Cruel Boys

by Nora Cobb

  “You mean the little people count?” He lifts a brow. “You know what my dad told me once?”

  Glaring, I shake my head.

  “You can do whatever you want as long as you take responsibility.”

  I scoff at that bullshit. “Really? Because so far I’m shouldering this crap alone. The school’s not cutting you for acting like a whore.”

  He shrugs. “They’re worthless. Most of them have no talent and less ambition. I misjudged you, Vicki. I thought you were serious about the industry.”

  “Serious?” I reply. “You expect me to trade sex for a slim chance. What decade is your mind in?”

  Dom’s smile mocks me. “What else have you got to trade besides a smoking pair of tits?” He stares at my chest with lowered lids and licks his full lips. He just stripped me naked with an obscene look that makes his horny dad resemble a 100 percent pure virgin.

  “Asshole.” The word flies out of my mouth. Cursing is all I’ve got for now. I hurry down the aisle, past the seats to the door.

  “Vicki, baby,” he calls out. “You still need sponsorship. You won’t win the election without it, or me.”

  I hesitate in the doorway, but what else can I say to him? Dom doesn’t care. People like him never do. They’re not wired for empathy. Other people don’t rate high enough in their insular world. That’s what growing up with my mother taught me. To Dom, I’m a new toy, and he’s a child bored with his old games.

  “Vicki,” he stands up, not wanting me to leave just yet.

  Maybe this is his last effort to get something out of me. Maybe he can be reasoned with now. His voice is smooth as he starts toying with me again.

  “Don’t be ashamed to crawl back and ask for my help. I can be gentle or rough. I’ll satisfy you first because I’m a fornicating gentleman.”

  I glare, twisting my face into the evilest expression. “Then go be a gentleman and fuck yourself. Better yet, fuck Silas too.” I grab the note out of my bag. “While you’re at it, shove this up his ass.” I ball the paper up and throw it in his direction.

  Dom smiles, amused by my temper, which only makes me freaking livid. My skin is heated, and I’m sweating. I won’t cry. I know he wants me to be sad, but I won’t do it. I’ll take each one of them on before I cry.

  “You can smile at me all you want!” I shout. “I’ll never ask for your help.”

  “I don’t want you to ask.” His expression is serene and his voice is cool. “I want you to beg on your knees with your mouth wide open.”

  His laughter follows me as I run down the hall.

  Chapter Twelve

  The next day, I spend lunch looking for my missing campaign posters. They’ve been torn down again, and I’m tired of replacing them. Part of me wants to give up and leave them down, but my pride won’t leave me alone. Hardly anyone at this school knows me outside of the film and humanities classes. These kids have been forming cliques since the ninth grade, and then, I show up senior year, wanting to lead them. I sigh, spotting one of my posters on the ground by a tree. I don’t want to win because I want to lead. I want to win just because I don’t want Silas winning and no one else is facing off with him.

  I sigh, picking up several posters off the ground. I see another one further down the trail leading toward the amphitheater and hurry to get it before the wind blows into the woods. They’re strewn about the trail like bread crumbs, luring me to the three bears’ house.

  The scattered posters lead to the amphitheater where Jagan has our class meetings. I freeze when I see what’s on the stage where he usually stands. It’s a sex doll with blonde hair cut like mine and dressed in cutoffs and a flannel shirt. The cutoffs are pushed down to its thighs, and the shirt is wide open, exposing oversized plastic breasts with nipples that look like toothpaste caps. The doll is posed on her back with her legs spread in the air and tied wide open using paracord wrapped around her ankles. The doll’s legs form a V, and it’s lying on top of the rest of my posters.

  I look around for someone spying on me as I slowly walk toward it. I have to force myself to breathe normally, but my hands are trembling. I can barely look, but I have to. I have to look at her arms. There are no track marks on her arms. My secret is still mine.

  Relaxing, I can take a deep breath into my lungs. And weirdly, I smile with relief and wonder as I think about Jagan and his prana. The air smells fresher in the mountains. A mixture of pine and deep rich earth passes through my nostrils. I breathe deeply again as if nature is strengthening my will. I spin around to look behind me. I expect to see the boys sitting in the back row and making rude comments as they mock the person on the stage. I can’t see anyone, not even behind the trees, but that means nothing. I narrow my eyes as I look around the amphitheater. They could be filming me right now.

  Right here, right now, I’m the person on the stage. I’m the one entertaining the bored and the damned as they waste time and money on a dream they don’t think they have to work for. On the surface, I’m one of those rich kids, but I’ve been to places deeper and darker. I’m the one who returned for a second chance. Not whole, but I’m willing to work for a dream that I pray will keep me sane. I want this bad.

  As I tug and pull on the cords, I talk out loud. I talk at the top of my lungs. I give the campaign speech I should have written to an empty amphitheater. It’s less daunting and scary to be alone. I don’t have to stare at rows of harsh, bored faces barely listening to me. The adrenaline ramps me up as I free the tied doll. I talk with passion and enthusiasm that would’ve been missing if the place had been packed with real people.

  I take advantage of this moment to say what needs to be said. I discover my reason to run.

  “Vote for me, Vicki Saunders, if you want someone to fight for who you are. You’re not here to be picked on or abused for other people’s small-minded enjoyment. You’re here to pursue a dream, and not to fight and stress every day you go to class because someone has nothing worthwhile going on in their pathetic life. I won’t let them tear you down, and you don’t have to turn into them to make it.”

  I tug hard at the last cord, and the doll is loose, rolling over onto the stage. I pull up her shorts and try to button her shirt over her mammoth plastic chest.

  “There are people who are playing you for sick sport. But if we stick together, they’ll be on the run. I’ll give you back your peace of mind, so you can spend your time achieving and not defending. I’m Vicki for president, and I’m on your side because I’ve been there.”

  My hunch was right. My rant is streaming on social media as I am meowing away to a sex doll in the woods, and the video receives up-votes and reposts. As I head for the resident center, kids stop ignoring me and start asking for buttons. I run out of the anime girl before I make it to my next class. Kids from other tracks give me fist bumps and pat me on the back as I pass by them. Everybody knows my name.

  “Do you need help with your campaign?” asks a girl with a cool piercing.

  “Thanks. I can use help hanging these back up.”

  We place the posters on the grass, smooth them out, and start taping them back up. A few people get carried away and post them over Silas’. That might not be a good idea, but I don’t give a fuck right now.

  Enthusiastically, my English teacher tells the class that my performance piece was a unique and creative way of addressing the issue of bullying and sexism. I smile widely, basking in the praise after sidestepping possible humiliation.

  But for each kid that talks to me, others ignore me with dirty looks and loud comments intended to be overheard. Silas has steadfast supporters that won’t ever waver no matter how cruelly he treats people. Some people would rather associate with a cruel boy than speak up.

  The bullying eases up after that day, not just for me but for other kids. It’s not acceptable, and people are being called out. Jagan sees me crossing the campus and gives me a big hug. He doesn’t acknowledge the issue or a solution, but he’s pleased with my daring speech on
being human.

  “Love and let live, Vicki.” He makes a peace sign and floats away in a cloud of delusion.

  After film class, I head toward the humanities classrooms to check if my posters are still on the ceilings. It would’ve taken too much effort to pull them down. My phone buzzes as I walk down the path, and I answer it eagerly when I see the name on the screen.

  “Natalie,” I sing into the phone.

  “Vicki, sweetie,” she answers. “You’re viral. Are you okay?”

  A guy would congratulate me on going viral. But a woman knows that it’s not always a good thing.

  “I’m okay,” I pause, “and I’m glad you called.” We talk a bit, and then I ask, “Can I talk to Troy?”

  It didn’t take long for the cyberbullying to begin. Yesterday, the keyboard warriors started posting shit under throwaway accounts. Hidden, they bravely attacked everything from my appearance to my gender. I don’t care what they think, but the vile threats turn my stomach. This morning, I stopped reading my messages to keep from giving up.

  My brother Troy knows what’s happening from Natalie. His relationship with her started out traumatically before he got a grip and calmed the fuck down.

  “I’m not proud of parts of my past,” he says, “but I know what to do.”

  “I really appreciate it, and Dad…” I whisper, standing behind a tree for privacy.

  “Doesn’t need to know, Vicki,” he replies firmly. “I’ll take care of it.”

  Nervously, I look around. “You mind telling me how?”

  “No, I’m not telling you how except that they’ll know it’s better to leave you alone.”

  Silas has to be digging into my history, and I wonder if he’ll find out about rehab yet. I’ve never posted anything about it. I want to tell Dad about the bullying, but Troy’s right. Dad would flip the fuck way out.

  “Hollywood can’t beat the reach of the internet,” Troy replies as keys tap in the background. “Text me their full names, ages, and profile photos. I don’t want to tank some old guy in Pasadena because he has the same name.”

  And I almost feel bad, but not bad enough to stop whatever is going to happen. I check the time, and I should be in class.

  “Send Natalie my love, and I’ll visit soon and see the baby again. Any photos online?”

  Troy scoffs, and I laugh. It’s a shame. Little Rory is the cutest baby ever born, and that’s the truth even if we are related.

  “Just testing you,” I tease him.

  “Remember, Vic. Post it once, and it never goes away. Someone will find it.”

  The call ends, and a wicked smile creeps onto my face. I wish I had a spycam in Dom’s screening room, so I could watch the fallout with my feet resting on the back of a chair.

  “So, what are these names?”

  “People who were bullied and the clubs they run,” Theo replies.

  “Not a long list.” I study the names written in black marker on wrinkled notebook paper.

  “Long enough for you to find the sponsorship you need to win.”

  I can play Machiavelli all day, but if I don’t fulfill the rules to run, I’ll lose before the first vote is counted. I have three days to find another club to sponsor me.

  “I don’t have time to go to the meetings. Do you know any of these people?”

  He looks at the list. “A few. We can go to the dorms and track them down.”

  “I feel weird about knocking on someone’s door.”

  He gives me a hard look. “How bad do you want this?”

  I press my lips together and for a moment, I’m lost in my thoughts. It’s not just about winning an election. It’s about having the balls to get more than my share. If I’m going to make it, I have to start now.

  “Dennis Bowen,” I reply to Theo’s question by reading the first name off the list. “Photography Club—landscapes.”

  “That’s good.” Theo bumps his shoulder against mine. “You can show him your botany videos.”

  The dorms have two hallways that crisscross in the middle of the building with a meeting room in the center. Dennis lives on the hallway perpendicular to Theo’s. His name’s printed across a picture of the mountains on the door. Looking around, I realize that all the doors have names. If they aren’t seniors who commute, we’ll be able to find everyone I need to talk to tonight.

  A big guy with a serious beard answered the door. He’s dressed in a T-shirt, sweats, and fuzzy slippers. He looks friendly, so I smile.

  “Are you Dennis?” I ask.

  “Yes.” He frowns, trying to place my face.

  “I’m Vicki.” I hold out my hand, but he folds his arms. I put my hand back down. “And I’m running for student council president. Can we talk?”

  He scoffs. “You’re campaigning door to door?”

  “Not exactly.” I pause a beat too long, and Theo jumps in.

  “Vicki is new to Redwood. And she needs club sponsorship. We’re asking for your help.”

  Dennis shakes his head in disbelief. Suddenly, he doesn’t look so friendly anymore. “Have either one of you been to a club meeting?”

  “No, but I’m into cinematography,” I reply sincerely, “and I’ve shot some cool landscapes. I’m definitely interested in the club.”

  He steps behind the door, ready to close it. “Look, you’ve never been to a meeting, and I’m not into you knocking on my door like a trick-or-treater. Ask someone else.”

  Bam, and he is gone.

  “What an ass,” I whisper.

  Theo grabs my upper arm. “He’s only one person. We’ve got more to ask.”

  As we walk from dorm to dorm, I practice my spiel. But the response is the same for the next seven people on the shortlist. No, and the door shuts. Automatically, I cross Rosemonde off the list with a Sharpie. Hell will freeze and thaw and freeze again before I ask her for a favor.

  “Who’s next?” I ask as we sneak into Hudson Dorm.

  “Talia Long,” replies Theo. “She’s the president of the Textile Club.”

  I sigh loudly. “I know nothing about clothing.”

  “Not clothing—fibers. Hold on a second.” Theo pulls out an illustration of me as an anime girl. This time, anime me is dressed like Lara Croft—dirty, sweaty, buff, and in a tight gray tee. “Sign it.” Theo pushes the Sharpie into my hand. I scribble my signature as he knocks.

  A girl smoking a cigarette answers the door. She’s a little shorter than me and a little rounder, dressed in a funky cobalt-and-white robe with a geometric pattern. Her hair is in a topknot, and she has a look on her face. This girl doesn’t give a shit what other people think, including us. I might have a chance.

  “I know you,” she nods at Theo, blowing out a perfect line of smoke. “You draw girls.”

  Theo snatches the picture from my hand and hands it to her.

  Looking at it, she nods. “This is bitchin’. I like how you elongated the limbs without making it too freaky.”

  “I know female anatomy,” Theo winks. “Can we come in?”

  She steps aside, and we enter one of the sharpest dorm rooms on campus. Talia has yarn-bombed her furniture. Her desks and chairs, bed frame, and couch are covered in stripes and swirls of yarn. But they’re not tacky colors. The handspun yarns are in subdued blues, cream, and greens—the color of sea glass.

  “I was bored,” she says before we can ask, “and I’ve had this room since ninth grade.”

  She sits by the open window and smokes her cigarette, looking at the picture again then at me. “You did a good job of capturing her using a few well-placed lines.”

  “Vicki’s a patient, if not cooperative model.”

  I try not to laugh. I’ve never posed for Theo.

  “What do you want?” Talia gets straight to the point. It’s odd. She’s younger than me, but at the same time, she’s older than me. It’s like Talia knows about life, not because it treated her roughly. But she’s an old soul who’s been here before, and wonders why she’d bother com
ing back again. She looks at me and then Theo.

  “I’m running for student council president,” I reply, “and I need the sponsorship of a club to be eligible. I’m running on an antibullying platform, and I’m hoping to find a club president that will support me and my campaign.”

  Without a hitch, I say it perfectly, but Talia shifts on her chair and looks away. She tosses the picture onto her desk.

  “You smoke?” she asks.

  Theo shakes his head, but I nod. I haven’t in a while, but I doubt she would offer us a cigarette then immediately kick us out. I take one and light up. I move over to the window and sit beside Talia.