DANCE OR DIE: Two Guys, One Girl. No Voice. No Choice.

by A. E. Murphy

  Lane is going to go crazy, though she probably won’t say shit to my face.

  Perfect Lane in her perfect house with her perfect husband.

  Perfect Presley in his perfect school with his perfect fucking face.

  I move, letting the loud music in my ears command my body. Dance and climbing have been my only companions, my only form of entertainment and release for years. I love the way my body aches, the fluidity of which it moves, the way it stops and jolts at the right times, completing moves made by pros.

  Nobody can take this from me. I won’t let them.

  If they do, I’ll die. Without this, I’m nothing.

  Song after song plays until my body stops and I collapse onto my back, sweaty and exerted. Filthy like I’ve always been. Dirty and unwanted.

  The bell rings, telling me it’s time to get to my next class.

  I’m not going to my next class.

  I’m not moving from this spot.

  “She’s home,” I hear Lane say, sounding relieved as I walk through the door having found my own way home.

  She fights Stanley for a glimpse and both take one look at me and likely decide not to say anything because their mouths close and faces fall. I drop my bag on the ground, kick off my scuffed shoes that I warned Lane I’d probably wreck in a week, and then head upstairs.

  Stanley opens his mouth to tell me off for ditching him but thinks better of it.

  “Bad day at school?” Lane asks.

  “It was fine,” I reply and Stanley follows me but keeps a few meters between us.

  “You skipped your last two classes.” Sherlock Holmes strikes again.

  “Don’t worry about it, it’s my future, not yours.” I close my bedroom door and start stripping out of my uniform. I bathe for the longest time, and when I return to my room, the hamper is empty, my uniform is gone, and the foster blocks leave me alone until dinner.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” Lane asks when we sit down to eat.

  I shake my head.

  Stanley puts in, “It’ll be a better day tomorrow, kid. No more skipping and let me know if you’re not going to be there.”

  “No way to call,” I explain, showing him my phone. “My uncle cut it off before L.I.”

  “We’ll fix that for you. We also need your number in the meantime. Okay?”

  “’Kay,” I breathe and tuck into my dinner. I am starving. Dancing will do that to you.

  “Did you make any friends at least?” Stanley asks, brows pulled together with concern.

  I think back to my rooftop and smile sarcastically. “Sure did.”

  “Oh really? What is their name? Maybe we’ll know their parents.”

  “I was kidding, Lane.”

  She is so sickeningly optimistic and I just shattered that for her. I finish my meal and they don’t press further.

  Coming to school after yesterday was a tough call. I considered skipping again but I just can’t be bothered with the drama and I need to make peace for now until I get enough cash to get myself out of here.

  Everybody treats me like a pariah as I’m walking through the halls, nobody even glances my way. The students part like the sea for Moses and I’m left to my own devices. It sucks, to be honest; it would have been nice getting to know a couple of people at least, but nobody wants the drama I bring.

  I move to my locker that the receptionist gave me the code for this morning and open it with a click. It’s empty, lacking life and memories, there’s no graffiti inside or pictures. It’s a bit like me, has a past but nothing to show for it but a hollow existence, waiting to be filled by something meaningful.

  On that note, I stuff my gym bag inside. I didn’t take it as a class but Lane wants me to join some kind of sport, be it track, baseball, anything. I said we’ll see and she made me bring the bag.

  I don’t know what they want from me or why I’m staying there. I thought I knew but I was wrong. I’ve never been wrong about that.

  “Is it true you were sent to an insane asylum after fucking your dad?” one of Presley’s crew asks as he passes.

  I don’t bite, it’s what they want and it would be so easy to give that to them. When they high-five each other as they go like they’re super proud of their bullying, I burn their image to memory.

  Timberfake and his buttlover aren’t with them, but it’s the entire crew of five that swarmed my table yesterday during lunch.

  From left to right is a guy with dark skin and hair, the one who made the unfunny comment, to his right is a girl with thick dark hair braided with pink ribbon, to her right is a Hispanic-looking guy with half a shaved head leading to longer hair, he’s the tallest of them, and the next is another guy, this one with blond hair and a skateboard, and finally the shortest of them all but the stockiest. He looks like a football player and has huge cheeks; I can see the roundness of them on either side of his head as he walks away.

  I press my back against the lockers, hiding myself behind the open metal door when Presley launches himself onto the back of the guy on the far left. They start wrestling in the hall, screwing around laughing as his brown-haired fuck buddy, aka Carter, tackles them from another angle and they crash into a different row of lockers, still laughing.

  Boys… I want to scoff at them and turn my nose up and act like I’d never be so immature, but truth be told, I’m so envious of how easily happy they are. I want a friend to dive on my back and tackle me into the lockers. I want to laugh like that, I don’t think I ever have.

  The guy they attacked wriggles free and slings his arm around the girl with the black and pink braid. They kiss right before they turn the corner, still laughing.

  “That’s her,” somebody whispers in passing, further solidifying the fact I don’t belong here.

  At lunch I sit outside on the steps leading to the drop-off area getting a numb butt from the unforgiving surface beneath me. My scuffed shoes tap gently together as I eat a delicious sandwich that Lane packed for me this morning. I think they knew I’d probably be avoiding my peers today and wouldn’t go to the cafeteria. Although it’s not so much me avoiding them as they are avoiding me.

  My sandwich is ripped from my hand, smearing mayonnaise along the tips of my fingers. I watch it fly a few meters away, scattering ham and lettuce along the concrete sidewalk at the bottom of the stone steps.

  “That’s what you did to my family when my dad got suspended,” Presley says, a twisted smile on his face. “You took food from our mouths.”

  Carter slides down the metal railing and lands beside a slice of the bread.

  “I didn’t do anything to your father,” I snap back, scowling at him. “He tackled me unlawfully, not the other way around.”

  Carter kicks the remnants of the sandwich as I reach for my bag but Presley grabs it before I get the chance.

  “For every day my dad is suspended, I’m going to make your life fucking miserable,” Presley tells me, stepping into my space, my bag hanging from his fingers.

  He tosses it to Carter and my hands ball into fists by my side.

  “It’s not my fault your dad is just another meathead cop that doesn’t know how to do his job.”

  Carter throws my bag to somebody behind me as a hand grabs my hair and pulls me backwards. My neck bends and cracks right before my ass hits the stone steps.

  “What did you say about his dad?” that black-and-pink-braided bitch asks, hand still in my hair.

  I grab her wrist and twist myself free, managing to stand again only to be shoved into Presley who then shoves me into Carter.

  “Stop!” I yell, feeling hot tears in my eyes and I curse myself for allowing them to push me around like this. I’m not sad, or even scared, I’m just really fucking angry. And when I’m this angry, I cry or I snap and when I snap, people get hurt.

  I’m shoved into the tallest of them and he throws me to the side so hard I stumble, almost falling but my excellent balance helps keep me upright.

  “Touch me again…”
I hiss through my teeth. Glaring at all of them one by one.

  “What the hell is going on?” Mr. Jefferson bellows, his voice booms so loudly birds flee from their nearby perches.

  They all fall silent and the stocky one tosses my bag to Carter who then shoves it into my chest.

  “Just returning the new girl’s bag.” When he’s confident I’ve got it, he slings his arm around my shoulders and hugs me into his side. He smells really good, like vanilla and sandalwood, which is a shame because he should smell like dog farts and venom.

  I slip my hand into the back of his pants, grab the elasticated band of his boxer briefs and pull until I hear them tear. Carter grunts and clenches his entire body but his smile remains on his face. I can see his pain and discomfort in the lines around his eyes and the way he’s now standing so stiff.

  “All of you, inside now,” Jefferson commands and they skip ahead, laughing at Carter when they see what I did as he tries to pull his wedgie from his ass.

  The principal stops me with a hand on my arm but I yank free as quickly as he grabbed me. I keep my eyes on the ground so he doesn’t see my distress and anger.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Peachy keen.”

  He sighs heavily. “I will handle this; you have my word.”

  “Nothing to handle.” I dust off my bag, spy my destroyed lunch, and head back into the building. “Don’t make it into something it’s not.”

  He remains silent as I walk ahead, eager to just put this shit behind me. I head up to the roof again despite my ass being numb from the steps and the fact I’m trembling with barely contained rage. What better way to contain it?

  This time I take the stairs and this time I only skip one class.

  “How was school today?” Lane asks when I walk in with Stanley trailing behind and Curlyfry prancing along beside me.

  I see Stanley shake his head at her, we already had a brief chat on the way home which consisted of him asking gruffly, “You getting bullied?”

  To which I replied, “Nope.”

  “Just tell me a name, kid. Just one name.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Mal—” He scrunches up his nose in frustration. “Scandal, it doesn’t have to be like this.”

  I stop talking because I feel myself getting mad at this too.

  “That bad?” Lane whispers and I feel her eyes on me as I ascend the stairs. “Honey—”

  “Don’t call me honey,” I snap, taking my anger out on the wrong person. “I fucking hate pet names.”

  “Language,” Stanley admonishes.

  “If you don’t like my language, Stanley, throw me the fuck out.”

  He starts mumbling to himself, trying to calm himself down and I go to my room. I take the dog with me.

  It’s like this all week.

  I go to school, I get shoved, I get called names, I get ignored, my locker gets vandalized, I go to my roof and dance each lunch to avoid the world, I skip fourth period twice, and then I come home and ignore the people who have taken me in with motives unknown and stay awake as best I can so I don’t have to relive my waking nightmares in my sleep.

  Also, I keep the dog.

  “Carol,” Lane says cheerily as my personal prissy bitch of a social worker walks into the house.

  “How are you all getting on?” she asks, straight to the point as Lane leads her to the breakfast table for coffee and treats.

  I sit in one of the wooden seats and fold my arms across my chest.

  “I checked in with her teachers and she seems to be getting on with her schoolwork. A first for everything.”

  What a pompous, snobby bitch. “I was locked in an institution for a fucking year, Carol. There was no schoolwork.”

  “Has she been taking her meds?” Carol asks Stanley who only got in from work twenty minutes ago and is covered in grease and paint. He runs a body shop in town, he took me to see it on the way home from school on Thursday. It was alright, his coworkers are funny and kept me entertained for an hour before we went home. Stanley was cool too; he gave me a few bucks for the vending machine and taught me how to change a tire.

  “We took her off them,” Stanley replies, his voice a deep rumble.

  “I can tell, she’s jittery.”

  “My leg’s bouncing because I’m irritated by you, you fucking dick,” I snarl at her. I cannot stand her. She is one of the few people in my life who I would gladly kill or injure badly and never regret a thing. If only the purge was a real fucking annual celebration. I have a list.

  “Language,” Stanley barks at me and Lane gives me a wide-eyed look.

  “She’s much nicer on her medication.”

  “Stop speaking about me like I’m not a person in the room,” I growl at her and she still doesn’t even acknowledge my existence.

  “I thought you said you had her under control?” Carol asks Stanley as she scribbles in her journal. I want to beat her over the head with it, wipe that smarmy smile right from her face.

  “Go to your room, Scandal.”

  I don’t need telling twice. “With pleasure.”

  I glare at the uppity bitch with her stupid inverted bob and glasses too small for her eyes.

  “Go fuck yourself,” I mouth at her as I pass.

  Then I head up to my room and slam my door.

  Ah, what a way to start a Saturday.

  As expected, I’m called down less than an hour later and Stanley and Lane are both sitting at the table without the skanky-doodle dickhead known as my social worker.

  “That was not okay,” Lane informs me, her voice ever soft but her gaze harder than it ever has been. “She could have you moved if she doesn’t find this place suitable, she has that power.”

  “So?” I ask and I see genuine hurt flash through her eyes. I don’t feel guilt, not really. I’m still over here waiting for the other shoe to drop. “Wouldn’t that solve all your problems?”

  “Why can’t you trust that we want you here?” Lane asks, looking even more hurt. “Have we done anything to show you otherwise?”

  “Why the fuck would you want me here?” I laugh humorlessly and look between them both. “What am I, a broken car? Are you getting a kick out of fixing me up?”

  A muscle ticks in Stanley’s jaw and I know he’s fighting his temper.

  “If you don’t want me here for sex, then why the fuck am I here?”

  “Jesus,” Stanley mutters and he looks at Lane. “I don’t think I can do this.”

  Here we go.

  “I really don’t. She’s—” He shakes his head but not at me. I know it’s not aimed at me. “Just deal with her.”

  They all talk about me like I’m the third person eventually. It’s easier to pretend I’m not human.

  “Did men often keep you around for sex, Scandal?” Lane asks, sounding braver than her usual meek self.

  At her question, I stand and head upstairs. Neither of them follows and for that I’m grateful.

  “There’s something not right with her,” Lane hisses. “She needs therapy. We are in way over our heads.”

  My bedroom door closes, I don’t torment myself by listening to them. Instead I stand in front of my bedroom mirror and practice a few dance moves that I have yet to perfect. My bed gets in the way so I push it against the wall, making a bigger space for movements.

  Curlyfry watches me from the middle of the bed, having not moved when I pushed it. I press my forehead to his, clammy from all the activity, wishing I had a bigger space.

  “They made me come here,” I say to the reverend after he asks me what brings me to his church and flock.

  He laughs a startled chuckle and Lane hurries me along. There are no hard feelings, they can tell I’m joking… kinda.

  “I’m probably going to burst into flames,” I hiss at her and she fights her own laughter. “You know that, right? I’m going to take one step inside and your lord and savior is going to blast me straight to hell.”

  “Behave,” Stanley
sighs, giving me a shove into the church when I dig my heels in.

  Scowling, I follow Lane to a pew in the middle and we sidle down together, followed soon after by another family with a teen who looks a lot happier here than I do.

  Stanley passes me in the narrow gap to sit beside his wife and I’m forced to acknowledge the girl with train tracks on her teeth and tangled hair pulled back into a loose ponytail.

  “Alice Bonner,” she whispers and holds out her hand.

  “Scandal,” I reply and her smile broadens. Those braces really go all the way back.

  “You’re the new kid that scaled that brick wall like some kind of chimp, aren’t you?”

  I nod. “That’s me.”

  “And you got Officer Myers suspended so now the pretty-boy crew are after you.”

  “Yep.”

  As if by magic, her smile gets wider. “Damn. And you’ve been here a week. How’d all that happen?”

  “I’m bad luck I guess.”

  She giggles and shifts in her seat. “School life is going to be hell with them after you.”

  “They’ve done this before?”

  “Oh yeah, they’re really good at getting people they don’t like to transfer. They’re like the kids of all the leading people around here. So, like, Presley, his dad is the cop, as you know.”

  “I do.”

  “The catty girl, she’s dating Melvin, the African American dude whose parents own the town paper, they know everybody’s secrets.”

  I play with the ball under my lip with my tongue as I listen.

  She continues, “She’s called Asher, she thinks she’s so tough because she’s the only girl in their crew, that and her mom is mayor, but she’s like really nice. Her mom, not Asher, Asher is a shit.”

  “Are you gossiping?” Alice’s mom asks, leaning around her to look at me. They are visually so similar it’s eerie. When she spies Lane, she smiles and waves and forgets she asked us anything to begin with. “Oh my Lord, Lane Oaks. I swear those cookies you made for book club on Friday were to die for.”