by Kody Boye
You’re toast.
I try not to think of the note and what its implications might mean as I go about my day, but find myself doing just that regardless. Knowing, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that someone is out to get me, is unsettling enough. But understanding that they would go to such lengths to threaten me? That is something I could not have even begun to imagine.
Just remain calm, I think as I make my way through the halls of Red Wolf High. Everything will be fine.
Everything? Everything?
I can’t help but laugh.
Everything is not going to be just fine. Someone, and I don’t know who, has threatened me—and while they’d only gone so far as to leave a note in my locker, it’s enough to confirm that they are serious enough to risk their identity being discovered just to scare me.
If they mean to just scare me.
For all I know, they could mean to hurt me.
They already have, I am quick to remind myself. Don’t think they won’t do worse.
They say boys are bad enough, but high school girls: they’re mean. M-E capital mean. Look at one the wrong way and they’ll metaphorically gut you like a fish.
As I approach my final, and most loathed, class of the day, I can’t help but feel as if I am a goldfish in bowl—one whose walls are closing in.
The door to Mrs. Ledger’s class stands before me.
I can only imagine the horrors that wait within.
Easton Wells.
Ashley Jones.
The cheerleading squad.
The football team.
I inhale a quick breath through my nose and expel it through my teeth in quick succession—hoping, to whatever kind God looks upon schoolgirls, that everything will be perfectly fine. However, something tells me that won’t be the case.
The door to Mrs. Ledger’s classroom is wide open; and while her students are still filing in, I can just make out the silhouette of the one who has started this whole game.
Easton.
Normally, he would be attractive, as with sharp cheekbones and pretty eyes he could make any girl swoon. But with his hawkish gaze, and his wicked disposition, it’s impossible for me to find him attractive, especially considering who his father is.
Cruel. Callous. Cunning.
These words echo through my mind as I enter the classroom, and follow me down the aisle of desks that divide the room until I reach my own.
A voice says, “Hey.”
I turn my head. Find Jackson Meadows sitting beside me. Smile.
He returns the smile in kind and says, “How’s your day been going?”
“All right,” I offer, trying my hardest not to think about the anxieties that the note has caused me. “Yours?”
“It’s been fine,” he replies. “I’m starting to get to know the place.”
Someone snorts behind me; and though I don’t fully turn, I can just make out Easton in my peripheral, shaking his head and rolling his eyes as I flick my gaze toward him.
“Just ignore him,” Jackson says.
Though I nod, a part of me wonders if I truly can ignore him, given the way recent events have played out. I haven’t even explained the situation to Jackson and J’vonte in full, so they don’t know his cunning, his intent, his cruel and utter malice toward me and my family.
His hatred runs deep—far deeper than I could’ve ever possibly imagined.
“Hey,” J’vonte says as she settles into the seat beside mine, drawing me from my thoughts of what Easton could and could not do.
“Hey,” I reply.
“How’re you feeling?”
“Fine,” I reply, turning my head just slightly so I can take note of Easton’s expression at the back of the room. “Why do you ask?”
“I was wondering if you’d caught wind of anything about…” She leans forward. “The note.”
I shake my head.
J’vonte frowns.
Jackson nudges my shoulder as Mrs. Ledger rises from the back of the room and makes her way toward the door. She smiles his way—a rarity that I know comes from not knowing who he is or what he might stand for—and nods at me and J’vonte before shutting the door. “I hope you all are ready for your test today,” she says.
Several of the students nod. Some groan. Jackson looks a bit bewildered.
“Don’t worry, Mister…”
“Meadows,” Jackson offers.
“Don’t worry, Mister Meadows. You won’t be graded on this test. I would like you to complete as much as you do know, however.”
“All right,” he says. “Thank you, ma’am.”
“You’re welcome,” she replies, before sliding to the front of the room. “Miss Jones, will you please come forward and pass the papers out?”
Ever the suck-up, Ashley Jones rises from her seat and does as instructed, going from row to row, person to person, counting and then handing out stacks of tests. When she comes to J’vonte’s row, she smiles; and when she comes to the one I’m in, leans forward and says, “Sorry about yesterday” in as cheery and annoyed a voice as possible.
“Yeah,” I reply, taking the stack of tests from her. “It’s fine.”
She openly smiles at Jackson, then leans down far enough to reveal her cleavage through her blouse to him. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Jackson.”
“We met yesterday,” he offers.
“Oh. Right.” She stands. “I guess we did.”
“Stop chit-chatting and hand out the tests, Miss Jones.”
Ashley rolls her eyes and passes the final stack of papers to Jackson before returning to her seat.
The whole while she walks, I wonder if Jackson would really be interested in a girl like Ashley Jones.
She’s pretty enough, I think, but God is she annoying.
A half-smile crosses my face as I lean forward to examine the tests.
The minute my eyes meet the first question is the minute I begin to feel a sense of hopelessness.
Crap, I think.
All the studying in the world couldn’t have prepared me for this.
Still—there’s nothing I can do now.
So, with that in mind, I draw a pencil from my binder, then commit myself to doing as best as I can.
At least in this period I won’t have to worry about what will happen next.
The test takes an impossible amount of time. Seemingly never-ending, I go through page after page, hoping beyond hope that I will at least do decent enough to pass. I note that J’vonte speeds through it, though whether or not she’s actually aware of what she’s writing down I can’t be for certain. And Jackson? I’m guessing he’s mostly just thumbing answers in, though I can’t necessarily blame him. Mrs. Ledger’s tests are known to be ruthless.
At least he’s not getting graded, I think.
Still—the fact that he appears to be so lost doesn’t settle my confusion over the matter any, and is enough to make me feel that subtle twinge of anxiousness that often comes when I’m stressed.
Thankfully, I only have one answer left when the bell rings. I’m able to circle my response in just in time.
“All right,” Mrs. Ledger says. “Time’s up! Turn your papers face-down and pass them forward.”
We do as asked, and wait for Mrs. Ledger to formally excuse us before rising and making our way toward the door.
“How’d you do?” J’vonte asks.
“I don’t know,” I reply, in a tone I hope doesn’t sound too much like a moan. “I hate taking tests.”
“So do I.”
“But you make it look so easy.”
“Still,” J’vonte says. “I get bad test anxiety. You know how that is.”
I nod.
Jackson holds the door open for the two of us and then follows us out. He waits until we’re halfway down the hall before asking, “You were studying the wolves?”
“Ecology,” J’vonte says. “Mostly conservation and stuff.”
“You’ve heard that they’re supposedly back. Right?”
“We have,” my friend replies. “Sort of odd, considering that you just moved back and all.”
“What do you mean by that?” he asks, a twist of confusion lighting his face.
“Oh, nothing,” J’vonte says. “I just thought it was weird, that was all.”
Why? I think, and frown.
Jackson, nor my friend, seem to notice my expression, however. Rather, they continue forward—J’vonte nonchalantly, Jackson with that same weird look. A part of me wonders why he looks that way, but another leaves me too hesitant to question it.
Maybe it’s for the same reason he got upset about the wolf, I think. Maybe he just has a soft spot for animals. Or maybe… just maybe…
I’m immediately cut-off by the sight of several people standing before a series of lockers—not only pointing and murmuring amongst themselves, but taking pictures with their smartphones as well.
“What’s going on?” J’vonte asks.
“I don’t know,” Jackson replies, drawing forward. “I don’t—“
He pales almost instantly.
Given her height, J’vonte struggles to see over the crowd. When she turns her head to see Jackson’s face, she frowns and asks, “What? What’s going on?”
“Don’t look,” Jackson replies.
“Why? What’re you—“
A moment later, I see why.
Painted, in bright red lipstick, on the tarnished white lockers, are the words Oaklynn Smith’s a slut!
The sight makes me physically ill.
“Oaklynn?” J’vonte asks.
“What’s wrong? Why are you—“
I can’t help it.
I run.
Chapter Eight
I’m almost off school grounds when I hear someone running behind me. Unable to look, and still on the verge of tears, I inhale a deep breath and then expel it before reaching up to dab at my eyes.
“Hey,” Jackson says. “Oaklynn.”
“What?” I ask through a sniffle, refusing to turn and face him.
“I’m sorry you had to see that. I tried to warn you.”
“You don’t have to apologize,” I say, reaching up to press two fingers to the bridge of my nose. “It’s not your fault.”
“I know, but, still…” He sighs. “No one should have to see something like that.”
“Why are they after me all of a sudden?” I ask, spinning to face him just in time to see J’vonte running across the front lawn. “Is this because of the wolves? Because I got Easton Wells in trouble? Because Ashley Jones got disciplined for hitting me in the face?”
“Oaklynn!” J’vonte says, panting in obvious rage rather than physical discomfort. “I swear to God, if I find out who did that, I’m gonna—“
“We shouldn’t do anything,” I reply. “It’s only going to make it worse.”
“I was gonna say bust their nose in,” my friend replies, “but… damn. You’re probably right.”
I lower my eyes.
J’vonte sighs.
Jackson reaches out to set a hand on my shoulder. “Do you need anything from your locker?” he asks.
“No,” I reply. “I don’t.”
“Come on then. I’ll walk you home.”
“I’m sorry, Oaklynn,” J’vonte says. “We’ll get to the bottom of this. I swear it.”
“I know,” I say, half-heartedly at that. I know my best friend would die for me if she had to, but fact is: I don’t want her getting into a fight over me. There’s just no point in it.
With one last nod, J’vonte turns and begins to make her way toward the bus, leaving me and Jackson to walk down the old dirt road alone.
We walk in silence for several long minutes. During this time, I keep my head down and my arms across my chest, my hands along my ribcage. My heart continues to pound—thump thump, thump thump—and though I long to fight the monster that wishes to break free, I know I can’t afford to do it in front of Jackson.
Just stay calm, I think. Everything’s fine. You’re fine.
No. I’m not fine. I’m not okay. What they wrote on my locker… what they emblazoned upon it in red lipstick… was monstrous.
It’ll be all over social media by the time the day is up. And poor little me will be made to suffer for it all.
Jackson exhales—long, hard, and seemingly without awareness—before he says, “Do you want to talk?”
“About what?”
“About what happened?”
“There’s really nothing to talk about,” I reply. “Someone got jealous that I was talking to you. That’s all there is to it.”
“But was it before or after that girl flashed her tits at me?”
“I don’t know,” I say. I lift my eyes from the ground to look at Jackson, and force myself to hold my gaze with him rather than shy away. “Why do you ask that?”
“I saw one of the girls messing with her phone,” he replies. “It just… seemed weird, was all. That that would happen right after that did.”
“We’re too old for this bullshit,” I say. “We’re adults for God’s sake.”
“Some people never grow up,” Jackson offers.
“I guess not,” I say.
The frown painted on his face does little to console me.
“Either way,” I offer, turning my head back to the path we are on, “thank you for trying to warn me. I just wish someone had been decent enough to try and scrub it off rather than—“
“Take pictures?”
“Yeah.”
“I do, too.”
There isn’t much more to say about the matter, and because of that, we fall back into silence as we make our way home.
Come time we reach the expanse of road between our homes, we can do little but say goodbye.
“See you tomorrow?” Jackson asks.
“Yeah,” I reply. “I… I guess.”
He offers a short but sad nod before turning and making his way into his home.
As I step onto my porch, and as I enter through and close my front door, I find myself collapsing back against it and sob.
This shouldn’t be happening to me. I’ve never been mean to anyone. I’ve never purposely gotten anyone into trouble. Done anything bad. I mean, hell—I’ve never even wished ill will on anyone, as much as I’ve wanted to. And yet… this is happening.
All because of Easton Wells and Ashley Jones.
“Why me?” I ask. “What’d I ever do to deserve this?”
The truth is: I can’t, and probably will never, know.
That alone is enough to spur me into my room, close the door, and plant myself in my bed.
There’s no denying what’s going on.
These antics—they’re going to go on for the rest of the year.
And it’s only September.
Don’t check your Social, J’vonte texts.
But it is impossible not to. Like a moth drawn to a flame, or a bee to its sweet nectar, I press my finger to the app and watch, in cruel awe and horrible fascination, as the tagged notifications continue to roll in.
Oaklynn? J’vonte’s text comes in. You didn’t check. Did you?
Except, there’s no way for me to respond, no way for me to articulate an answer. I’m just staring—and because of that, find myself trembling not in hurt, but rage.
“I swear,” I whisper to myself, “that if I find out who does this, I’m gonna—“
What, though? Just what would I do to someone whose cruel intentions are to hurt me? Pick a fight? Punch them out? Write cruel and slanderous things on their locker? Just why would I even begin to think that I would do something like that? I’m not that kind of person. I would never intentionally hurt someone.
“Not like this,” I whisper. “Not like…”
A friend request pops up in my feed.
“This,” I then mumble.
I’m almost too afraid to tap the icon. What if it’s one of the mean girls? Or a guy trying to harass me? What if—
I shake my h
ead.
No. I can’t think that. And besides—it’s not like their message would come into my inbox anyway.
With that in mind, I move my finger over, then tap on, the icon.
Jackson Meadows’ face greets me.
I sigh. “Jackson,” I whisper.
I click ‘accept’ and am almost immediately receive a message.
Are you all right? it asks.
I frown as I consider the message.
Am I all right? I wonder.
The most obvious answer would be no, I’m not simply all right. To have most of the school post the picture, and comment and share it as a result, is downright baffling, if not horrifying. To think I would be fine would be preposterous. But to know that Jackson had seen, or at least heard, about the posting?
He’s been in school for two days, I think. How does he…
“J’von,” I mumble, and sigh.
I flick my hand over the text box and type I’m okay before lowering my phone to look outside my bedroom window.
Several long moments pass before another message comes in. This one simply asks: Do you want to talk?
Where? I reply.
My porch?
I frown as I consider his most recent message.
What could it hurt? I think.
It’s not like my parents are home. And besides—I’m eighteen. That should be reason enough to know that I can handle myself around a boy. Guy. Man.
I swallow, but nod and say, Okay before rising and shrugging a jacket over my shoulders.
Within moments, I am stepping outside, and crossing the road to Jackson’s home.
I have just set foot on his front drive when the door opens and he walks out.
“Hey,” he says, offering the kindest smile he can probably muster considering the circumstance.
“Hey,” I reply.
Silence passes between us for a few more moments before he settles down on his porch and pats the space beside me.
As I come to sit beside him—staring first at my house across the way, then at the sunlight that is fading down the road to the west—I find myself wondering how practical it is to just be sitting here, with a guy I barely know, talking about something that I feel should be discussed between friends.
But isn’t he my friend? I think.
One would naturally assume so, given the circumstances. I mean, in the span of a few short days, he’s already done so much for me. He’s checked on me. Helped me. Walked me home after a devastating reveal. Looked out for me when he didn’t have to. I mean, him inviting me over here just goes to show how cautious he is with my person, let alone my heart and mind.
