The Fear Zone 2
Page 15
Wednesday is not going my way, and I know just who is going to pay for it.
I still have my parents’ argument ringing in my ears when I get to school. All morning they’ve been fighting. Not just about each other and how they both work too much, which is what they usually spend breakfast fighting about, but because I failed a spelling test.
One stupid spelling test.
Now they’re refusing to take me on a day trip to Rocky River Adventure Park this Saturday like they promised, all because I misspelled a few words like possessed and allegory. (Who needs to know how to spell those, anyway? I always have my phone, and that can fix spelling for me. As if I’d ever even use any of the spelling words in the first place.)
So, no theme park for me. My so-called friends will still be going, because their parents aren’t jerks like mine. And I’m sure I’ll hear all about how amazing it was on Monday.
All I get to look forward to is a weekend of doing homework while my parents continue to argue downstairs and my sister plays video games with her friends, and none of it’s fair because it’s not really my fault that I didn’t have time to study for the spelling test. I’d been too busy writing the essay that Rachel was supposed to do for me. She let me down. Again.
It’s her fault.
All of this is her fault.
And I’m going to make sure it’s the last time.
I stomp through the school’s front doors and down the hallway, and it must be pretty clear that I’m angry—kids actually step away from me, parting and going quiet so I can pass, hoping they won’t be the latest victims of my wrath. I shove past a few of them. Knock books out of a nerd’s hands, slam another kid into his friend. No different from my normal entrance.
But the truth is, I barely even see them. They’re not worth my time, let alone my anger.
Rachel is.
I see her at her locker before she ever sees me. Short and pretty, with long black hair and perfect skin and big blue eyes. I’m tall and have the same black hair, but my skin is far from perfect, which some kids used to make fun of me for, until I started pushing back and proving I wasn’t someone you could make fun of. Now the only bully in this school is me.
“You,” I growl when I reach her locker. I slam it shut to emphasize my point.
She jumps back with a yelp and clutches her sketchbook to her chest with both hands, eyes wide and lip already quivering like a baby’s. She knows when I’m in a bad mood, and it’s clear she knows this is worse than all the rest.
“I—”
“Shut up,” I say. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”
“I—I—” she stutters.
“Because of you and your stupid little pea-brain, my parents aren’t taking me to the adventure park this weekend. You were supposed to write my essay, but you didn’t, and because of that I couldn’t study for the spelling test. It’s your fault I failed. And you’re going to pay for it.”
I want to shove her against the locker, but I hold myself back. Partly because I know she’d just start crying and partly because I see our principal, Mr. Detmer, out of the corner of my eye. He’s watching us. I don’t need to get detention again—the last thing I need is to be grounded.
I lower my voice.
“I’m going to get you back for this.” I look into her eyes, and she looks to her feet. “If I have to suffer, so will you. Now, hand it over.”
She nods. She doesn’t ask what I want or what I mean. She already knows.
We have this down to an art. Almost a symbiotic relationship—a situation where both parties benefit from the other’s skills. I learned that term in science.
In this case, it means I don’t beat her up, and she does my homework and pays for my lunch.
It wasn’t always like this with us.
We used to be friends. Best friends.
Used to.
I can’t even really imagine it anymore. I guess we were friends when we were both younger. Weaker.
Now I’m no longer weak; she taught me that friendship is the ultimate weakness. Friends can hurt you. Friends can make your whole life miserable if they know everything about you. And from her betrayal, I grew strong. I used that lesson against her, because she deserved all that and more.
Am I using her?
Sure.
But it’s the only use she has in our school. Otherwise, she’s nothing. I make sure of it.
She opens her locker again—which takes a second, since she has to reenter her code—and pulls out a folder. I flip it open and check, but she hasn’t disappointed me on this, at least. She knows not to let me down again. The social studies homework we got yesterday is done, along with the math practice sheets. And there, in the front pocket, is the five dollars she gives me every day for lunch.
I’ve never asked where she gets the money. Probably her parents. They’re loaded. They even have a pool in their backyard. Perfect Rachel and her perfect life. Her perfectly useless life.
She could give me a million dollars, and she’d still owe me.
I snap the folder shut and slam her locker closed again.
I miss her fingers. Barely.
Gotta keep her a little scared. Tears well in her eyes.
I don’t say anything when I turn and stomp down the hall to my locker. I shove into another kid on the way, making her drop her bag, her books and homework scattering all over the floor. Mr. Detmer calls out to me, but I’m already around the corner, and I know he won’t follow.
He’s a little scared of me, too.
He should be.
They all should be.
Copyright © 2021 by Alex R. Kahler writing as K. R. Alexander
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e-ISBN 978-1-338-70214-9
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