saying any of that aloud, I just smile and give Luke a hug that she returns before pulling back and looking me over. I’m wearing black skinny jeans, painted with glitter, and an oversized red sweater that shows off a bit of midriff. Some of the girls here are dressed in designer gowns, their shimmering trains dragging through leaves and sticks and mud, and not caring that the outfits they’re destroying cost thousands of dollars.

  “I’m not up to snuff on the dress code, huh?” I ask as Luke cocks a brow, throwing a glance back at April, who’s still dressed in her school uniform. Her parents sent her to Crescent Prep with two pairs of pajamas, two PE outfits, and every possible combination of the academy uniform—the sweater vest, the blazer, the bowtie, the silk tie, the fur-lined boots, the Mary Janes. But that’s it. They won’t give her a cent for maternity clothes—or anything else for that matter—until she agrees to give up her baby. Clearly, they don’t know April as well as Luke and I do because, even though we’ve only known her for a few months, it’s clear she has every intention of keeping her child.

  “You look edgy, too cool for school,” Luke declares, turning back to me with another smile. “It’s April who’s not up to snuff.”

  “I’m pregnant,” she says with a loose shrug of her shoulders, slipping on the delicate pixie mask with the sparkly antennae on the top. She’s cut out the bit between the eye holes, leaving room for her glasses. The effect is … interesting, to say the least. “I don’t have to participate; I just get to observe.” She takes off before Luke can stop her, wading into the fray. Most of the other students go out of their way to avoid her, unsure how far, exactly, they can take the bullying of a pregnant girl. Looks like some of my fellow students have scraps of morality still clinging to their hollow, wicked bones.

  “I’m gonna keep an eye on her,” Luke says, already nervous at the distance between them, and I nod. She gives me one, last look before she takes off after April, and I get the sense that I’m about to be admonished here. “Don’t go looking for trouble tonight, okay?” I just stare back at her and Luke hits me in the shoulder, a little harder than necessary. “Karma, please?”

  “Okay,” I say, but she narrows her brown eyes at me, unconvinced, and I reach up to flick the long, bulbous tip of her goblin nose. “I won’t go looking for trouble, I promise.” But that doesn’t mean trouble won’t come looking for me.

  She nods, once, satisfied and then takes off through the gyrating bodies around the bonfire. The crowd doesn’t part nearly as easily for her as it did for April. While they might hesitate a little at bullying a heavily pregnant girl, Luke isn’t afforded the same protections. I frown as she squeezes between them, and one of the girls grabs onto the gauzy fairy wings on Luke’s back, the ones she made herself, and rips a hole in them.

  I move forward to help as the girl dances away, laughing, but Luke gives me another look from inside the crowd and I pause, right at the edge of the fire’s light, where the shadows live.

  “Happy Devils’ Day,” Barron whispers on my right side, startling me. He’s sucking on another lollipop, an infuriating habit of his, clicking the candy against his white teeth as he looks up at me. He’s crouched low, still wearing the red leather mask on his face, his outfit akin to something my mother might paint on a troll prince, this white jacket with long tails that drag across the ground, even as he rises to his full height. The ends are curled and dashed with a bit of black glitter. Of course, he’s shirtless underneath, wearing black jeans and boots covered in charms.

  He looks like fucking trouble.

  See, I knew it’d find me, and much quicker than I’d thought.

  “What do you want?” I ask, feeling a drip of sweat trail down my spine. It’s cold out here, fall leaves still clinging to the trees but threatening to let loose at any moment and welcome winter in. But the fire? It burns hot; I can feel it on my face, a singeing, violent sort of heat.

  I take a step away from Barron, and he follows.

  Around his neck, he wears a rusted, old key. I’m pretty sure I know what it goes to … and I want it.

  Licking my lips, I lead Barron just outside the edge of the firelight, leaning my back against a tree and popping my boot up to rest against the bark.

  “I think you should come over and talk to us,” he says, his face bereft of emotion, like a cold slate. His eyes—one a warm, auburn brown and the other a pale blue—watch me carefully, like he thinks I might bolt. Instead, I reach up to adjust my mask, making the glass beads and metal charms in my hair tinkle. It’s the only rea
l bit of dressing up I did besides putting on some makeup. Last year, I sewed myself a new gown for Devils’ Day, but then I let Calix defile me in it, and I can’t bear to look at it.

  I decided this year that a sexy, modern look might work a bit better.

  “Maybe I will,” I say, as if I have some choice in the matter. If I don’t go, eventually Barron will just drag me over there. “But I should warn you, I’ve had a bit to drink.” Lie. But I don’t feel bad lying to him, or any of the Knight Crew for that matter. They don’t deserve my honesty or anyone else’s. Stepping forward, I slide my hands up Barron’s bare chest, enjoying the sweaty planes of his muscles as I curl my fingers together behind his neck. God, this is painful, I think, lying even to myself. I’m pretending I don’t like touching him, like this is some sort of chore … but it’s not.

  “You must’ve had quite a bit to drink,” he observes, but he doesn’t move, reaching up to pull the candy from between his lips. I raise up on my tiptoes, skirting my tongue along his bottom lip. He lets me do it, too. Even though he hates me. Even though I hate him.

  Our mouths slide together with a surprising amount of heat, making my skin prickle with gooseflesh. This is all an exercise, I tell myself. But that’s not true, is it? I’m … enjoying this. And I’m disgusted with myself for it.

  Barron leans forward, pushing the kiss a step further, sliding his own tongue between my lips. I use that moment to snap the key from his neck, tucking it quickly into my back pocket as I return his attentions with a sweep of my own tongue.

  And then I pull back and he lets me go, frowning, like he isn’t quite sure of my motivations, like he suspects that I’m up to something. He’d be right, of course, but he’s also a dick with a dick. That comes first, right?

  “Come with me,” he repeats, sticking the lollipop back in his mouth, as if he didn’t just let me kiss him, as if I didn’t have his sweat on my palms or the sweet taste of watermelon candy in my mouth.

  Works for me.

  With a shrug, I follow Barron around the edges of the revelry, to the bright yellow splotch my car makes against the green and brown of the woods. The sun’s already gone down, leaving the bonfire and the scattered torches to give off the only light. Not too far from us, there’s a makeshift stage set up with a band—all dressed in masks of their own—testing their instruments.

  Live music, what an upgrade.

  I suspect we have the Knight Crew to thank for that. From what I hear, the public school—Devil Springs High—has these outrageous, wild parties in an old junkyard, with music blasting from the open doors of a car someone borrowed from their parents. The beer is cheap, the masks are rubber Halloween decorations or shitty paper cutouts, and the Devils’ Day Party is legit.

  It feels forced out here, with the stuffy faces of the Crescent Prep students, the fancy masks, the over-the-top outfits, like two different faerie courts battling it out to see who can be the worst, the most lewd, the most wanton, ribald, and lascivious. Although the Devil Springs High party sounds like more fun, I have no doubt who would win in a contest.

  Nothing refines cruelty like unlimited resources.

  “Looks like Trailer Park didn’t take our warnings seriously,” Raz bites out, pretending to smile beneath his mask. But his eyes look irritated and weepy from the gravel I threw in them earlier, although it seems he didn’t bother to take his contacts out. He’s shirtless, the tattoos on his chest impossible to make out in the low light from the fire. “Or maybe she just likes a firm hand?”

  Sonja chuckles, seated beside Calix, her red hair up in a bun, a crown on her head made up of thorny branches and gold glitter. She watches me with eyes like emeralds, ready to lap up whatever drops of blood or tears I might shed.

  Calix says nothing, one long leg extended, the other bent at the knee. His eyes are as black as the night sky above the trees, starless, moonless, depthless. He, too, has a crown on his head, but his looks less like a prop and more like the real thing. There are berries threaded onto the ends of the branches and as I watch, one of them drips red onto Calix’s forehead, like blood. He swipes it off with a single finger and then sucks it into his mouth.

  “I’m fairly certain I asked you not to come tonight,” he muses after a moment, clearly not concerned with hurrying this conversation along. After all, he has all night to torment his fellow Crescent Prep students. There’s a girl named Pearl that he really doesn’t like. She’d probably be a part of our little group of misfits if she didn’t call April a whore, Luke a freak, and refer to me like all the others—as Trailer Park. “But then, you started the day off by crashing into my car.” Calix’s face tightens up slightly and he sits up, slinging an arm across his knee. His eyes are ringed with liner beneath the mask, his lids shadowed with black. But it’s his mouth that really gets me, a slash of awful menace that curves to the side in a smirk. “You’re not particularly concerned with consequences today, now are you?”

  “You don’t tell me what to do,” I snap back, feeling my anger ride hot and wild inside of me. For years, I’ve tried to keep my cool, but my patience is wearing thin. “None of you do. If I want to be at this party, I have every right.”

  “Mm.” Calix looks to Sonja, then Raz, then Barron. “What do you think? Should we lock her in?”

  “Lock her in,” Raz agrees, grinning as Calix hops off the car and I feel my heartbeat pick up speed. But I prepared for this. Fuck, I was hoping for it. I yank the keychain off my belt loop, the one that looks like lipstick. Twisting the top off, I press down on the nozzle and shoot pepper spray in an arc, not caring who I hit.

  And then I turn and run.

  See, trouble found me. I just retaliated.

  I can hear screaming and groaning behind me—pretty sure I nailed every member of the Knight Crew and most of their followers, too—but I don’t stop running. Shoving my way through the crowd near the bonfire, I make my way past the tables laden with alcohol before bursting into the abandoned train that sits behind the entrance to the cave.

  There are plenty of people in here, too, and it’s standing room only, but that doesn’t stop me from working my way through the crowd to the front of the train. On either side of me, couples are entwined in intense make-out sessions … and more. There’s a lot of sex happening on this train, but even with all the kissing and groping, the masks stay on. The illusion is there. I wonder how many of these hookups are Devils’ Day tricks? Each kiss like a venomous bite that won’t be felt until morning …

  Inside the train itself, I find the conductor’s seat empty and slump down on it, panting hard and holding my hand to my chest. My heart feels like it’s about to explode from my body and go bouncing, bloody and wild, down the length of the train. But I can’t rest, not yet. My plan is only half-executed.

  After all, I can’t enjoy the party with the Knight Crew hunting me.

  I check the grimy windows to make sure I don’t see any of them waiting for me and then slip back outside, pulling the rusted key from my pocket.

  There’s only one place out here for the Knight Crew to wash their eyes—and that’s inside the Devils’ Den.

  The shadows keep me hidden as I creep back around to the front of the cave. The entrance is about fourteen feet wide, maybe seven feet tall, at most. Just a few steps in and I’d have to crouch down. The thing is, I don’t plan on putting a single foot inside this cave.

  On the right side of the entrance, there’s a metal sign that talks about the importance of the Devils’ Den and Devil Springs in general. During the spring and summer months, it draws quite the crowd. Supposedly, the waters found deep within the cave have healing properties.

  Guess the Knight Crew will find that out firsthand, huh?

  There’s a rusty gate made up of spiky metal poles in varying sizes, so that when it closes, the cave and the spring beyond it are completely off-limits. It’s supposed to be locked through winter and fall, and then opened on the first day of spring, but somehow, year after year, the students o
f Crescent Prep find a way to open it.

  This year, Barron had the key.

  And now it’s mine.

  I pause at the edge of the cave entrance, listening to the snarling and cursing from inside. Someone’s lit paper lanterns all down the sloping path that leads to the water, stalactites dripping from above, stalagmites creating a maze of obstacles that make it hard to get in and out of the den without tripping.

  It’s difficult to see from up here, with the angle of the sloping ground, but I can just make out Raz’s blonde hair and the deep rumble of Barron’s voice. Calix and Sonja got the worst of the pepper spray, so I just assume they’re down there, too, washing their eyes out with spring water.

  My hand wraps the rusted edge of the gate and I start to drag it into place.

  “I’m so disappointed in you, Karma,” Calix says, just before he wraps an arm around my waist and hauls me back. One of his hands clamps over my mouth as he puts his lips against my ear, breath fanning against the side of my neck. “Be quiet, and this doesn’t have to hurt quite so much.” My elbow goes back and hits Calix in the stomach, but his stupid abs are like rocks and the move doesn’t seem to have much effect.

  He drags me back across the gravel as I struggle, reaching for my pepper spray again and accidentally knocking the keychain to the ground instead. If I don’t get free from him, he’ll call his friends up here and I’ll be outnumbered. Lock her in, they’d said. I’m not exactly sure what that means, but maybe they were planning to do the same thing to me as I was to them?

  “Karma!”

  Relief washes through me in a wave as Luke appears in her sparkly blue shirt, racing across the dirt toward me. April stands behind her, eyes wide, one arm banded across her belly. With a curse, Calix releases me, but it’s too late. Not for him, but for me.

  “Where the fuck is she?” It’s Raz, ducking out the entrance of the cave with Raz and Sonja on his heels, a good half-dozen of their little followers on his tail. Two of the girls are dressed in diaphanous gowns of yellow and blue, but their faces are masked with long-tongued demons that hide their mouths. The boys that are with them are all wearing intricately painted monster masks that I recognize as coming from the shop next door to my moms’. Each one is worth several hundred dollars, at least.