Like Lana

by Danielle Leonard

  LANA: Yah. My life. Serious suck mode.

  DEMIT: With friends like urs. Can’t say I’m surprised. What’s going on?

  LANA: Ah. the usual. Lost all my friends, have a total asshole for a boyfriend and went from queen b to desperate loser. No friends. No life. No fun. FML.

  DEMIT: Don’t FYL. Ur better off without them.

  LANA: Thanks, but reality check. Im nobody without them. Boyfriend is a jerk, but all I got.

  DEMIT: He’s holding u back. U gotta lose the extra baggage.

  LANA: Not that easy. I do hate him

  DEMIT: Good. That’s a clear sign you should leave him

  LANA: Be easier if he just disappeared. All of them disappear. Just fall off the face of the planet.

  DEMIT: Or die.

  LANA: Hmm. Ya that would work. Of natural causes, of course!

  DEMIT: It was a joke…

  LANA: LOL. I know.

  DEMIT: Gotta get back to physics

  LANA: K

  DEMIT: TTYL

  LANA: K

  Stuffing my phone under my pillow, I shut my eyes and cross my forearms over my chest where I feel a rush of warmth. But there’s something else. Something new. I think it’s hope.

  Chapter 5

  Finish What You’ve Started

  Leaning against the fence that surrounds the football field, I wonder for the thousandth time what possessed me to agree to meet Stu after his game. If Stu heard me break up with him yesterday as he peeled away in his minivan, he showed no sign of it today. We went through our usual routine. Stu standing by my locker when I arrive in the morning. Me getting ticked off the second he opens his mouth (what does he expect when he starts the conversation with ‘Did you take your chill pill today.’) Us sort-of making up before the bell rings and sort-of agreeing to meet after school, or in the case of today – after his game – which is why I’m standing here watching a boring football game rather than sitting on the school bus. At least the sun is shining and there’s a nice warm breeze. Hard not to feel a little optimistic on days like this.

  Leaning against the fence, I lift my head upward and close my eyes, letting the sun warm my skin. Let my mind wander into fantasy where my life is perfect. Stu apologizes for throwing me out of his van. He explains why Melanie’s music was there and it makes perfect sense! Silly me. Then tells me he loves me. My eyes flutter open and I squint into the sun. God, I’m delusional. I need to break up with him for once and for all. He’s a lying, sociopathic son-of-a-bitch. But do I have the nerve to leave him today? That’s up for debate.

  I have a whole hour of waiting around, wondering whether I should dump him or keep him. Dump him or keep him. If I keep him, I’d better be prepared to deliver the goods after yesterday’s epic fail. I can barely stand to think about it. It doesn’t help that I’m inundated with girls calling me a slut all day. One stupid photo and every girl thinks I’m sex-crazed for any guy that walks in a room. If anything, this whole situation has had the opposite effect.

  I think about Demit’s text last night. ‘Or die.’ I feel guilty that the word so accurately reflects my desire. Not that I really want the fabbies dead. Like real dead. Do I? Wouldn’t that make me a monster? I silence the thought. It’s not like I could ever, in any way, be responsible for anyone’s death. Even if a small part of me would be happy if a couple of them died, it makes no difference in the world. Life without Alysa would be pretty darn awesome. I let that thought sit in my head. Nothing wrong with that.

  My phone vibrates. It’s a text from Demit.

  DEMIT: What r u doing?

  LANA: Don’t ask.

  DEMIT: U r ...fill-in-blank

  LANA: At football game.

  DEMIT: …………….. stunned silence… Because?

  LANA: Meeting stu after

  DEMIT: Ah. Stay away from mean girls

  LANA: I will

  DEMIT: Promise?

  LANA: Oh ya. U don’t need to convince me!

  I stuff my phone inside my jacket and turn just in time to see Stu tackle a player to the ground. Everyone in the stands cheers. I clap for three seconds. After two years of attending school football games, I still don’t understand what any of it means. More importantly, I still don’t care.

  Sticking buds into my ears, I scroll through my playlist when a sharp object hits my back. Turning, I find myself face to face with Alysa, Sarah, and Tracy huddling before me. A rock lays just past my foot. They’ve resorted to stoning. Really? I cross my arms over my chest and stare back at them.

  “Why are you here?” Alysa asks. Sunlight glints off her shiny lips.

  “Could you just leave me alone? I’m not bugging anyone.”

  “Stu is so over you,” Tracy blows back, flipping her hand. She’s changed out of her uniform and is in tight jeans and a cream sweater with a deep v-neck. She must be wearing a push-up to show so much cleavage. “He’s told everyone that he’s dumping you tonight, so why don’t you just make it easy and disappear now. Nobody wants to see you here.”

  I surprise myself by laughing. “Oh, really? He’s dumping me?” A little late, Stu. I’ve already dumped you.

  “Yeah, and we can smell your slut wreak from a mile away. Go home and have a bath, would you?” Tracy adds with a smirk, flipping her blonde hair behind her shoulders. I always hated Tracy. Ugly no matter how thick her fake eyelashes are or how big her boobs look. It’s such a stupid insult, that I want to laugh at her. But, for some reason it hurts more than the other ones. I look at the ground. I know I don’t smell. Do I?

  “Let’s go,” Alysa says, leading them toward the stands and away from me. “Trust me. She’ll leave.”

  I pick up the rock and consider aiming it at the back of Tracy’s head, but I’m a terrible thrower. Instead, I turn back to watch the game, determined to stay put and prove that I can withstand whatever they throw at me, large sharp stones excepted.

  I won’t leave. I won’t leave. I repeat it over and over, even as my feet turn from the fence and march toward the school. Dammit. I’m leaving.

  Melanie is exiting the library as I’m about to walk in. She holds the door open for me so I can skirt by her.

  “Hey,” she mumbles.

  “Hey.” I step past her, then stop, take in a deep breath, and rush back out the doors. “Melanie?”

  She freezes and turns her head so that I can only see her profile. “Yeah?”

  “Were you in Stu’s van yesterday?” This isn’t the first time I’ve confronted a girl about her interest in my boyfriend, but the usual confidence in my voice is gone. My voice cracks, instead. I’m getting too used being silent. I’ve lost my edge.

  She sighs, tilts her head back, and slowly turns around. “Why? What did he tell you?”

  “He said nothing happened. But I don’t believe him. I know you’re into him. I get it. The hot senior, but trust me, you can’t handle a guy like Stu.” The words rush out desperately like I’m pleading for my life.

  Her pink lips drop open. “I don’t want him. Of course he told you nothing happened!”

  “So something did happen. I knew it!”

  “He drove me home, well, wait. That’s stretching the truth. He offered to drive me home, then stopped the van and started climbing all over me. I tried to push him off but he wouldn’t quit until I was yelling at him to stop.”

  “So, you guys didn’t do anything?”

  She closes her eyes. “Did you hear me? He attacked me. What do you think I’m going to say? When he finally stopped, you want to know what he did?”

  I could guess. I watch her face turn pink and eyes blink rapidly like she’s fighting back tears. “He kicked me out of the car. Just left me there to walk home!”

  “Two for two,” I mutter.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. Stu doesn’t take the word no very well.”

  “Listen,” she looks around as if a spy might be hiding in a corner recording our clandestine conversation for the next issue of Seventeen magaz
ine. “Stu may be hot, but he’s scum. I know everyone blames you for the photo, but I don’t. Wasn’t he the one to take the photo and send it out?”

  I’m stunned to silence for a few seconds before I can squeak out a response. “Yeah,” I say. “Pretty much.” Melanie is the first person to understand the truth. It relieves some of the ache that’s been pulling at my chest for the past two weeks.

  “How can you want anything to do with him?” She shakes her head and sneers. “I’ve got to go. My mom will be waiting outside.” She shrugs and disappears around the corner while I ponder what she said. I decide, right then, that I’m going to end it with Stu. As much as I feel like going home now, I know if I stick around until the end of the game I’m less likely to chicken out. Walking into the empty library, I flop into chair the closest to the door and wait.

  ***

  I hang outside the locker room and watch guys file out one at a time, their hair soaked from sweat. Helmet and shoulder pads in one hand, bag in the other. Standing in a corner, I’m grateful that they don’t notice me. At least ten guys have come out, but no sign of Stu. My stomach twists nervously. Are you really ready to dump him? Be a nobody? Be alone? That voice has spent the past forty minutes torturing my psyche. Doing its best to weaken my resolve. But I remain firm in my plan. Lose the excess baggage.

  I wander closer to the door, expecting Stu will exit any minute. Instead, Fitz walks out. I jerk my head in the opposite direction, pretending not to see him.

  “Lana.” My skin crawls at the sound of his slippery voice. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m waiting for Stu.” I answer coolly. “I said I’d meet him here after the game.” Why am I explaining myself? I fold my arms over my chest.

  “Stu?” He creeps up next to me and grabs my elbow. “You didn’t watch the game, did you?”

  I look at him from the corner of my eye. “No. I went to the library. Why?”

  “Hmmm,” he rubs his chin with his hand and stares intently at me. “He got injured. Why don’t you just go in. Stu’s the only one in there, now.” Smooths his wavy brown hair with his hand, rests it on the back of his neck, and waits for my answer.

  “No thanks. I’ll wait.”

  “Just go! I’m serious. All the guys are gone. Surprise him. He’ll love it. He’s been talking about you.” His eyebrows jump into his forehead as he gives me a jab in the ribs.

  I don’t believe him, but I decide it’s easier to pretend I’m going in rather than be stuck listening to this jerk. “Yeah, sure. Okay.” I step around Fitz and rest my hand on the door. I fake a step forward and wait for Fitz to take off down the hallway. But he doesn’t budge. Just smiles at me.

  A nervous laugh slips from my lips. “Okay, bye.” I wave and open the door about a foot, expecting him to get lost.

  “What are you waiting for?” He slides next to me then pushes the door wide with one arm, and eases me through with the other. The stench of body odour and sweaty laundry fill my nostrils. I cough. Sway from lightheadedness.

  It’s not that different from the girls’ change room. Same yellow walls, chipping from age, and purple benches that line the room. There’s nobody here except Carson, who looks like he’s about to leave. He’s a loud mouth from grade eleven. I barely know him but have heard all the rumours. He’s the go-to guy for drugs and is known for being rough with his girlfriend. Fat Bastard is what I’d always called him behind his back. Carson looks at me, surprised. Doesn’t say anything as he glances from me to Fitz, looking denser than driftwood.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” I stand awkwardly. “I thought Stu was in here. I, uh, is he here?”

  Carson shakes his head and frowns. “Nope. Left during the game. Puked on the field and went home.”

  “What?” I shift my eyes to Fitz. His arms are folded over his chest in front of the door, looking a little too Mount Rushmore for my comfort.

  “Why did you tell me that…” I realize there’s no point in finishing my sentence. He nods at Carson. A breath gets caught like a bug in my throat and I try to skirt around him, but he circles his arms around my back and pulls me into him.

  “Hold her,” Fitz instructs Carson, throwing me to him. My arms are flung behind my back.

  “Let go of me!” I cry, but he pulls my arms tight into the centre of my back. I feel a snap somewhere in my left shoulder.

  “Got some rope?” Carson asks.

  “What?” I cry.

  “It’s a joke,” Fitz laughs. “Although I kind of wish I did have rope. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

  “Kiss my ass,” I say, trying to keep the tremor of fear out of my voice, but failing. Fitz pulls out his cell phone and flicks his thumb along the screen. Licks his lips. He lifts it so I can see my famous photo. I glance at it, and feel bile rising up my throat. My arms stretched above my head. Head turned slightly to the left, looking at the camera lens through the corners of my eyes. My breasts fully exposed. Nipples wide and dark like chocolate wafers. I’d always hated them. Shamefully big and unrefined. Like I’m part of a long lineage of nursemaids. I flash back to that night when I let him sneak in after mom and dad had gone to bed. Regret grips my heart for the thousandth time since he lifted his phone above me and snapped the photo. And, for the thousandth time, I wonder, how did I ever get into this awful mess? I look away.

  “Not until I get some of this,” he says.

  “That’s hot,” says the dumb ass behind me.

  “Stu will kill you when he finds out you did this.” I decide to play the boyfriend card, whatever’s left of it. Fitz lifts his hand to the top of my blouse and loosens the top button. Starts working on the next one.

  “I doubt it,” Fitz says, moving his mouth beside my ear. “He told me you guys are finished. And I can do whatever I want with you.” As much as I’d come to despise Stu, my heart crumples that he could say something so callous.

  “Get your hands off of me,” I growl, catching the sob that almost escapes my throat.

  “Relax Lana. We’ll let you go in a minute,” he answers. His hand rubs my left boob as nausea floods my stomach.

  Fitz undoes another button and pulls my shirt wide so that my bra is showing. Stay calm, I tell myself, lest the window-shattering scream inside me bursts into all kinds of crazy. And, that’s something that I cannot let happen. And give the fabbies more material for their slut campaign? No way.

  I concentrate on the air going in and out of my nose. Some meditation technique I’d learned in yoga. Keep your cool, Lana. I think of cold things. Ice cream. Falling snow.

  “Let go of me or I will scream,” I say as calmly as I can muster.

  “What the be-jeezus is going on here!” A man’s voice rips into the room. We all turn at the same time to see the football coach standing with his legs apart, hands on hips, and lower lip jutting out like a shelf.

  “Coach Diller!” Fitz jumps back. Carson drops my arms, freeing me to close my shirt.

  “This isn’t some by-the-hour hotel room! Get your girlfriend out of here.”

  He saves his most disgusted look for me and stomps to the exit. “You have thirty seconds!”

  “Shit,” Carson mutters as he grabs his things. “Think he’ll call our parents? We could get kicked off the team for this.”

  “Relax, idiot. He’s not going to do that. He wants us on the team. He knows we’re just having fun.”

  “Fun?” I spit the word out, grab my bag and stomp toward the exit.

  Fitz grabs my arm and smirks. “Next time we do photos.”

  I glare at him. Wish him dead. Wish he was as stupid as he looks. But he knows why I didn’t scream. He knows I’ll never tell a soul about this and risk adding kindling to the bonfire that is my life.

  “Get your hands off me.” I swing my palm back and slap Fitz across his face with the most satisfying sound I’ve heard in a while. “Don’t you ever touch me again.”

  I rush from the room before Fitz breaks his stunned expression. The coach is outs
ide the door, drinking a can of no-name soda. I glance at him, tempted to tell him that I was the victim in there. Maybe even say thank you for bringing it to an end. But his sneer tells me that would be a complete waste of time. That he knows as well as everyone else. Lana is a good-for-nothing whore.

  I rush out of the school, stopping for a minute just beyond the school parking lot to pull out my phone. Tapping on my messages to Stu, I type what I hope will be my final text, ever, to him.

  We. R. Finished. Asshole.

  Chapter 6

  Girl Unformulated

  Mom is sitting at the kitchen table when I get home. Another long walk but, this time, not quite so therapeutic. Unless you call crying for thirty minutes therapy. So much for the theory on my twenty-minute limit.

  “You’re later than usual,” Mom says as I hang up my jacket. Three red scented candles are lit in the hallway, forcing the smell of cinnamon through my nasal passages and causing me to cough. I look at my phone. Stu hasn’t bothered to respond to my text.

  “If I had a car, I would have gotten home a lot sooner.” I step in front of the hallway mirror. The cheeks are a little blotchy, but my eyes are clear. I poof my hair and fake a smile at my reflection.

  “I could have picked you up.”

  I enter the kitchen where she’s sitting at the table, already in her pyjamas. Still in her pyjamas? A glass of red wine is next to her plate of shepherd’s pie. Two place settings on either side of her.

  “I didn’t know I’d be so late,” I reply, grabbing one of the empty plates from the table and helping myself to food.

  “How was your day?” she asks.

  “Pretty good.” I sit down and grab the bottle of red sitting in the middle of the table and pour what’s left into my own glass.

  “Whoa!” Mom drops her fork. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Taking the edge off,” I lift it to my lips and take two big gulps. Let it coat my throat with its bitter warmth. I don’t know how people can enjoy this for its taste, but it’s not so bad for the buzz.

  “You shouldn’t do that,” Mom says. Rich, coming from her. Turning back to her own glass, she cradles it in her hands.