Like Lana

by Danielle Leonard

  Thankfully, Mrs. Laccetta is away and the supply teacher looks like he’s as anxious for the day to end as we are. He waves at me from the back of the class where his feet are propped up on the desk.

  “We’re having individual study right now,” he says, taking a sip from a can of Coke. “Your teacher says you all have an assignment to work on, so use your time wisely.”

  I nod, pull out my copy of 1984 and start reading where I last left off. My chair is shoved from behind. I ignore it. Another shove. Alysa’s foot. I’d like to turn around and yank her ankle so hard that she flies to the floor and lands on her fat rear end. Instead, I twist my body to glare at her.

  “What?”

  Alysa and Sarah exchange smiles then look back at me with matching sneers.

  “How’s it feel to be the biggest loser in the school? Now that you don’t have Stu to prop you up, you’re nothing,” says Alysa.

  Alysa’s big silver hoops sway as she turns to smile at Sarah, then fixes her stare back onto me. She’s wearing the hairband I helped her pick out this summer. A wide white one with yellow polka dots. I have the same one in pink. Mirror images, the two of us. Pathetic.

  I roll my eyes and return to my book, but the words don’t register meaning. A storm of anger is brewing in my head. When was the last time I got dressed without thinking about who would see me? And, why the hell should I care so much about what others think? Particularly those who have a keen interest in hating me. I need a change. No. I need to change. I sense something like a window opening inside my mind. As though a whiff of fresh air is circulating in my brain, unsettling the dust, clearing the stuffiness. Is this what it feels like to have a revelation?

  I’m not a hundred percent sure what my big a-ha is. It’s not like I experience outbursts of brilliance very often. Well, never. But I know it has something to do with me and change. Not the kind of change that is forced on me. God knows I’ve had enough of that. I need to instigate the change. I’ve made it too easy for them to go after me. They know how desperately I’ve wanted back in with the fabbies. Not anymore. It’s like something has finally snapped out of place. Or into place? I think of Fitz’s phone sitting in my bag. I’m sick of being the victim. It would be nice to play the predator. I walk to the back of the class where the supply teacher is half-asleep. He looks at me through one open eye.

  “Yes?”

  “May I go to the bathroom?” I ask. He waves me off and returns to his slumber. It’s time to put my hatred to use.

  Chapter 9

  Smashing Success

  Acustodian storage room is conveniently located across from the women’s bathroom. I take a quick peek inside. It’s empty. Slipping in, I almost trip over a mop resting against the door frame. There have got to be tools in here somewhere. Paper towels, garbage bags, cleaning sprays. I scan the shelf on the opposite side of the room, and zero in on a hammer hanging beside some kind of levelling tool and paint brushes. Perfect. Grabbing it, I scoot out of the room and cross the empty hallway into the bathroom.

  I glance at the stall where Fitz just attacked me and my knees grow weak. Purposely, I don’t look at the mirror. Setting the phone and hammer onto the counter, I steady myself and close my eyes. Take a deep breath. No revenge is severe enough to make up for what he did to me, but this is a start. My own phone vibrates in my cardigan pocket. Demit.

  DEMIT: Getting out of school early today. Meet at my place later?

  LANA: OMG! This is perfect!! I’m in girls bathroom on first floor. Meet me here!! Hurry!!

  DEMIT: The girls bathroom? R u joking?

  LANA: No. I’m serious. I need ur brainiac help. Just meet me in here. Im alone. Hurry!!

  DEMIT: Ok. B there in a minute. U better b sure no one else is there.

  LANA: Just hurry!

  A minute later, there’s a knock at the bathroom door. I swing it open and pull Demit in by the wrist. He looks around in awe.

  “Geez, it’s so clean,” he says. “Light blue? I always thought the floor was beige. Wait a sec. What happened to the mirror?”

  “Forget about that.” I pick up Fitz’s phone. “Can you hack this?” Demit raises an eyebrow.

  “Whose is it?”

  “An asshole’s. Now can you hack it or not?” Time is ticking and I need to act fast. He moves his gaze to the hammer and back to the phone.

  “You want to tell me what’s going on?”

  I sigh. “I will, honest. But I need you to trust me right now because we don’t have much time.” I growl, rubbing my hand over my face. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. “I shouldn’t have asked you to come. I don’t know what I’m doing.” I feel myself chickening out. Maybe I should just toss the phone in the toilet and be done with it. My glance rests on the crack in the mirror and my stomach grinds.

  Demit lifts his hand up. “All right. I trust you.” He takes the phone and presses the home button. “The easiest way to hack is to just guess the password. We have six chances. I assume this is Stu’s phone? What’s his birthday?”

  “It’s not Stu’s,” I answer. His stare is unnerving, but I don’t flinch.

  “Okay. Do you know this asshole’s birthday?”

  “No,” I bite my thumbnail. “But I know what number is on his football jersey. Would that help?”

  Demit wobbles his head. “Sure. Let’s give that a try. What is it?”

  “Twenty-three.”

  Demit types in two different number combinations then shakes his head.

  “I know he celebrated his birthday in the summer. Does that help?”

  Demit sighs. “Maybe twenty-three is the day of his birthday.” He shrugs. “It’s worth a try but if this doesn’t work, I know one other way to hack an iPhone but it doesn’t always work.”

  He tries a couple more numbers. “Got it! Oh-eight-twenty-three. He’s an August baby. That’s just plain ass good luck.” He hands the phone to me. “Now what?”

  I open the phone’s camera roll and find my picture. It’s really not that indecent, but I look like a crazed witch. Definitely not a photo I want shared. Delete. I tap onto his message app and think for a few seconds before typing I’m a pig.

  Demit looks over my shoulder. “That’s all sorts of lame. Are you trying to destroy this guy, or what?”

  I flip my eyes to him. “You got something better?”

  “Oh yeah,” he holds out his hand and I drop the phone into it. “This guy’s a real asshole, right?”

  “The worst.”

  He types in something then holds it out for me to see. My mom gives me the best blow jobs

  I half-cough, half-laugh. “Oh shit. Really?”

  “Too strong?” Demit asks. My stomach is a pretzel of nerves as I select All Contacts.

  “Nah.”

  “You sure you want to do this?” Demit asks. My finger hovers over Send. I tap it. And, the text is gone. Popping up on screens across the school, probably across the city. I cringe to think his parents will read it, but he deserves all the suffering I can inflict on him.

  “What do you want to do with the phone?” Demit asks, looking at the hammer. I had only planned to use it as a last resort. If I couldn’t delete the picture. I pick up the hammer to return to the custodian’s room. Then have a sudden change of heart. Dropping the phone to the floor, I lower to my knees and raise the hammer over my head. Smash it against the glass screen with all my might. Once. Twice. Three times. Each blow releasing a bit of the anger gripping my heart.

  “Whoa,” Demit breathes. “That is one dead fucker.”

  I gather the shattered pieces into my hands and drop everything into a tampon disposal box inside a stall. No guy will ever look in one of those.

  “I need to get back to class,” I announce, dropping my own phone back into my pocket. I try not to think about what Fitz will do to me if he ever figures out what I’ve done, shuddering at the possibilities. It was worth it, I decide. This victim gig is really wearing on me, and I’m ready to fight back. I think.

  D
emit looks at his watch. “Twenty minutes left. I’ll return the hammer for you. Was it in the custodian room?” I nod as he rests his hand on my shoulder. “See you later?”

  “Sure.” He rushes out of the bathroom, leaving me, flushed with adrenaline. My heart is still racing. I feel triumphant. For a second I consider what Fitz will do to me when he puts the pieces together, but just as quickly push that from my mind. I’m going to enjoy this experience for as long as I am able.

  ***

  I look at my watch sitting on the counter as I get out of the shower to towel off. Demit will be here in a couple hours. Scrubbing myself of Fitz’s handprints was the first thing I did when I got home. I feel a bit better, but not really. I don’t know if anything can erase the feelings of disgust that run through my veins. Trying to stop the replay in my mind, I think about Fitz’s phone. I wish I could feel the same satisfaction just from the memory. But I don’t. It’s not enough. I want him to suffer infinitely for what he did to me. I wonder if he knows about the text yet. If he’s experienced any fallout. And, what he’ll do to me if he realizes I did it. He can’t possibly do anything worse than what he’s already done. Can he?

  Mom is working the evening shift at the store today, so I don’t expect to see her before nine-thirty. As if on cue, I get a text from her.

  MOM: Will b late tonight. Cook a frozen pizza for din

  LANA: How abt delivery

  MOM: No. Dad bought frozen pizzas. Cook one

  I’m impressed Mom is actually heeding Dad’s advice, for once. As I head downstairs, I hear the TV playing in the living room. Tinny sounds of girls screeching at each other. A reality show. Which is really a stupid word to describe these programs. Everyone knows they’re the opposite of reality. Everyone is acting. Acting like they’re not acting. Working the screen to come out the hero of the show. Trying not to be the one most harshly judged who ends up on the cover of In Touch magazine with a dimpled ass in a thong under the headline Guess Whose Butt!

  I can barely handle being jerked around by my BFFs. Pleasing thousands of viewers at once? That’s got to be tough. Unless you’re the favourite. Adored by fans. I wonder how I’d pan out. I like to think I’d be loved. Today’s phone smashing would have made great TV drama. Send ratings through the roof. Made me a star.

  It’s best I don’t think about Fitz anymore. Put it out of my mind. Tell myself it was just sex. Horrible, unwanted sex. Leave it at that. Better to not admit what it really was. The big R word. Better not say that too openly. When one of the fabbies accused her ex-boyfriend of the big R last year, we all sided with her ex. She switched to a private school the next year. Not one of my proudest moments.

  Despite my efforts to rid my head of the memory, I find myself in front of my laptop opening up my blog. I don’t even know what I’m going to write but somehow the words flow.

  October 18

  The hate is growing

  I was attacked today. Yes it was a physical attack, I don’tthink that’s what was the worst part about it. I feel like he assaulted my soul. Scrunched it tight into a little ball of garbage and threw it aside.

  Yes. It. I am an “it” today. A thing to him. Well, to all of them. They can’t possibly think of me as human. If they did, they wouldn’t be so cruel. Would they? Every day, I’m reminded of how insignificant I am. Just a toy for them to get their sick kicks with. I don’t know how much more I can take of this. Today’s attack has pushed me to a new low. I may be small but my hate is growing. They say whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. I don’t feel strong. Does that mean this is killing me? I. Want. To. Die.

  I don’t read it over. Just click publish and smack my laptop closed. Maybe it will be the last post I ever publish. Maybe today will be the day I slit my wrists. I drop my head on my laptop and cry until I can barely catch my breath. I stuff my face into my pillow and feel the fabric turn wet.

  When I finally stop crying, I realize something. I’m not ready to give up yet. Not tonight, anyways. They haven’t broken me completely. I won’t go down without a fight. And, besides all that, Demit is coming over tonight. A small relief from my pain and loneliness.

  Demit arrives earlier than expected.

  “Hey,” I open the door to let him in past me.

  “Oh.” He stands awkwardly with one hand behind his back.

  “Are you coming in?” I’m shivering from the chilly air rushing through the doorway.

  He’s not looking me in the eyes like he normally does. If I didn’t know him so well, I’d think he was acting shy.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, looking at his arm tucked behind his back.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Are you hiding something? What’s behind your back?” I lean over to see.

  “It’s just a little something.” He swings his arm around, pulling out a small bouquet of white and yellow flowers.

  “What the…” I raise my eyebrows. “Flowers?”

  His face grows pink. “Yes, they’re flowers. No, I did not buy them. My mom got them from a client today and when I told her I was coming to your house, she said I should bring them to you. Our house is such a disaster from the cupcakes that she has nowhere to put them.”

  “So, you’re giving me your mom’s flowers?” I ask, but I’m joking. It’s very sweet.

  “Well, I told my mom you had a rough day. So, she insisted I bring them. I know. Stupid.” He drops them to his side.

  I smile. “Nobody has ever brought me flowers before. So, thank you.” I extend my hand and Demit hands them to me, shrugging.

  “It’s freezing. Come on in.” He steps inside the house and looks around.

  “It smells like apple pie or something. You baking?” he asks.

  “No. It’s one of those fake scented plug-ins. Our house always reeks.”

  He coughs. “Smells good.” I enter the kitchen to fill a vase with water.

  I hear him flick his shoes off as I’m pushing the flowers into the glass vase.

  “You want a drink?”

  “Sure. I’ll have a Coke. Or whatever you got that’s closest.”

  I open the refrigerator. “Tomato juice or chocolate milk.”

  “Chocolate milk.”

  After pouring two tall glasses of milk and stirring syrup in them, I flip open my parents’ liquor cupboard. Pull out a dark brown bottle and read the label.

  “Want some Baileys? I think we earned it today.” Demit grimaces. I don’t wait for his answer and pour a generous shot into each glass.

  “Cheers,” he says with shrug. “To GU.” We clink and drink. Mom won’t be home for awhile yet, so I grab the bottle. It’s Friday and I’d like to forget my life.

  “Let’s go upstairs.” Demit follows me into my bedroom. I grab my laptop and sit cross-legged on my bed, leaning against the pillow and cradling my drink. Turning on a playlist, I look for a song to play. I don’t know indie music like Demit, so I settle on a retro eighties song for now. Demit looks at my bed, then at the chair beside my desk. Clearly at odds with where he should park himself. Sizing up Demit’s tall lean frame, I wonder what it would be like to lie beside him. His lips against mine. I flick it out of my head like a pesky bug. Maybe bringing him up here was a bad idea. Me and guys and bedrooms are not a healthy mix. And, besides all that, Demit and I are just friends. I’m about to get up when Demit flops down next to me, his knee touching mine.

  “Today was crazy,” he says, waiting for me to elaborate. But I don’t feel like sharing right now. I let the pause stretch until awkwardness sets in.

  “You don’t need to tell me about it.” He nudges himself an inch away from me. “But it’d be all sorts of awesome for your blog to tell your fans the shit you disturbed today.”

  “I don’t know.” I twist hair around my finger and avoid his gaze. Clearly, he hasn’t seen my last post.

  “I know you don’t want to talk about it, but what do you think will happen if this guy finds out it’s you?” Concern creeps into hi
s voice.

  “It’ll be fine.” I say lightly. “He’ll never find out.” I don’t want to admit that the thought freaks me out a little. He can’t possibly do anything worse than what he’s already done. Can he? I finish up my glass of milk.

  “More?” I ask, leaning over the side of my bed to pick up the bottle. Demit’s glass is still a quarter full, but he shrugs and offers me his glass anyways. Pouring liquor into his, and then mine, I take a slow, lazy sip. Demit turns to his phone. Texting. Playing a game. Whatever. I close my eyes and listen to the music. Let my head float like a parachute.

  “What’re you thinking about?” Demit asks after a while. My eyes flutter open. His usually intense gaze is soft and out of focus. A half-smile on his face. Our knees are touching again.

  “Freedom,” I say.

  “Freedom’s good. From what?” He drops his phone onto the carpet and leans one hand on the bed. My mind drifts until Demit tugs my big toe. “Hello? Earth to Lana.”

  “Freedom from caring about anyone and anything. Freedom from judgement,” I say, swiping his hand away from my foot. “That tickles.”

  “Maybe it’s easier than you think,” he suggests, resting his hand on my knee and sending a warm shiver up my thigh.

  “Nothing is easy when it comes to my life. What I need is an enormous eraser to make the last month of my life disappear.” I stop. Close my eyes and shake my head. “The same thought keeps coming back to me. That I brought all of this hell on myself. Things don’t just happen for no reason.”

  “That’s crazy to blame yourself.”

  “Is it?” I pull my knees into my chest and hug them. “I don’t think so. You know I used to love school? All through elementary school, middle school. And, by grade ten I was practically failing half my classes. Chasing boys. Sometimes I think the insults hurt so much because maybe they’re true.”