by Wolf, Sara
The student council room is clean and tiny and smells like pencils and stale doughnut holes. Wren is instructing a Freshmen guy with glasses and two Freshmen girls with mousy hair on the merits of not running in the halls and getting good grades or some drivel. I come up behind him and slam my hands on the desk.
“Yes, hello, good evening everyone. It is I, butt crack girl. Please evacuate the immediate vicinity before I show you my new and updated butt crack.”
“Isis, what the hell –” Wren starts. The freshmen shoot him nervous looks, and he motions for them to go. When they’ve closed the door, I sit on Wren’s desk and cross my legs over one another like a dainty lady.
“You gave my picture to Jack, didn’t you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You talked to Nameless, and he gave you my picture.”
“No! I swear to you, Isis, I haven’t talked to Will –”
I flinch, and he clears his throat.
“ – uh, Nameless, for a whole year! We’re not all that close!”
“How else would Jack get that picture?”
“Look, I’m not saying I know who did it, but didn’t you notice there was no comment from the faculty? Principal Evans didn’t get on the PA system to comment on the pictures at all. He usually reprimands defacing school property like crazy. But this time? Nothing.”
“Are you saying Evans did this?”
“I’m not saying anything,” he lowers his voice. “I’m just saying it’s odd, is all, and that if you talk to Evans, you might get some more information.”
He stares at me with his round, unblinking hazel eyes. I finally relent. There’s no way someone as cute as him could have done something as evil as supply my enemy with prime blackmail photos, even if they were friends once.
“Alright. I’ll talk to Evans. But –” I point in his face. “I’m not done with you. Not by a long shot. Jack told me at Kayla’s party he did something bad. And you got scared. And I’m gonna find out what it was.”
Wren’s face goes so pale for a second I think he’s had a heart attack. His lips get thin and he glowers. It’s all the proof I need that what Jack said was true. He really did something bad. Something that’s making Wren tremble under his polo shirt and horn-rimmed glasses. But I can’t pry it out of him now. I have a principal to confront. I stride out and leave Wren behind. Evans’ secretary is a pretty dark-haired woman and a spotty birthmark over her forehead that makes her look half Dalmatian and half awesome.
“Can I see Evans, ma’am? It’s urgent.”
“Sure, sweetie.” She smiles. “He’s free. I’ll buzz you in right now.”
I take a deep breath right before the door and compose myself. I can’t kick this door down. I have to be sociable, I have to get the truth from him, and that means pretending I’m nice and pretending I’m easy to fool. So I smile my brightest smile ever and push through the door.
Evans is at his desk, typing away at the computer. Glass figurines of penguins litter his bookshelves, and an ostentatious, tacky gold bust of his own head sits on his desk next to his nametag; PRINCIPAL GOODWORTH M. EVANS. I swallow a snort. Goodworth. What kind of name is that?
Evans looks up, his bald patch more noticeable than ever. He grins.
“Ah, Isis. I figured you’d come in to see me today. Please, sit.”
He figured, huh? That’s not promising. I sit in the plushy chair across from him.
“My picture is everywhere,” I start.
“I know. I saw. I’m terribly sorry – kids these days are just so cruel. I had Marcus clean them up as soon as I saw them.”
“He’s still working on that.”
“I know. Poor man.”
Nothing about Evans’ voice sounds sincere – it’s all half-sweet, meaninglessly airy words. He doesn’t care at all. He just keeps typing at the computer, with no time for me. Either that, or he doesn’t want to confront me. He can’t look me in the eye, and it’s not a good sign. Guilt does that to people.
“I wanted to ask you about Jack,” I say. Evans chuckles.
“No, I won’t give you his home address, his schedule, his phone number, or his social security number.”
“What?”
“That’s what the other girls ask for.”
“I’m not other girls, Mr. Evans.”
“So I can see.” He smiles, typing on the computer even more rapidly. “You were expelled from your last high school because of – what did the police call it? Intent to harm? According to your permanent record here, you fought everyone you could get your hands on, anyone who looked at you a strange way. What made you so touchy, I wonder?”
“Oh, I don’t know, maybe years of vicious bullying for being fat.”
“But that teasing inspired you, didn’t it? That’s why you lost so much weight. So really, you should be thankful for it, and to the people who antagonized you.”
I laugh incredulously. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Language, Isis,” he says smoothly. “We wouldn’t want another mark on your permanent record now, would we? It’s already so scuffed up.”
I underestimated this guy. He plays the game well. Of course he does. He’s had years of adulthood – where everyone smiles when they hate someone and bottles up their emotions – to practice in. He’s a master of passive-aggressive-bullshit-taekwondo. And I’m more a master of the aggressive style. We’re basically dancing around each other in two incompatible styles, so neither of us is getting anywhere. I change my stance.
“I heard Jack’s super smart,” I add a simpering tone to my voice. “That must be because this school is so good at teaching, huh?”
Evans looks up, his chest puffing. “Of course. Our faculty are top-notch, you’ll learn that soon enough. Jack is the brightest student I’ve seen in years – he got a perfect score on his SATs”
I smirk on the inside, but smile on the outside. “So that means he’ll probably go to a really good college, right?”
“Oh, the best. He just started applying to Yale today, as a matter of fact.”
Today? That’s an odd coincidence. When I overheard Jack and Evans, Jack seemed to hate the idea of applying to an ivy just a few weeks ago. So what changed? I narrow my eyes, but keep smiling.
“Wooow. Yale is an ivy league, right? That’s pretty impressive.”
“He’ll apply to Princeton, too, or so he said. It would be a huge waste if someone like him stayed here.”
“Right. Definitely. Is he the first person from this school to go to an ivy league?”
Evans’ eyes glint. “Well, not the first. There have been three people before him. But he’ll be the first in about twenty years, yes.”
“That must make you so proud.”
“Indeed. Extremely proud.”
“Everybody’s gonna think it’s because of your management, probably!”
“Oh,” he laughs in a fake-modest way. “I wouldn’t say that.”
And that’s when it hits me.
“You have access to everybody’s permanent record, huh Mr. Evans?”
Ever eager to show off his power, he preens, smoothing hair ineffectually over his bald spot.
“Hm? Oh, yes. Yes I do.”
“So you have everyone’s past schools on record, too.”
“Certainly.”
“Including mine.”
“Yes, that’s how I know you were expelled.”
“And I bet that record has some old pictures of me, huh?”
Evans freezes, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. Gotcha, motherfucker.
“Let me guess,” I say slowly. “Jack called you. Probably on Sunday. He asked you to find old pictures of the fat me, and post them up where people could see them. And in exchange, he would apply to the Ivy League schools you’ve been harassing him about.”
Evans scoffs. “That’s nonsense –”
“Is it? Because that picture of me was taken by my old school’s yearbook club,
and they put it in the section titled ‘STUDENT FAILSAUCES! XD’.”
“What’s an XD?”
“A sideways laughing face of horrendous proportions. Don’t change the subject.”
“Isis, look, I really wish I could catch whoever did this horrible thing to you. But the fact of the matter is, we don’t have a very good camera system. And Marcus said he saw no signs of a break-in –”
“Because no one broke in. You just unlocked the gate and doors with your master key. A student would’ve had to have broken a window or a vent grating or something to get inside.”
“I’ve had enough of this,” Evans snaps. “Get out of my office, right now.”
“What if I tell campus security? Huh? What’s gonna happen then? Oh, wait, they’re on your payroll. Maybe I’ll just go to the police with this.”
“You have no evidence. Get out!”
I sarcastically salute him, slamming the door so hard behind me I hear one of his stupid glass penguin statuettes fall and shatter. He grumbles and yells at his secretary for a broom, and I walk away with a smirk. His outrage confirms everything. I won, and we both know it. Principal Goodworth M Evans is small fry, and never posed a real challenge at all.
I’m almost disappointed, but then I remember Jack.
I still have Jack.
I still have a lovely, satisfying challenge waiting for me.
***
Someday, the world has to acknowledge my raw sex appeal.
Today is that day.
On Wednesday, I wear the skimpiest, most jaw-dropping outfit I can manage while still being inside dress code – a short denim skirt and a bright red shirt with slits cut in the side and a wide neck to show off my collarbone and shoulders. I wear red flats, put my hair up in a high ponytail, and wear five times more makeup than usual. I look, for all intents and purposes, hot as hell. Well, I always look hot. Now my hot just can’t be ignored.
Jack was trying to insult my looks with those pictures. And he did. He insulted them so well; people will have no choice but to notice the difference. The before picture was plastered all over the school, and after picture is breathing and walking around and in a bright red shirt. If he expected me to cower, to wear dull colors and shrink away from the attention, he was very, very wrong. I might not be Kayla or Avery pretty, but I’m better than the girl in the picture, and that’s all the school needs to see. I park towards the front, and make a big show of getting out – piling my books slowly into my backpack and locking my car with exaggerated key pressing. I wave at some people I recognize – Avery, who all but sneers at me as I pass. Kayla runs over to me, but Avery grabs her arm and yanks her back. I flash Kayla a ‘see you later’ smile. It’s better she doesn’t come over and ask what’s up, anyway. I’ve got places to go and people to shock. They’re staring, whispering, but there’s no laughing, and there’s sure as hell no smirks. Boys whistle and a girl asks where I got my skirt. Half of me is terrified with all the attention – my hands shaking and my throat dry. But the other half of me knows this is what I have to do. Not just for the war, not just to prove Jack wrong. I have to do this for myself. For the girl in the picture.
I make my way to first period when the bell rings.
“Hi Mrs. Grayson!” I smile. She does a double-take, like most people are doing.
“I-Isis? Oh my god, you look so - ”
“Different? Awesome?”
“Trampy!”
“Not all of us have the luxury of a college English degree, Mrs. Grayson. Some of us have to hustle on the streets.”
She goes white down to her toes. If only she knew her favorite Jack Hunter was really a high-paid gigolo. She’d flip. And probably hire him for a night two seconds later.
I walk into Trig. Mr. Bernard eyes me like I’m a rabid dog, but I smile really hard and try to look innocent. It works for all of two seconds before Mr. Bernard glances at the door behind me.
“You dented it, Isis.”
“Sorry, Mr. Bernard. It was an unfortunate casualty of war. I’m just here for a second.”
“Well, alright then. But only make it a second.”
I have to stall time until Jack walks in. I see the knife-kid. He’s in Trig with Jack? That’s impressive. I sit at the desk beside him. He nods at me, but his frown remains.
“You look different.” He says, voice croaking. It’s the first time I’ve heard him talk.
“Thanks! You too! New haircut? I bet you did it yourself.”
“A butterfly A-9 buck knife would cut hair pretty good, now that you mention it. Or I could use the classic rib eye backhand.”
“Sounds about right.” I nod, even if I have no clue what the hell he’s talking about.
“Who are you waiting for?” Knife-kid asks.
“That obvious, huh?”
“Jack, then. Screaming at him wasn’t enough?”
“He was the one who put the pictures of me all over school! Hell no screaming isn’t enough!”
Knife-kid nods. “I saw the pictures. I had fun slashing them with my protractor. Nobody should be made fun of like that, I think.”
I don’t know whether to smile at how sweet he sounds or become extremely concerned at how creepy he sounds. I settle for a little of both just as Jack walks in. He walks right by me, and settles in his desk behind me. I turn and watch him take his backpack off.
“Hi.” I wave.
It takes him a moment to recognize me. Or a million. He focuses his gaze on me, then looks boredly to the window. He puts his chin in his hand, studies a pigeon in a tree with utmost intensity, and then all at once his eyes go wide. He swivels his head slowly back to me.
“You,” He murmurs.
“Me!” I chirp.
“What the hell are you doing in that?” He asks, eyes sweeping down to my chest, my legs, and up again.
“Damage control.” I smile. “Do you like it?”
“I’ve seen pigs dressed better.”
“Oh, I don’t doubt that, considering you see one in the mirror every morning.”
“I wasn’t the one who put the pictures up, if that’s what this idiocy is about.”
“I know you didn’t do it. Evans did.”
Jack goes stock-still for all of three seconds before he snarls.
“I asked him to give me a photo of you when you were younger, not plaster them all over the school.”
“But he did it anyway. He knows we’ve been fighting – the whole school does. He probably wanted to impress you so you’d think about applying to more of those Ivy’s, huh? Pity. He really wants you to go to one so he can brag about you to all his little educator friends. No offense, Mr. Bernard.”
Mr. Bernard shrugs, eyes riveted to my butt.
“Really.” I turn back to Jack. “You should’ve known better than to go to Evans. I don’t care if it’s not what you told him to do – those pictures all over still happened. And you made it happen. So I can’t forgive you. Ever.”
Wren walks in just then, a stack of papers in his hands. He plops them on the desk and starts talking to Mr. Bernard about robotics club funding. And then he sees me. Wren’s face is five times more expressive than Jack’s. His mouth pops open and hangs there like an ajar door, and he clears his throat and adjusts his glasses quickly.
“I-Isis. Good morning.”
“Hey, prez!” I get out of the desk and hug him. He makes a strangled-cat noise and adjusts his glasses so hard they fly off his face. I pick them off the floor.
“You okay?”
“I-I’m fine. Um. You look – you look, uh, you look - ”
“Nice?” I offer.
“Really…really nice,” Wren exhales. “Nice doesn’t actually cover it.”
For some reason, the compliment coming from Wren means a lot more to me than the dozens of stares and wolf whistles.
“Are you just going to stand there and gawk, Wren?” Jack sneers. “Or are you going to get on with your presidential business? I’m sure more club advisors hav
e papers that need delivering.”
Wren turns red, and glances sheepishly at Jack.
“Right. I should go. Bye, Isis.”
“See ya!” I wave.
“And you, Mr. Bernard,” Jack continues savagely. “Last time I checked they don’t pay you to ogle teenage girls. They pay you to teach. So start teaching.”
Mr. Bernard jumps in his chair, clears his throat, and hurriedly goes to the whiteboard and starts writing equations. Knife-kid laughs. I salute Jack as I bow out the door.
“Have a great day, Jackoff.”
“Try not to get molested, cow,” He snaps.
“Oh my stars!” I fan my face. “Could it be? Could East Summit High’s Ice Prince be expressing concern for me?”
“Get out,” Jack says.
“That’s the only command of yours I’ll obey.” I wink, and flounce through the door. It’s obvious I’ve won this battle. By lunchtime everyone is talking about how slutty I look instead of how fat my butt crack used to be. It’s not much of an improvement, but it’s the best I’ll get. The whispers are the sound of me winning the war again Jack Hunter.
Boom, bitch.
-8-
3 Years
16 Weeks
1 Day
I pick Mom up after her shrink sessions downtown. I wait in the car outside the brick building and watch the late-afternoon sun dance its golden fingers across the sidewalk and through the trees. Northplains might be quiet, and chock full of a whole lot of nothing, but it’s incredibly pretty in the fall. Orange and red leaves litter the ground, dreamy clouds of steam and smoke pour out of the chimneys, and the sky is a cold, bright blue, like a chilled porcelain dish. I pull my scarf up over my nose. It’s way chillier than Florida, but if I freeze to death, at least I’ll die far, far away from where Nameless can see. I bump my head against the headrest thoughtfully. Nameless. He hasn’t crossed my mind in a while. He’s always been there, like a massive poopstain in my brain, but with the war against Jack and Mom’s problems, I hadn’t thought about him for weeks.