Cruel Boys

by Nora Cobb

  I shut my eyes again as they’re ushered out the door. The school takes no chances, and I’m taken to a local hospital. Dad is called, and he’s sitting beside me as I wake up. My hair is singed, but luckily, my face and hand aren’t burned. I lie there quietly, wondering what I’m going to say. Obviously, he knows I’ve been smoking again.

  “Hey,” I say softly.

  Dad lifts his head out of his hands and smiles. That’s a good sign.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Sweaty,” I smile.

  “That’s good. They say your lighter exploded. Freak accident. I didn’t know you started smoking again.”

  I pause. “It’s a bad habit, but it’s the only one I’ve got. I mean, I had. I was trying to quit. And now, I think I just succeeded.”

  Dad hugs me tight, and I wrap my arms around him. It feels good holding him, and I inhale, taking a whiff of his cologne. Troy and I bought him Old Spice for Father’s Day when we were little. We argued in the drugstore over what to buy until a nice old man suggested aftershave. Dad still wears it to this day. I take another big whiff.

  “Your friends are here,” Dad says, pulling back, “I tried to get them to leave, but they insisted on waiting. Why don’t you say hello and then I’ll take you home?”

  I nod and sit up in the bed. I’m still in my street clothes, but I have a thin plastic bracelet on my wrist.

  “They didn’t admit you, and your clothes were heavier than a thin paper gown,” he explains, standing up. “I’m going to talk to the head nurse, and we’ll go.”

  Dad leaves the room. And when I’m alone, instinctively my hand touches my hair. On one side the ends are crisp and crunchy in my fingertips. I tug at it as if pulling will make it grow instantly. I’m not vain, but feeling the fried ends makes me want to scream.

  I put my hand down when I hear voices by the doorway. Luna hurries in, holding my bag, and runs to the bed. She wraps her arms around me and makes whimpering noises.

  “Vicki, I was so scared.” Tears well up in her eyes, and I’m afraid they’ll do the same in mine. She touches my hair and smiles sadly. “We can rock that. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

  “Where’s Theo?” I look toward the door, waiting on him to enter.

  Luna frowns. “He’s not here.”

  I stare at her. “Dad said friends.”

  Luna shakes her head as Chase enters the room. That son of a bitch. I swear if I had a bedpan to throw, I’d aim for his beautifully smug face. I do nothing to conceal my displeasure.

  “What’s he doing here?”

  Luna looks down at the ground, not happy to tell me what I need to know. “He drove your Mustang here.”

  I’m over it now. I fling the blanket off me and try to stand. It’s not graceful as my legs wobble. They were elevated, and my feet are asleep. I fall backward onto the bed, and Chase catches me by my arm. It’s childish, but I yank myself out of his grip and scowl at him.

  “I know you had something to do with this,” I hiss. “You think I don’t know why you’re here? You wanted to see your handiwork up close. So look. Look, goddamn it!”

  Luna stares. Frozen in place with her big brown eyes, she looks like the legendary deer. Only Chase and I are the headlights.

  “You got some balls, Evans.” I point to my hair. “Accident, my ass.”

  “I don’t care what you say,” he says calmly. “I just wanted to make sure you were all right.”

  “What did you expect?”

  He frowns but says nothing.

  Luna’s mouth drops as the realization that this is all sinister comes over her. She steps toward the bed and wraps a protective arm around me. It’s a sweet gesture, but the boys could take us both down the next time they get a chance.

  “You can do what you will,” he says, “but I had to make sure you weren’t hurt.”

  I scoff and pull my body out of Luna’s vise-like grasp. “I won’t tell because I’ll get even my own way.”

  Chase shakes his head. But our argument is interrupted as Dad comes back into the room. Dad stops from a moment. He’s a shrewd man, and the tension in the room is too thick not to notice. He looks at Chase with interest, and I wonder if he recognizes him. I wonder if Troy talked to Dad.

  “We can leave now, Vicki,” says Dad calmly. “Oh, but you drove her car,” he says to Chase. “No problem. I’ll drive you back to Redwood. And Luna, do you think you could drive Vicki in the Mustang back to the house?”

  Luna shakes her head. “I can’t drive a stick.”

  I hold out my hands for my purse. “I’ll drive.”

  “No.” Dad and Chase speak in unison.

  And whatever Dad was thinking about Chase, he reconsiders as he looks him over.

  Chase is wearing jeans and a Billabong vintage T-shirt. He doesn’t look like a player; he looks like a normal student. He picks up on Dad’s shift of vibe quickly and extends a hand, which Dad shakes.

  “Chase Evans, sir. Vicki ran a good campaign against my friend Silas. That’s how I got to know her. I was concerned. It was really scary.”

  In a split second, Dad’s face relaxes, and he nods. “Thanks for coming.” Dad looks at me, and his stern frown is back. He turns to Chase. “Do you mind driving her car?”

  Fuck my luck. The kid goes after me with both barrels, and now he’s driving my car? I stand and feel a fainting spell coming on as a nurse walks into the room with a wheelchair. She freaks out as she sees me topple back onto the bed.

  “You’re not going anywhere until you get in this,” she sasses me.

  Great. She’s got an edge in her voice which I haven’t yet mastered in mine. I get into the chair. I don’t know how it all transpires, but by the time we hit the circular driveway of Valley General Hospital, Dad is driving Luna back to Redwood, and Chase is driving me back to my house.

  Alone.

  Luna has some flirty thing going on with Dad. It’s worse than Dom’s man crush. I’m practically forgotten and glare at them as they walk over to Dad’s new Tesla. I end up in the passenger seat of my Mustang while teacher-fucker over here gets in the driver seat.

  “This is wrong,” I mumble, not looking at him. “I blame you all for what happened.”

  “It got out of hand. Silas wanted imagination. Not physical harm.”

  I relax a little. That’s as close to an apology as I’m going to get. I’m surprised he didn’t say something like I’m disappointed that you are upset, or I’m sorry that you misunderstood me. I’m angry again, thinking about all the stuff I should say, and I amp up at the red light.

  “Pull over, I’m driving.”

  Chase scowls. “What? Into a tree?”

  “It would be quicker than dealing with your shit all year.”

  He makes a left instead of a right, and I realize that he doesn’t know the way to my house. I’m about to say something, but he interrupts.

  “Let’s stop at the Bait Shop. I want to talk to you alone.” He glances at me. “Truce for a day?”

  I nod. “Okay. But I’m hungry.”

  “Are you feeling up to talking?” There’s concern in his voice, and it’s surprising.

  “Sure, I want to talk.” I relax when I see the Bait Shop. It’s the place I’ve been calling a mini-mart.

  We pull into the gravel driveway at the Bait Shop, and he jumps out, telling me to wait in the car. He’s a smart boy, taking the keys with him. In the rear-view mirror, I watch Chase stroll into the shop. The boy is sick rich, but he fits in everywhere he goes. He really doesn’t care about logos and status. But I guess when you look that hot, you don’t need extras.

  In a second, he comes out and gets in the car. “Here.” He hands me a corny trucker’s cap with the mesh in the back.

  I read the front aloud. “Size Matters. Is this a joke?”

  He puts a cap on his head, and I read that out loud too. “Weekend hooker.” It has a fishhook by the saying. I can’t help but laugh as I put on my cap and pull down the mirror
. I haven’t really looked at my hair closely yet. I just shove it under the cap and tuck it in.

  “Thanks,” I whisper. “But I still hate you.”

  He smiles. “That’s the wisest thing you’ve said so far. Come on. Let’s get beer or ice cream. Maybe both.”

  Without ID, we end up with two cones, which is okay. I get vanilla because I’m boring and they sell the kind with the specks. Chase gets chocolate. He closes his eyes after swirling his tongue around it. I cringe a little, thinking about Marcy.

  “Are you in any of her classes?”

  He knows what I’m asking. And he shakes his head. “She wants to dump teaching and get back into the industry.” He looks at me when I shudder. “Don’t worry. You’ll never have to do that.”

  “Not yet,” I scowl.

  “Not ever,” he replies. “You don’t fall into that group. I recognize my kin when I see them.”

  “I’m nothing like you.”

  “Yes, you are. What do you think I meant anyway?” He shakes his head. “Don’t answer that. You’re the type that’s in control, and you don’t give a fuck. A lot of people fool themselves into thinking they can be in control, but they care too much about what other people think of them.”

  I swallow my pride. “So, what do you think about my current situation? If you were me, what would be your next move?”

  “You can’t be a day student,” Chase replies. “This isn’t your normal high school. You have to be on campus to know what’s going on all the time. Part of the reason why you lost the election was because you’re a day student.”

  “So I might have gotten twelve votes instead of four,” I sass. “Whoop-di-fucking-do.”

  “Don’t kid. Silas was nervous. A lot of people don’t like him, and you proved that to him.”

  “What about you?” I ask.

  He takes a bite of his cone instead of answering me. His jaw muscles work as he stares off into the horizon. I feel small sitting beside him. I feel like he’s a god slumming in California while I’ve been pretending I belong on top. He shifts a sultry look in my direction, and I have to remind myself how I ended up with a hat on my head.

  “You’re giving me that look again,” he says. “You want to fall for me, but you also want to bury a knife deep in my back.”

  “If I do, it’s only because you handed it to me.”

  “Clever girl.” Chase smiles and finishes his cone. “Let’s get you home before your dad freaks out.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  I’ve always worn my hair blonde, straight, and midway down my back. But now, my blonde hair is cut like Edie’s in a messy pixie, courtesy of Luna. I could have stopped with a shoulder-length bob, but I decided to go daring. Instead of honey blonde, Luna colors my roots electric blue and tips the edges in black.

  “It will grow back,” Luna lops off another handful. “Or you can sport a wig.”

  My hair is cut shorter than I’ve ever worn it when I return to school on Monday. Rosie stares at me as if she’s about to cry. Will she get over it? I’m the one who was hurt. Why’s she crying? I think about what Chase said. How we want control and aren’t afraid to hurt feelings to get it.

  “Thanks for grabbing my purse, Rosie,”

  “Vicki, I’m so…”

  I hold up my hand and cut her off. It’s not that I’m pissed. I just don’t have the time to ease her conscience. I walk off, getting plenty of stares. There are other girls with short hair, but mine has a backstory. I took a negative and spun it into a positive.

  I was also lucky. I know it could’ve been worse.

  “I like it, Saunders.”

  Talia is smiling as she approaches me. I grip her outstretched hand, and we shake once.

  “Heard what happened,” she says. “Glad you’re okay. Keep resisting. Stop by sometime.”

  I nod, and she walks off.

  In humanities class, my English teacher passes me a message. I’m to go to the admins’ office sometime today. I get a feeling in the pit of my stomach that I don’t like. It derails my euphoria. I was serious when I said I wouldn’t talk about it. I don’t want to talk about it. I’m not a snitch.

  But there are other ways to handle this. I want to know who did it. And not blame everyone. I want the person who messed with my cigarettes. And maybe, I won’t turn them in. Maybe, I’ll just get even instead. But I have a feeling that I won’t get an easy chance.

  The bullying has ceased, and I suspect that someone has already paid for what happened.

  I get raised eyebrows when I walk into the admins’ office. Sort of shocking since this is an art school. They should be used to expressive hair. After all, Billie Eilish has been showing off her roots for years.

  I walk up to Rudi, who’s the only one smiling. “My teacher told me to stop in.”

  Before Rudi can say a word, Jagan is stepping out of his office.

  Rudi grasps my hand before I leave the front desk. “I’m so glad that you’re okay.”

  I stare, a little surprised by her sincerity. “Thanks.”

  “Vicki, you’re here, and welcome to my office.” Jagan stretches his arm toward the open doorway. He speaks to Rudi for a moment and then follows me in.

  His office isn’t what I expected. I thought it would be new age with dolphins and shit. But it’s really tasteful—an upscale boys’ club that my dad would envy. First off, every wall is lined with bookcases, and they are packed with books that actually look like they’ve been read. The room is dominated by two gray overstuffed couches facing each other with a coffee table in between. To the far left is a writing table with hardly anything on it. Jagan nods toward a little minibar.

  “Would you like tea or water? Maybe seltzer?”

  “You got lime?”

  He smiles and nods. “Like the hair. It suits you.” He hands me a glass of ice and seltzer. “Why don’t you sit down? We’re waiting for your guidance counselor.”

  “I didn’t know I had one.”

  “She sent you an email.”

  Jagan sits down across from me in the middle of the couch and crosses his legs. I glance at his bare ankles in a pair of Ferragamo loafers. I’m not dealing with light, love, and Prana today. This man is speaking in complete sentences without rambling.

  “A lot of students don’t follow up,” he explains. “I suspect you’re the same.”

  I’m not the same. And I doubt he called me in to make sure I was in one piece. Jagan smiles as I sip my seltzer. He has a plan to save the school from a lawsuit, and now I’ve got a second to figure out what I’m going to ask for in exchange.

  There’s a quick rap on the door, and in walks a lady I’ve seen around but never spoken to. Probably around Dad’s age, she’s tall with a solid body and a pretty face. She looks over at Jagan, but he makes no room for her on his couch, so she has to sit down next to me.

  “Vicki, I’m Thora Mendez, your guidance counselor,” She holds out a hand, and we shake. “I heard you have had some trouble on campus.”

  “Thora, you’re jumping right into things.” Jagan laughs. “Have you met Vicki before?”

  She looks flustered and sets her folder down on the coffee table. It’s pretty thin, and I wonder what’s in it. I also wonder why she printed it out. I’m not signing anything.

  “Sorry,” she laughs, “I didn’t mean to come off as rude, but I am concerned. How are you?”

  “Damaged but not fatally.” I smile slightly, and the pressure lifts an inch. Let them think we’re friends.

  “We are glad to hear it,” she smiles. “Now, what do you think happened?”

  I choose my words carefully. “I’m not sure. I carry a lighter in my purse, and it went off.”

  “So it was faulty,” she leads.

  “I wouldn’t know that,” I reply.

  “And you’ve used the lighter before?”

  “I’m not sure.” I look around for something to put my glass down on. Not seeing anything, I place it on top of her folder. Thora frow
ns at the glass and picks it up. She tries to hand it back to me. Dad’s words echo in my head: there’s a difference between a rebel and a brat.

  I hold up my hand, doing my best impression of Dad. “No thanks, I’m full.”

  She looks helplessly at Jagan before putting it down on her folder again.

  “So you’ve had trouble with the lighter before?” she continues.