It’s going to be hard to find the time (and the energy I heard, but I wouldn’t know!) to get manicures, go shopping, spend hours in front of the mirror doing her hair – straighten, curl, straighten, curl – even catching up on gossips with her army followers will be hard. Because –
Because –
Because –
Are you ready? –
LUCY MCNEIL IS
PREGNANT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
PREGNANT??
PREGNANT!!!!
Yep, I saw her leaving the Family Planning Clinic in town and now that I look at her, she is without a doubt rounder in the belly. Considering this girl’s hip bones jutted out like a coat rack, any bump would be obvious to anyone. But no one is looking for a baby bump. I wasn’t. Until I saw her rush out those clinic doors, leaflets in hand, splotchy red face like she’d been crying.
Yes, that girl is having a baby.
And I would bet my life on it that it isn’t Rhys’.
Look, I’m not the bully here, she is! She hurts people all the time. She hurt me. She spread lies about what happened at the party. She hurt Sophia. And yesterday I saw her being bitchy to a poor Fifth Year! I just wanted to give her a taste of her own medicine. So, I took a photo of her leaving the Family Planning Clinic and posted it for everyone to see. I even tagged Rhys in it too, just to make sure he knows the truth. I captioned it:
‘LUCY MCNEIL IS PREGNANT AND DOESN’T KNOW WHO THE FATHER IS!!’
OK, I did feel a little guilty after I hit Post, but now I don’t. I didn’t deserve any of the abuse I got online for something that I didn’t ask for. What happened to me happened against my will, and I was scared. I felt so low. I wanted to die. And Lucy made it so much worse by laughing about it online, and posting rumours about it for everyone to see. It was like what happened to me at the party was happening all over again. Like I was being taken advantage of all over again, like I was saying no again but no one was listening, like I was screaming for help – and again, no one came.
I don’t feel bad at all.
Not one bit.
If I could, I’d post that photo all over again. This time, I’d tag everyone she knows, everyone she ever knew – her parents, relatives, neighbours, even her priest if she had one (and if he had a Facebook account too, obviously).
I must be getting to her because she wasn’t in school today. And I’d bet anything that she won’t be in school tomorrow or the day after that. She’s ashamed! And she should be. What’s that saying, that people in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones?
Well, I’m breaking down Lucy’s glass house – or should I say her glass palace. Yep, it’s all coming down. And I can’t wait to watch that girl suffer.
Like I said she deserves this…
Doesn’t she?
Yes she does – I think – so why do I suddenly feel really sick about all this?
SOPHIA
I cross my legs. Then uncross them. Then cross again.
Beside me, my dad’s knee bounces up and down. His fingers grip the upholstery on the arms of the chair he slouches in, ankle perched over thigh. His jaw is clenched and he faces straight ahead. He hasn’t looked at me once since we got here. I’m not surprised. I can’t look at myself either. The mirrors in my bedroom are swathed in pashminas and silk scarves. Anything to keep them from revealing what I fear the most these days. Me. My reflection.
My mum sits on my left. Her back is so straight, her spine naturally sits away from the back of the chair. Her vertebrae hasn’t touched the cheap upholstery once. Her quilted leather handbag sits beside her feet, which are squeezed into black pumps. Her hand grips the leather strap as if Headmaster Tomlinson might steal it. Or maybe she’s keeping it from my fingers.
I’m unpredictable these days.
Like an animal in the wild: ‘Approach with Caution’.
My mum rubs her neck with a wide open palm. I’m glad to see I’m not the only one wishing I was a million miles from this room.
Finally, the headmaster enters from behind our chairs. The door slams shut and my mum’s back arches as if she’s still trying to escape the fabric of the chair.
Tomlinson plops down into the leather chair at his desk, the base swivelling his body away from us. He returns it to face us then leans in, planting his elbows on the table to stabilise himself. He takes a deep loud breath and passes a slow look between each of us. When it’s my turn, I can’t hold his gaze so I look down at my mum’s tapping feet.
‘Mr Greer. Mrs Greer. Sophia. Sorry to keep you all waiting. I’m afraid I’m still dealing with this…incident. We’re still finding more posters. This time behind the chemistry labs.’
My dad clears my throat and we think he’s going to speak, finally, so we turn to face him. But he doesn’t. My mother rolls her eyes and leans in, further away from the spine of the chair that disgusts her. ‘I’m still trying to figure out how these photos of my daughter appeared in the first place? Who took them?’
Headmaster Tomlinson glances at me and waits for me to respond to that one.
Nope. No thanks.
‘Well, Mrs Greer. It seems that the person had these photos on his phone and either passed them along to his friends or printed them himself. And now these posters are everywhere.’
In the hallways. In the study hall. In the cafeteria. On the toilet cubicles. Boys’ and girls’. On the blackboard in my Attendance Room. Hung on door handles. Taped on whitewash walls. Glued onto classroom desks. Everywhere. No inch of this school building was left untainted, unspoiled, by my naked body.
‘Who did it?’ she asks.
‘We don’t know exactly. There are several people involved in this—’
‘But who had the original photos to begin with?’ Mum won’t let this one go that easily.
‘Steven Gordon.’
And there it is.
My dad squeezes his temples with his index finger and thumb, and painfully scrunches his face. He gets it. He knows. Daddy’s little girl. Not anymore.
‘Steve?’ My mum clearly still isn’t getting it. ‘Why would Steve do this? Why would he have these photos…’ Her eyes burn into the side of my face as I desperately stare into the legs of the desk. ‘Oh…right. I see.’
Now she gets it.
‘Sophia,’ she whispers. Actually it’s more of a gasp than a whisper. A disappointed, horrified gasp. Then she turns to Tomlinson, her cheeks reddening, her jaw tighter than I’ve ever seen it. ‘Why aren’t Steve’s parents here too? This involves him and them too. More importantly, has he been expelled for this?’
‘We are meeting with him and his parents later this week. I can’t divulge too much information as to the consequences for him but I assure you—’
‘So he’s still attending school here, like normal?’
‘Well, yes he’s—’
‘Why is it that my daughter is the one sitting here like she’s being punished for this while he continues to attend school and be with his friends like nothing happened?’ She’s yelling now. Loudly. I can hear whispering outside the door, the office secretary maybe. ‘I want that boy expelled immediately! In fact, I’m going to call his mother right now.’ She and I lunge for her handbag at the same time.
‘No, Mum! Stop, please don’t call them!’ I wrestle with her fingers, pulling the zip back in place as she forces it open. This will make it worse. They don’t understand how embarrassed I already am. I can’t take any more.
Tomlinson claps his hands together and my dad startles and slides down another inch in his chair. ‘Please, Mrs Greer, Sophia. This isn’t helping the situation. We should just discuss how to move forward with this.’
My mum stops, her fingers hovering above the bag, zip half open. ‘What do you mean?’ she asks.
‘Well, if Sophia wants to take some time off, we can certainly organise that. It’s clearly causing her some discomfort and humiliation, which is understandable. She can afford the time to spend time at home,
rest, regroup, and—’
My mum frantically waves her hand in front of him. ‘She can’t afford to take time off this year. She’s graduating soon and going to university.’
‘I’m sorry, Mrs Greer, but it’s unlikely that Sophia will be graduating this year with her current grades if she intends to go to university in September.’
‘What?’ My mum’s voice echoes around the room. Outside, passing cars and screams of teenagers hanging out at the park opposite compete for my attention. And clearly my dad’s. And I thought I was uncomfortable sitting here.
‘Sophia’s attendance has fallen below forty per cent. We’ve had to contact the council’s education welfare officer. Since she is over 16, there’s nothing formally that can be done but right now she does not have the academic profile to graduate. And it’s unlikely that she’ll pass her Highers this term if her preliminary exam scores are anything to go by. You should be prepared for another year at Birchwood to secure the grades required by… where did you apply, Sophia?’
‘Newcastle,’ I stutter, the sounds trembling on my lips.
‘Newcastle?’ my mum echoes. ‘I didn’t know you had applied there. Why Newcastle, it’s so far away?’
Steve applied there, so I did. I didn’t want to be too far from him. I can’t tell my parents that though, not now. They wouldn’t understand. No one ever does.
‘Well, with some tutoring—’
‘How are we just hearing about this now?’
‘The school has sent notices home, Mrs Greer,’ Tomlinson sighs. He picks up his ballpoint pen and drops it down on a file. My file.
‘We didn’t receive anything in the post?’ She slowly turns to look at me. ‘Did you hide these letters from the school?’ she asks me.
A deep breath escapes my throat and I look beyond Tomlinson’s head, into the park ahead, wishing I was there with them. Soaring high on the swings they lean against, chatting, laughing, joking. But I’m not. I’m here. And here, I’m invisible. Just a name on a file. A name in an ‘incident’. A disappointment to my parents.
‘I didn’t know what to tell you,’ I finally say, but it comes out more like a strained whisper.
‘The truth for a start!’
‘Mrs Greer—’
‘Thank you, Mr Tomlinson, for your time and for your swift handling of this “incident”. We’ll take it from here.’ She stands and heavily gestures to Dad and I to do the same. We stumble to our feet and start gathering up our coats. I swing my bag up over my shoulder, once heavy but now light with a lack of textbooks and apparently an empty future. I don’t look back at Tomlinson before I close his door shut.
Our feet slap the cold hard tiles as she leads us to the side exit that spills out onto the rear car park. The cool early November air slaps at our cheeks and blows our collars as we hurry to the car. Mum doesn’t say a word to us until we’re inside.
‘I just can’t believe all this, Sophia. What were you thinking? Sending those photos to Steve? No…wait, taking those photos at all? I don’t get it! Why?’
‘Everyone else is doing it!’ I argue, struggling with the clip on my belt.
‘I don’t care what everyone else is doing. I only care about what my own daughter is doing. Under my roof, might I add! And now look what’s happened?’
‘Mae—’
‘Don’t start, James. You didn’t say a word during that entire meeting. You may as well have not come!’
‘Mum, I—’
‘And your attendance? Your grades? Hiding mail?’
‘She’s clearly been distracted—’
‘James, this is serious. I’m furious that we’re just learning of all this now. I’ll be sending Headmaster Tomlinson a letter first thing tomorrow morning. I want that boy off school grounds. In the meantime, we’ll get her enrolled for next year and focus on bringing her grades back up and—’
‘I can’t go back to Birchwood, Mum,’ I gasp. ‘I’ll repeat my last year anywhere else, I’ll leave and get a job, I’ll take an access course at the local college, I’ll do home schooling. Anything. But I’m not going back there!’
‘This isn’t your decision, Sophia. You’ve already proved you can’t make mature or appropriate decisions for yourself.’
‘Mum, I said I was sorry! I made a mistake! You can’t make me spend another year at that school! Everyone knows—’
‘And they’re all leaving this year. They’ll pass their exams and have a place at a university, unlike you.’
‘But what about the year below? And even the year below that. Everyone at Birchwood knows what happened. It doesn’t matter what class they put me in, people will know what happened. They’ll know my name.’
‘You should have thought of that before you sent those photos. Before you started skipping classes and missing assignments.’
‘Mae—’
‘James, you’ve babied her for too long.’
‘I’ve babied her? You’ve sheltered her too and now look what’s happened. And Steve? You know I never liked him from the start. You’re the one who encouraged that relationship.’
‘Maybe if you didn’t work all the time, you would have—’
‘Maybe if you didn’t spend so much money on frivolous purchases and overpriced holidays I wouldn’t have to work so much!’
I cover my face with my hands. ‘Stop fighting,’ I say as their voices get louder, angrier.
‘And who was it that said she was too young to get her own phone? I said I didn’t want her with a phone until she went to uni, but you went out and bought her one!’
‘All of her friends have one!’
‘Sophia, are all of your friends doing this too? Ulana? Did Ulana know about this?’
‘Of course not!’ I cry from the back. This car is so full, so full with anger, with confusion, with hate. Make it stop.
My mum continues, as if I’m not there behind them, as if my feelings don’t matter. As if I’m invisible again.
‘Stop fighting, please,’ I beg.
They don’t hear me.
They don’t know I’m even there.
No one does.
I fumble with the belt again, this time to undo it. Their voices are so loud now. They scream at each other, blaming each other for my actions. They’re still yelling when I open the car door and run out.
My feet pound the empty car park as I run away from the car, from the school, from the park out front, from the swings. From everything.
I don’t stop running until a branch whips at my face, bringing me to. When I look around, I realise I’ve run deep into the woods behind the school. Leaves gather around my boots. Mud sits on the toe of one of them.
My fingers search for my phone in my coat pocket, and I yank it out. Four texts from Ulana.
Did Steve put up those posters of you?!
Just found more in the girls’ toilets. I’m going to kill him!!
Are you OK, Sophia?
I heard your parents have to come in to see Tomlinson. Sorry :(
My thumbs press into the screen as I frantically smash out a message. But it’s not to Ulana.
Steve – can we talk? Please. I can’t take this anymore. Please stop doing this. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.
LUCY
Their whispers follow me down the hallway. Their heads turn when I pass. Their eyes drop down when I turn to face them. I float through the halls like I’m dreaming. Bodies skim my shoulder but I’m numb to their touch. I move in slow motion while those around me are stuck in a movie, succumbing to the fast-forward button. It’s like that dream where no matter how fast you move, how far you travel, you can never reach your destination. You’re just short of making it to the end. And just when you think you’re going to succeed, just when you think you’re almost there, you wake up. That’s me. I’ve just woken up. But not from a dream. No. This is a nightmare.
Rage courses through me like I’ve never felt before. My body is on fire. I hate her. And not the kind of hate someone carri
es for a short time before they forget all about it because they believe life to be too short to hold grudges. No. I HATE her. The kind of hate I have with me right now is the kind that will last forever because it’s fuelled from deep within, from a place that I hope never experiences hatred like this again.
I don’t want her to die. That would be too easy. I want Trina Davis to suffer. I want her to suffer so much that she begs me to stop. And I won’t. Not ever.
It’s only a matter of time before my parents find out from social media that their seventeen-year-old daughter is pregnant…was pregnant. Because at that point, the… It…will be terminated, and I can go back to living my normal life as it was before this.
But can I?
Lily barely looked at me in Attendance today and left me to walk to class by myself for the first time ever. I never walk through these halls alone. I always have my friends by my side, attached to my hip, some might even say. But not today. Today I walk alone. And this is Trina’s doing.
My hands tremble as I reach the big grey doors of the cafeteria. This is ridiculous. This is my school. My cafeteria. No one makes me feel like this. Especially not her. I take a deep breath, letting the air fill my lungs and expand my chest, and push the doors open.
Faces turn to watch me as I push through the crowd, whispers, eyes, even the odd smirk. Then I don’t have to struggle through anymore, because the crowd parts for me. My heart beats wildly. I’m an animal at the zoo. Spectators circle around me, pointing, marvelling at the animal, once free and untamed, that stands here submissively, tail between legs.
I find Cara, Lily, Mollie and Lee sitting at our table in the back. They already have their lunch trays, but no one is eating. They huddle together looking at Lee’s phone screen. Cara glances up and sees me. She elbows Lee and he promptly slides his phone into his coat pocket.
We Are Not Okay Page 14
