Better Left Buried

by Frisch, Belinda

  The fifth period bell rang and Ms. Buchanan, the freshman art teacher, appeared at the far end of the hall, detention slips in hand.

  “Brea, please listen. It’s not like that.”

  Rachael snickered and whispered something to Pete.

  “You can have him back,” Brea said to her. “I’m done. I quit. You beat me.”

  Pete grabbed Jaxon’s sleeve. “Come on, man. It’s not worth it.”

  “Brea, please listen,” Jaxon said. “I swear, I’m telling the truth.”

  “It’s over.”

  “No, it isn’t,” Rachael said, following her. “Not by a long shot.”

  Brea knew it wasn’t her and Jaxon’s relationship she was talking about.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  The rest of the fifth period gym class was running warm-ups to the sound of Coach Beckwith’s whistle by the time Rachael and Brea arrived at the locker room. Rachael must have texted Amanda because she was waiting for them when they got there.

  Brea hurried to undress before either of them had a chance to start something, her locker in a different row from theirs. Part of her said to skip the class, take the damn zero, but she knew she couldn’t keep avoiding the conflict. The uncertainty of what was about to happen had her in a panic.

  A lock popped. The sound echoed in the tile room that smelled of sweat and feet. Rachael and Amanda whispered back and forth and laughed like a couple of hyenas.

  Brea wadded up her shirt and was standing in nothing but running shorts and her bra when Rachael blocked her in.

  “You know you’re not good enough for Jaxon, right?”

  Amanda stood off-center so Brea had no place to run to.

  “You heard me tell him it was over.” Brea tried to play brave, but there was an unavoidable quiver in her voice.

  Rachael leaned against the locker, shaking her head. “I heard what you said, but that doesn’t stop people from comparing us does it? Do you have any idea how embarrassing that is?”

  “Whatever.” Brea grabbed her shirt and one of her sneakers, preparing to finish getting dressed in the gymnasium if she had to. “I’m out of here.”

  Amanda threw her arm up to block her.

  “Not whatever, freak. I really don’t think you get it.” Rachael grabbed one of Brea’s arms. Amanda grabbed the other. “I tried warning you, but you just don’t listen.”

  “Let me go.” Brea pulled away and Rachael’s nails cut into her skin.

  “Don’t even think about it. Get her over there,” she said to Amanda.

  Brea looked for any sign of what they meant to do, kicking and flailing, digging in her heels. She debated screaming for help, but getting them in trouble only guaranteed things would eventually be worse.

  Amanda slammed her up against the bank of lockers and Rachael grabbed her hair.

  “What are you doing? Cut it out.” Her chest hurt, her heart was pounding so hard. She looked for scissors and tugged opposite the direction Rachael was pulling. “Let go of my hair!”

  “Hold her still, would you?”

  Amanda struggled to keep her grip. “I’m trying.”

  Brea pressed her stocking foot against the cold metal and pushed off in an attempt at throwing Amanda off balance. “Get off me.” Amanda was strong, at least four inches taller, and pissed. “I said, ‘get off’.” Brea’s foot slipped and Amanda slammed her back against the metal.

  Rachael wrapped Brea’s braid around her left hand, forcing her to crane her neck. “Hold the door! Amanda, get the door!”

  Rachael put Brea’s braid between the hinges, slammed the door shut, and locked it.

  Both she and Amanda were in a sweat.

  Brea hung by her hair, tears streaming down her cheeks.

  “Now you know what embarrassed feels like.” Rachael’s laughter echoed louder than the clicks of their cell phone cameras. “Look at her. She’s got the body of a twelve-year-old boy.”

  Amanda nodded in agreement. “What does that say about Jaxon?”

  Rachel laughed just a little less hard, scowling at the insult.

  Brea crossed her arms over her chest and wept, turning her face away.

  “It’s almost worth getting a video,” Rachael said. “How many hits you think something like this gets?”

  Amanda doubled over, her face red and her eyes filled with tears of laughter. “Hey, Brea, good news: we finally figured out how to make you popular.”

  Brea thought she’d die from embarrassment. A thousand scenarios played out in her head as she imagined videos and photos uploaded to social media. She told herself the girls wouldn’t risk their graduations, but part of her knew better. Their families had money and a habit of buying them out of trouble.

  Probably why they were always in it.

  “At least now Jaxon can see what he was missing,” Rachael said.

  “Nothing much.” Amanda wiped her eyes.

  The locker room door opened. Amanda and Rachael fell silent.

  The door lock clicked and they backed away. Rachael immediately stopped filming.

  Brea turned to see what they were looking at, but her hair kept her in place.

  “Put the phones on the floor.” Harmony. “I’m not going to ask twice.”

  Rachael and Amanda complied.

  “Look, this doesn’t have to get out of hand. It’s done,” Amanda said.

  Harmony moved into Brea’s periphery and set a hand on her shoulder. In her other hand was a pocket knife. “Are you all right?”

  “Please, just drop this,” Rachael said.

  “Shut the hell up. Brea, answer me. Are you okay?”

  Brea’s head was pounding, but more than anything, she was afraid of what was about to happen. “I’m fine. Harmony, don’t do anything crazy.”

  “Crazy. Man, do I hear that word a lot.” Harmony blocked the only clear shot to the door. “Step on the phones.”

  “What? I’m not going to do that,” said Rachael.

  Harmony grabbed her by the hair and held the knife to her cheek. Amanda could have run, but most likely knew better. Sometimes running made things worse. “Smash the phone and save your friend the scar.” Amanda stomped her phone screen and it cracked. “Again. Harder.” She let go of Rachael. “You, too.”

  Rachael tearfully complied, smashing her phone into bits.

  “You realize that doesn’t change anything.” Amanda had always been the tougher of the two. “The photos and videos are backed up. Breaking the phones doesn’t erase what’s on them.”

  “I’m not stupid,” Harmony grinned, “and I’m guessing neither are you two bitches. Smart phones back up, but smart people know enough to delete those files. Call the smashed cells a lesson. If I hear so much as a hint that anyone’s seen what was on them, that you didn’t get rid of every shred of evidence, it’s not just the phones that are going to get broken. Consider this a favor. Bullying is a big deal. These photos get out and you’re looking at a cancelled graduation, best case scenario. Brea’s uncle is a cop and will likely get creative with the charges, but none of that is anything compared with what I can and will come up with. In case you haven’t heard, I’m a girl with nothing to lose. We’re going to walk out of here and no one is going to say a goddamned word. Now who has this lock’s combination?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  But of course, someone had said a word. The minute the bell had rung, Amanda and Rachael ran to Principal Anderson, clutching their smashed phones.

  No matter how thankful Brea had been at the time, Harmony holding Amanda and Rachael at knifepoint set off a domino reaction that had them all in deep shit.

  Harmony, who claimed to only be trying to scare them, had more than succeeded. Even Brea, who had doubts she would ever really hurt anyone, wondered if the threats were more than a convincing act.

  Sitting next to her in the chairs outside of Principal Anderson’s office, Brea didn’t know what to say.

  Ms. Simmons, the principal’s assistant, put a sign on
the door directing anyone needing help to go to Guidance. She placed several hushed phone calls, and in a matter of minutes, both Amanda and Rachael’s mothers had arrived.

  “You piece of trash!” Nadine Moore went straight for Harmony, a blur of blond hair and red lipstick that was narrowly intercepted by Officer Ruiz, the trooper assigned to their school.

  “Mrs. Moore,” he wrestled her back, “this isn’t productive. Your daughter’s in with Principal Anderson. She’s safe. Please, come with me.”

  Carla Warren ran through the door and embraced Rachael, both of them in tears.

  As screwed up as it sounded, Harmony’s heart was in the right place. She didn’t stand for much, but what she defended was ironclad.

  Harmony insisted what she’d done was not only called for, but had to be done. “They had it coming, Brea. They were going to spread those pictures, those videos, all over the internet.”

  “I know, but a knife? Couldn’t you have just punched one of them out or something?” Weapons didn’t just lead to detention or expulsion, there were legal ramifications, and when Brea’s Uncle Jim walked through the Main Office door wearing his police uniform she was certain he’d come to get that ball rolling.

  Tears filled Brea’s eyes as she flung herself at him in an attempt at keeping him away from Harmony. “This is my fault, Uncle Jim, please—”

  He’d honed a new version of ‘the stare’, one that had his dark eyes burning right through her to Harmony, who for all the trouble she was in, kept her chin up and refused to cry. “I’m going to talk to Principal Anderson and the girls’ mothers, briefly, then I’m taking you home.” He turned to Ms. Simmons. “Were you able to get in touch with Ms. Wolcott?” Ms. Simmons shook her head.

  “My mother’s in the hospital,” Harmony said.

  Brea knew he already knew it.

  “I need to speak with the other girls’ mothers, but given the circumstances, I hope to get any court appearance postponed and avoid an arrest. Harmony, is there someone you can call to pick you up if they agree?”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me. You’re not off the hook, young lady. Not even close.”

  He disappeared into Principal Anderson’s office and his deep, bass voice echoed through the wood door.

  “He isn’t here to arrest you, at least,” Brea said. “That’s got to count for something.”

  “I guess.” Harmony shrugged. “What would be the point since I’m headed to Midtown anyway?”

  “Don’t even think like that. If you don’t try to stay here for yourself, stay here for me. We’re this close to graduation. Do you know what Rachael will do to me if you’re not here?”

  Officer Ruiz flashed them a look that Harmony took as an indication to whisper.

  “There’s no way they’re letting me graduate, Brea. Not publicly, anyway. I’ll be banned from the ceremony at the very least.”

  Brea sighed, knowing Harmony was right. “Adam’s going to be so pissed.” With Charity still in the hospital, Brea couldn’t think of anyone else Harmony could call to come get her.

  “I’m not going to tell him.”

  Principal Anderson’s door opened and Uncle Jim walked into the lobby, shaking his head. Deep lines spread across his forehead and his normally rigid posture slumped slightly forward.

  “You ready, Brea?” She picked up her backpack and nodded. “Do you have a coat?”

  She was still wearing her gym shorts and a t-shirt. “It’s in my locker.”

  “We’ll get it on the way out.” He turned to Harmony. “You can go ahead and make that call. I’ll be by later to handle the rest of this. I need to speak with your social worker. Sylvie, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you.”

  It was the most polite and cooperative Brea had ever seen her.

  Uncle Jim pulled his hat down to the point that it made it harder to read his expression. “Officer Ruiz is going to wait out front with you.” Ms. Simmons started to say something, but he interrupted her. “I’ve made arrangements with Principal Anderson. She’ll relay them directly after the other girls have gone home. In light of the situation, and the fact that there isn’t a parent available to sign for Miss Wolcott, I think it’s best to get some distance between her, the other girls, and their mothers.” Ms. Simmons nodded. “Come on, Brea. Let’s go.”

  “I’ll call you,” Harmony said.

  Uncle Jim shook his head. “Maybe it’s better you didn’t.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  “Expelled?” Brea shouted. “Did you even hear what they did to me? What they were going to do? They locked my hair in a locker, took pictures and videos of me half-naked, and were going to put them all over the internet. Aren’t there laws against that?”

  Uncle Jim’s demeanor remained stoic. “There are, which is why Principal Anderson and the girls’ mothers agreed to let me handle this. Harmony is not being let off, but if she’s lucky, she won’t get two counts of aggravated assault thrown at her. I have to talk to her case worker and see if there’s anything they can do to help her given her mental health history. Thankfully she didn’t hurt anyone. Had she done something stupid—”

  “She did do something stupid. The knife was a dirty trick, but she sees me hanging from a locker by my hair, crying, being laughed at, and having pictures and video taken … she can’t help who she is. In her own way, she thought she was doing the right thing.”

  “I don’t doubt that. That family’s sorely lacking a moral compass. It’s no wonder Harmony’s feral. She needs guidance, and you need a better class of friends.”

  “I don’t expect you or Mom to understand this, but she is all I have.”

  “What about that boy from the other night, the kid in the Jeep?”

  “Who? Jaxon? Now you want me to have a boyfriend? You are desperate to keep me away from Harmony, aren’t you?”

  “Your mother says he’s a nice kid, comes from a good family and all that.”

  “Nice kid. Right.” She rolled her eyes. “That nice kid is the reason this whole thing happened in the first place. Rachael Warren is his ex-girlfriend. And I know why Mom likes him. His father’s a big developer, got his hands in the right pockets, but you know that, right? You also know about the fight between Mom and Charity that literally everyone but me seems to have heard about.” Her frustration with being kept in the dark finally breached the surface.

  Uncle Jim lowered his eyes for a second, long enough for her to read remorse in them, and looked back at the road. He turned on his directional and took a right onto her street. “Do you know why I came to get you instead of your mother?” Brea shook her head. “You’ve pushed her so far that she can’t even look at you right now. She’s livid. Did I know Charity attacked her? Yes. Did I know it was over that house of hers? You betcha. I also know she recently ate several bottles of pills and is currently on a medicated vacation in the Behavioral Health Unit at Reston Memorial. I knew that before Harmony told me. I just didn’t know if they’d let her out yet. I did the best I could to use it to Harmony’s advantage in that meeting, but there are limits to what I can do. I can’t fix their lives and neither can you. Things have a way of catching up with people. This is an old mess, Brea. You need to leave it alone.”

  Old mess.

  The phrase was an open door into the past.

  Uncle Jim pulled into the driveway and shifted the car into park.

  “You were on the force in ’96, right?”

  “I’m serious, Brea. I don’t want to talk about this. If you want to ask your mother about back then, be my guest—”

  “But you know she won’t tell me a thing without something to prod her with. She only gives up information when she’s caught in something. I need to know why everyone is so dead set against me being friends with Harmony, or else nothing changes. We’ll keep doing the same rounds we have for years until I go to college, angry with all of you for whatever it is you won’t tell me. Well you know what? It�
�s only a matter of time until I figure it all out. I know Harmony’s father went missing—”

  “Tom didn’t go missing, Brea. He left.”

  “So you do know about him then?”

  “Of course I do.” Uncle Jim sighed and set his hat on the dash. “Have you ever seen Charity’s scar?”

  Charity, like Harmony, had more than her fair share. “You’re going to have to be a little more specific.”

  “The one along her rib cage.”

  Brea shook her head. “No, why? Was it from the accident?” He looked surprised. “I told you, I’ve been doing some research.”

  “Apparently, but no. We tried to keep as many of the details as we could about that night out of the papers, hoping to ferret Tom out. Harmony must have been about two at the time.”

  “Three,” Brea corrected.

  “Okay, three. Charity and Tom had a party at their house and things got out of hand. They ended up in a fight. It got pretty violent. Everyone left and Tom stabbed Charity, or at least tried to, coincidentally with a pocket knife like the one Harmony carries around. The blade was short, he was drunk, the wound was bad, but not lethal. Charity wrapped a bandage around her ribs and put Harmony in the car. She wasn’t even wearing a seatbelt. We found her on the floor behind the passenger’s seat, wrapped up in a sobbing ball. She was covered in Charity’s blood and wouldn’t say a word. Charity had gone off the road into a ditch. She hit her head pretty hard and was knocked out. Paramedics rushed her to Reston Memorial and after three hours of surgery and several blood transfusions, she finally came around.”

  “What did they do with Harmony?”

  “What could they do? Tom was missing, Charity was unconscious, and Harmony wouldn’t talk. I followed the ambulance with Harmony in my car and sat in the waiting room for almost five hours. I remember the vacant look on Harmony’s face and how hard she fought when the nurses, who’d put her in a pair of clean pajamas from the children’s ward, tried to take off this pair of pink mittens she was wearing. It was the weirdest thing. Anyway, they wanted to turn her over to Child Protective Services, but I wouldn’t let them. I told them I’d keep an eye on her until her mother came around. I couldn’t just hand her over. Not as scared as she was. When Charity came to, I brought Harmony into the room and I could see then what I see now, that something had broken inside of her. She pushed Harmony away and asked for more pain meds.”