by Hart, Rebel
“Did you just call your mother a whore?” I asked.
“Ugh!”
She stormed through the front foyer of the school, and I watched as she left. Just… left. She didn’t pass go. She didn’t collect her two hundred dollars. And she sure as hell didn’t follow me to the principal’s office. Oh, that would get her detention. The goody-good who tried her best to be as rich as her best friends would sit her ass in some lonely room for the rest of the week. Which made me salivate with excitement. I mean, there was nothing more fun than ruining someone’s day.
But when I watched those same people ruin their week just to get away from me?
I mean, it was practically a fucking Christmas gift.
5
Raelynn
I sucked air through my teeth as my pencil doodled along the edges of my notebook. After completely bailing school a couple of days ago, I’d been called into the principal’s office first thing yesterday morning. I mean, I didn’t even get through the damn front doors with Michael and Allison before the principal beckoned me with his crooked finger. It made me irate that I was having to pay a price by simply standing up to Clinton Clarke. It was sickening to me that I was being punished after saying what I knew the teacher even wanted to say to him!
And now, here I sat, doodling in my notebook and waiting for the time to pass.
The principal gave me detention after school for an hour for the rest of the week. As recompense for my outburst, for shoving him into a wall—which was wonderfully caught on camera for people to behold—and for storming out of school without a note. Great. Fucking grand. It was me, the nose picker, the born-again meth head, and the drug dealer.
The only good thing about detention was the fact that Clint hadn’t actually showed up. He wasn’t there after school yesterday, nor was he there today. And while I knew he’d pay a hefty price for it, it wasn’t like he cared. Kids like him never cared about that kind of shit. The only thing he cared about was his image, the pussy he wanted to slay, and how he looked riding his bike.
Which was pretty pathetic, if someone asked me.
I sighed as I kept sketching in the margins of my notes from class. I drew little characters to act out scenes from world history we’d already learned about. I drew a bobblehead of Clint with his tongue hanging out and his eyes crossed. I smiled as I made a little speech bubble. I giggled as I wrote out all sorts of jokes that made him look like the knuckle-dragging, drooling idiot he was.
Then the detention teacher shushed me.
I peeked up at him, watching as he went back to reading his book. I rolled my eyes and propped my chin against my hand, continuing to sketch little bobbleheads. I had one of Clint with his ripped leather jacket tossed over his face. I had one of him bent over, with his ass crack showing. I had one of him drunk, with his eyes rolled back and vomit sliding down his chin. I quickly felt the therapeutic effects taking hold, and before I knew it there were four entire blank pages filled to the brim with comedic, insulting doodles of this asshole.
Soon, the bobbleheads became extensive drawings. I created an entire character around this guy. A character that went around trying to pick on people before getting his ass beat. The pages of my notebook became comic book blocks. And soon, dialogue flowed from my fingertips. I licked my lips, focusing on the way my pencil markings flowed across the paper. And I thanked my stars I had mechanical pencils. I got them for free at the grocery store, along with the lead. Which meant never having to get up and sharpen my pencil.
So my creative flow was never interrupted.
Serves him right.
I drew him in all sorts of scenarios. Falling into a volcano after being shoved out of a helicopter by Allison. Being tossed to the alligators by Michael after he made an unsavory joke about her. Me, shoving him off a cliff and watching as he plummeted to the water, crying like the gigantic baby he was as his arms flailed around in the air.
An image from my dream bombarded my mind. My own arms flailing as I fell, deeper and deeper into the darkness.
Not even Clint deserves to know what that feels like.
I ripped the page out of my notebook and crumpled it up. Which earned me a hearty shush from the teacher at the front of the classroom. I decided to draw me putting Clint into the wall instead. Shoving him so hard into the wall his nose bled. Pulling at his wrist so much it dislocated. I let my imagination run away with me, concocting all sorts of scenarios where Clint got exactly what was coming to him.
Then I closed my notebook with a sigh.
I looked up at the clock and saw I still had thirty more minutes. Great. Thirty fucking minutes to sit here and contemplate my life. I pulled my ponytail out of its holder and re-did it. Put it up higher on my head to get it off the nape of my neck. I wasn’t sure why the room was so hot, but for some reason I kept sweating down my back. It made my shirt stick to my skin and caused the seat underneath me to grow damp.
And the only thing it made me think about was how relentlessly Clint would be teasing me right now if he were here.
Thank fuck, he isn’t.
I gazed out the window and let my mind wander. I replayed one of the many conversations Allison had already spewed over lunch about her future plans. College, and all that. It didn’t shock me that, miraculously, Michael wanted to go to the same college as her. He pretended that it was because their sports management program was the best in this part of the country. Allison, of course, was clueless about what he was doing. She was clueless about how Michael felt about her, and it was almost comedic. It was so juicy and delicious that I could’ve written an entire comic book series on their interactions. On the way Michael drooled over her and how absolutely brain dead she was to the entire thing.
It was sweet.
In a weird sort of way.
Allison’s conversations had me thinking, though. I mean, regular college would never be for me. But I also didn’t want to work at the grocery store for the rest of my life. If I wanted to really chase a dream, I’d chase character design. I’d apply for schools that cared more about artistic talent than grades, and I’d submit a portfolio. Granted, it wouldn't be a professional portfolio. Just shit I’d done in my art electives. But the thought made me smile.
Being able to do graphic and character design for the rest of my life genuinely made me smile.
Or maybe I could start my own comic book line.
I sighed as I slid down into my chair. Unlike Allison and Michael, however, I’d have to work full time in order to save up the money. I didn’t have the grades for scholarships, and being poor only got someone like me so far with federal grants and shit like that. I sure as hell wasn’t taking out loans, either. Not without some sort of guaranteed way to pay them back. Which meant me working in the grocery store full-time—or working another job full-time—until I saved up the money for my first few semesters.
Which meant Mom couldn't drink my money away.
Which meant I’d have to move out.
Which would cost money for rent and bills and shit like that.
Which I wouldn't be able to afford on an hourly paycheck of minimum wage.
Fuck.
I didn't want to let those things stop me, though. Because every time I walked into my house, it reminded me of the kind of life I didn’t want. It reminded me of the kind of legacy I didn’t want to leave behind. Every time I went over to Allison’s house or Michael’s place, the kind of life I wanted slapped me in the face. And not just the money, either. It was the happiness. Having a loving family that gave a damn about each other. Having mouth-watering food on the table for every meal. Having every kind of drink I could have ever possibly wanted spilling out of the fridge at any given moment.
I didn’t want to just survive, like my mother.
I wanted to thrive, like Allison and Michael.
Shit takes money, though.
Why the fuck did good things always take money?
“Detention dismissed.”
The teac
her’s voice caught my ear and I gathered up my things as quickly as I could. I had to work from seven to close at the grocery store tonight. But Michael said he was treating Allison and me to soup and sandwiches. I dashed out of the room, heading straight for the front doors of the high school. I shoved myself out of them, ready to race home to find my bike so I could get to the bistro quicker.
Until a horn honking caught my ear.
“Come on, Rae! Get in!” Allison exclaimed.
She waved her arm out the window to catch my attention and I smiled. I trotted over to the SUV Michael’s parents had bought him and climbed in back, happy to be with my friends. He blazed a trail away from the school, heading into town as Allison craned her neck to look back at me.
“So, how’s the time you’re doing? What’s it like? Does it remind you of prison?”
I rolled my eyes. “It’s not jail time. It’s just detention.”
Michael snickered. “And we’ve never had detention. You have to fill us in on everything that’s happening. What’s it like? Does it smell? How’s Clint been?”
I sighed. “You know damn good and well Clint Clarke doesn’t show up to things like detention.”
Allison paused. “Wait, he’s not showing up?”
Michael chuckled. “Doesn’t shock me one bit. What do you think they’ll do to him if he doesn’t go?”
Allison scoffed. “The nerve of that jerk. Sticking you in detention by ruffling your feathers, then skipping out on the punishment he deserves. Selfish little—”
I grinned. “Careful, now. You might ruin that pristine outfit of yours.”
Michael sighed. “I mean, he’ll probably get expelled. Which would give us all a nice break.”
Allison fell back into her seat. “Well, I for one hope it happens. Everyone’s tired of that knucklehead.”
I smiled. “Allison, your insults give me life. You know that?”
Michael grumbled, “I can’t stand that guy. Someone needs to beat some sense into him.”
Allison gasped. “Michael. I’ve never known you to be a violent person.”
I snickered. “He’s not, until he is. I’ve seen him come close to punching someone in the face. Remember that guy that kept teasing you sophomore year?”
Allison thought about it. “Oh, my gosh. I completely forgot about that. The foreign exchange student from Germany that we had. Timmy?”
Michael frowned. “Tommy.”
Allison patted his shoulder. “That’s right. Tommy. He was teasing me about my braces, and you stepped in to shut him down. What was it you said to him?”
I shook my head. “I can’t believe you don’t remember this. He said—”
“—If you ever decide to look her way again with anything but admiration in your eyes, be prepared to lose them,” Michael supplied.
Allison giggled. “Aww, my hero. We can always count on you, can’t we?”
The pride in Michael’s face warmed my heart.
We rode in silence until he pulled the vehicle into the parking lot of the bistro. I looked across the road and sighed, already dreading my four or so hours of work. But it was necessary if I wanted to eat lunch. Or put away any money for my future. Or generally not piss my mother off with not having any money she could mooch off me.
Michael craned his head back. “You ready to go eat? It’s on me.”
I smiled. “I appreciate it, but you know I can—”
Allison cleared her throat. “Let the man pay, Rae. Sometimes, paying makes them feel powerful. Right?”
Michael smiled brightly. “Right.”
I rolled my eyes and giggled as I got out of the car. The three of us walked into the sandwich shop and I ordered as much food as I could without seeming selfish. A full-size sandwich, since Michael got himself one. A bowl of soup, since Allison got herself one. A dessert, since all of us wanted one, and a large drink. Which I could refill and take with me to work.
“I’m proud of you, you know.”
I whipped my head around, staring up into Michael’s face.
“What was that?” I asked.
He grinned down at me. “For standing up to Clint. I’m proud of you. People don’t do that with him, and they should. Someone needs to teach his arrogant ass a lesson one of these days. Maybe they’ll be inspired by how you stand up to him and actually do it.”
Allison slipped between the two of us. “Oh, yeah? And who do you think is going to put the school bully in his place?”
He shrugged. “Anyone, really.”
I sighed. “He’s not worth it, guys. Trust me. Bullies like him feed on the rise he gets out of people. For all we know, he’ll go home and orgasm to it later.”
Allison gasped. “Rae!”
Michael threw his head back, laughing. “She’s got a point.”
And as our food got handed to us, I debated whether or not to save half of my sandwich. After all, it would make a very good breakfast.
If Mom didn’t steal it from the refrigerator first.
6
Clinton
I smashed the buttons. “Come on, you can’t go faster than that? He’s getting away!”
Roy tilted to the side. “You’re the one who decided to modify your car at the last second. I would’ve been fine had you not pulled some shady shit.”
“Shady shit! It’s not shady when I’m making last minute tweaks to my car. The fuck’s wrong with you?”
“Well, how about we agree to disagree and smoke the asswipes?”
Our cars raced around the track on the projection screen television. I’d decided to have Roy over instead of going to detention. Playing Forza 4 sounded a hell of a lot better than sitting in some smelly, nasty, stinky room with Rae fucking Cleaver. And we had a good race going, too. I shot up from my chair, walking closer to the projector screen as we came upon our competition.
I pointed. “Go off the track. See that ditch? Fly over it and meet me on the other side.”
Roy snickered. “The fuck? Are you trying to get me thrown—”
“Just do it, dickweed! I’m trying not to cost us our rank in this damn game!”
I kept pressing buttons and fiddling with the modifications I’d made to my car. This damn thing was my pride and joy. I’d been grinding until the early hours of the morning over the summer, winning races and getting enough in-game cash to buy what I wanted to for it. Its speed was unmatched. The engine horsepower was out of this world. The car fucking screamed around the track, smoking these newbies like it was a fish fry.
Then the front door slammed out.
“What the—?”
My eyes peeled away from the screen, and I watched in shock as my father walked through the front doors. He was followed by my stepmother, who looked like her head was about to explode with fury. The horrific sound of my car crashing into a tree caused Roy to groan.
Roy stood up quickly. “Mr. Clarke. Mrs. Clarke. How was the safari?”
My father leveled his eyes with me. “Roy. Go home.”
“Right away, sir. See you tomorrow, Clint.”
Pussy.
I tossed my controller onto the couch as the race came to a close. We almost had it. We almost had those idiots! And now our ranking would fall. We wouldn't have the money we needed to fix our cars. And I’d have to deal with my parents ranting and screaming for a while so they could make themselves feel like decent people.
It wasn’t until Roy closed the front door behind him that my father spoke.
“What’s this I hear about you getting into it with your teacher and a female student on Monday?”
My stepmother came and stood beside my father, trying to present some sort of bullshit united front, even though the two of us never talked. I wanted nothing to do with her—or my real mother, for that matter. I was glad that bitch came in and ruined my father’s marriage. I was glad to be rid of my drug-addicted mother who wanted to do nothing more than spend my father’s money until we were out on the fucking street.
&n
bsp; But that didn’t mean I had to be all buddy-buddy with his new, hot piece of ass.
I sighed. “They pissed me off. The hell was I supposed to do?”
Dad narrowed his eyes. “First of all, you watch that language in this house. And second of all, you man up. A man never allows his emotions to rage out of control like that. You need to learn how to keep it on a leash.”
“Like you do Cecilia over there?”
“What did you say?”
Her eyes stayed pinned on me, but she didn’t move. She didn’t say a word, and she sure as hell didn’t come to my defense. Figures, since she’d always been far removed from the situation. Just another plastic-surgery woman who simply knew how to take her place next to Dad. As my father came into the living room, I prepared myself to buck against it. It wouldn't be the first time I’d physically fought him. It would just be the first time he had the balls to start a fist fight like that in front of someone.
Dad gripped my leather jacket. “You’d do well to remember your manners and mind them in the presence of adults.”
I grinned. “Do adults manhandle their children in their own home?”
“Take it easy, Howard. You’re toeing a line.”
My eyebrows rose at hearing Cecilia’s voice. But it did nothing to harness my father’s rage. His anger. It did nothing but remind me exactly where I got my anger issues from. Exactly why I’d always felt like a burden. Exactly why I’d always hated my fucking father, no matter what he felt he’d done for me.
Dad shoved me against a wall. “How many times am I going to have to bail your pathetic ass out of these situations?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. How much money you got on you nowadays?”
He growled. “I’m sick and tired of that school calling us, Clinton. Don’t you know we have better things to do than worry about our fully-grown son who seems incapable of doing anything right? How the fuck do you expect to have any future?”
