by Adalynn Rafe
Let’s start with the hierarchy/high school food chain:
We had the royals (or the elitists), the middle class, and the bottom feeders.
The top of the food chain consisted of the teenagers who were rich, gorgeous, manipulative, snotty, self-centered, and who thought they knew everything. Like most cheerleaders and sports players, the dancers, choir brats, and the major cliques filled with self-entitled people. They claimed that their lives were just like the Real World and Jersey Shore and that Britney Spears and Beyoncé were, like, their BFF’s.
In their world, if you weren’t sleeping with someone or at least lying about sleeping with someone, you were no one. In their world, if you weren’t wearing Gucci or Bebe, you were a hobo who should be made fun of ruthlessly. Don’t even think about showing up to their parties and drinking their booze, because if you weren’t VIP, you were nothing––nothings don’t go to “awesome” high school parties.
In their world, we all knew that they secretly cried themselves to sleep at night because their lives really sucked. Their tears were just as numerous as the bottom feeders, whose tears only originated because of the top’s brutal hands.
Then there were the middlemen of the food chain, like Hazel and me. The teens that didn’t care about huge parties or drug abuse. Those teenagers would rather spend their weekends watching old black and white movies instead trying to live in a reality TV show. Those are the teens that giggled over boys and shared their fantasies with their besties, usually that forbidden first kiss, instead of seducing boys and having extreme feelings of regret the next morning . . . or nine months later.
Of course, there were the extreme middle class inhabitants. They were the ones who secretly hung out with the bottom feeders and enjoyed it, or the ones who acted like a royal and worshiped the ground that the royals walked on. Those people were called groupies, and they tended to boost the esteem of the royals.
The bottom of the food chain––well, they had been sucked soulless by the top dwellers and some rogue middle dwellers by their negative antics. Their names had been replaced with things like freak, whore, skank, gay, psycho, and of course, weirdo. And, well . . . they were a little weird, but I had always found it wrong to treat them so cruelly. Usually, that was where the emos, the homosexuals, the transgendered, the mentally disabled, and druggies (not royal associated) were categorized. They were the bottom of the high school food chain.
So, that’s when you felt sorry for the bottom feeders, right?
Not exactly. You see, the bottom feeders were picked on and kicked around, but the royals had to deal with the consequence of their actions. They had to pretend to be people they weren’t, just to be liked by one another. Most of the time they did mean things and their guilt was quickly disguised with anger and aggression, and that was when someone was killed. So, in reality, you feel very sad for both of them, or at least I always did.
Yes, the hierarchy had a lot of issues, but it was the way it was. Like Stalin and Communism in Russia, or so my tenth grade history teacher said, things like that don’t change. Things like that go down in history books.
* * *
There I was, standing in the middle of main hall. The school wasn’t exactly huge, but it was big enough to accommodate the couple hundred high school students that attended it. Lining the walls of the hallway were orange lockers, behind them walls composed of red bricks, and below me, a white linoleum floor. End of explanation. That was how the entire school looked essentially.
A door opened in front of me. It’s one of the doors that lead to the main office. Out walked a familiar girl, one that I used to see every day when I would wake up and look in the mirror.
Before me stood Cecily Wolf, teary eyed and depressed.
At least she wore decent clothes, like jeans and a baggy t-shirt—except for the bright colored bra that appeared underneath her shirt. Her hair was up in a sloppy ponytail and her eyes had horrible bags under them, like she was sick or something.
“Trouble in the hierarchy?” Kelly asked, referring to the tears that lingered on my cheeks.
“I think I am starting to remember what was happening. I began having nightmares again, harsh and brutal nightmares, and my mom—who I was not particular of at the time—sent me to the school psychologist.”
“Nightmares of what?”
My gaze left Cecily and focused back to Kelly. “Of dying, I think. Or perhaps I had intentions of dying . . .”
We followed Cecily as she rounded the corner into the buzzing cafeteria. Hazel sat at a long table by herself, dressed in a gray jacket and white summer dress, her nose shoved in a book. Honey colored hair covered half of her face, hiding her green eyes as she read the story that captured her.
Just before Cecily reached Hazel, Sabrina stepped in front of her. Yes, the one who was gorgeous with stormy gray eyes, luscious black hair now braided over her shoulder, and long, slim legs that fit perfectly into designer jeans. Her mother had migrated here from Spain and married her rich white father. Everyone knows her as the duchess of the royals—the ruler of her kingdom. Even the bling on her purple leather coat suggested such. She fancied silver loop earrings, dark makeup, and cleavage exposure.
My question . . . why in the world was she talking to me? To Cecily? We hated each other and always had. Why exactly? I couldn’t remember.
“Hey, um . . .” Sabrina said with forged forgetfulness, flinging her hand in the air. “What’s your name?”
Cecily rolled her eyes. “The name is Cecily.” She bit her tongue from saying more.
Sabrina smiled, fake as usual. “Oh, yeah.”
I knew what she was doing. She was making it seem like we had never encountered each other before. For the sake of her appearance, of course.
“What do you want, wench?” Cecily asked boldly, hands on hips.
Sabrina seemed shocked, appalled almost. “Watch it Wolf,” she hissed.
“Why are you talking to me?” Her eyes narrowed. “Why are you wasting my time?”
Sabrina ground her teeth before forcing a smile on her face. She outstretched her polished hand filled with golden rings and priceless jewels to give me a flyer for a party that weekend. “Thought I would let you know about it. Apparently you’ve caught the eye of the person who is throwing it.”
With mounds of reluctance, Cecily took the flyer from her and looked at it. Of course it was bright pink and filled with bubblegum font letters. In the background, something exploded––like a soda can––and a bunch of idiots started laughing over it.
“Who’s throwing it?” Cecily asked, her eyes glued on the bright paper.
Sabrina moved her head closer to Cecily. “The man who makes the calls. He has a proposal for you,” she whispered seriously, trying to keep it secret. Was that a hint of distress that I heard in her voice? Sabrina smiled, making whatever emotions she had conveyed disappear behind her mask. “I’ll be there. It’s the cool spot right now.”
Cecily wasn’t sure. Sabrina hated Cecily and always made it apparent. What were her motives for inviting her to a party? She looked toward Hazel, and Sabrina quickly stepped between the two.
“You know you want to come . . .” Sabrina instigated. A flash of some other emotion filled her face for half a moment before being replaced with a fake smile again. This was not good. The duchess was never scared or distressed. What was she roping me into?
“I don’t feel comfortable with this,” Cecily said honestly. She seemed so tired.
Sabrina glanced at someone over Cecily’s shoulder before returning her gaze to her eyes. “Cecily, you have potential. You wouldn’t want to pass this up.”
“How does this guy know me?” Cecily asked. “And why is he scouting female students from a high school?”
“He’s seen you around town,” Sabrina lied, expertly.
“You’re dating him, aren’t you?” Cecily raised her eyebrow and I could hear all sorts of accusing names running through her mind. “He’s a pedophile, is
n’t he!?” Her voice was extremely quiet now.
Yet again, Sabrina’s confidence was broken down and her fear showed through her façade. She wiped the look away and snickered at Cecily. “That’s none of your business,” Sabrina snapped, but quickly held an apology in her eyes, for her own sake.
Cecily began to feel unsure of the invitation. She never got attention from the royals, and judging by Sabrina’s actions, something was horribly wrong.
“You hate me, remember? Why would you want me there?” said Cecily.
Sabrina laughed. “We have our differences, but I don’t hate you.”
Glaring at her arch enemy, Cecily shook her head. “Go to hell, Sabrina. Where you belong.” She went to walk around her.
Sabrina grabbed Cecily’s arm with desperateness. “Cecily, really, you need to come. It will be good for you to go.” Sabrina lowered her voice now. “You’ve had some hard times and you deserve some fun, don’t you think?” There was a hidden meaning in her words. “If not, people will start to make assumptions . . .”
Cecily’s eyes widened and she looked down. “There is nothing to make assumptions––”
“Let’s be honest, Cessy,” she whispered in her ear. “I know what happened.”
Her cheeks flushed and sweat gathered on her forehead. I imagined she was clammy. “I’m bringing Hazel,” Cecily said, glowering into Sabrina’s dark eyes. “That is the only way I’ll go.”
“Fine,” Sabrina said, as if she didn’t care. She brushed the hair out of her face and I saw the outlines of a bruise on her cheek. It was ugly and nasty, and I wasn’t the only Cecily that saw it. “You’re making the right choice, trust me,” she whispered as her eyes darted past Cecily.
I flipped around quickly to find nothing but the few souls wandering down the hallway.
Students lounged around the cafeteria, lost in their own little worlds, naïve and oblivious to the dangers around them. Cecily felt sick about it all. I felt sick about it all. No one even knew that something bad was happening.
“Seeing that I am left with no other option . . .” Cecily turned her back to Sabrina.
Victorious, the duchess left the area and blended into the cafeteria crowd.
Cecily plopped across the table from to her best friend. Her shoulders slumped.
“What was that?” Hazel bugged, her sights glued to Cecily. The book still sat open I her hands. “The duchess just spoke to you.”
“We’re going to a party.” Cecily handed the flyer to Hazel before rubbing her eyes with fatigue. “There is no option.”
Hazel stared down at the flyer. “No. I don’t want to go to a stupid royals-only party.” She rolled her eyes in annoyance. “Don’t let her boss you around.”
“It will be . . . fun.” Cecily picked at her nails—she didn’t look very convincing.
“You aren’t really going to go to this, are you, Ces?” Hazel seemed bewildered.
Her eyes gleamed and she pouted. “I don’t want to go alone.”
“I don’t––Ces––I don’t have the best feeling about it.”
“Just—trust me?”
Hazel gave Cecily a worried look as she leaned closer. “I know you don’t want to go.” She’d never seen her best friend beg like this, so heartbroken and contrite, yet wanting to go the thing that made her miserable. But why? Hazel placed a bookmark in her book and shut it. “Only this one time will I go with you to a royal party. After that . . .” She slid her finger across her neck.
A forced smile lifted on Cecily’s tired face. “We won’t stay long.” She glanced toward the psychologist’s office and quickly looked down at her twiddling hands.
Hazel’s head tilted and her green eyes held sympathy. “If you open up to ‘them’ you’ll feel better. After my gerbil died, my mom made me see a therapist because all I could do was cry.”
“This has nothing to do with a dying hamster, Haze,” Cecily said calmly.
“I’m talking about getting that emotion out of your system.” Obviously, Hazel had learned something from the AP Psychology class she was taking. “It’s blocking your positive energy.”
“Whatevs.” The bell rang. “Look, I’m going home. Come over when school is out, okay.” Cecily stood up and stretched her arms into the air. She was exhausted.
“No World Civ again?” Hazel watched her best friends face closely. “You’ve been skipping a lot of school––”
“Shut your mouth,” Cecily ordered—her tone suddenly deadly. With a breath, she calmed down again. “I procrastinated my homework. Leison––” her jaw clenched slightly when she said his name “—is a beast when it comes to late work.”
“Glad I never had him,” Hazel commented, not seeing the sudden change in Cecily. “Whatevs. I’ll get your English homework.”
Cecily’s shoulders relaxed and she let out a long breath. “Thanks.”
“What about your mom?” she asked suddenly.
“She’s gone until five. So come over and pick me up after school and we’ll sleep at your house tonight.”
Hazel gave her a hesitant look, but nodded. “Yeah. Loves.”
“Loves.”
Then they split up and went their separate ways.
On the way out, Cecily bumped into Darien, this kid who annoyed her for reasons that no one knew. He smelled like cheap incense and body odor and always wore the same Martin the Martian t-shirt that he got in eighth grade from his dead grandmother. Long tendrils of dirty blond hair were tucked behind his ears and his brown eyes were bloodshot from who knew what.
“Is he the one from the party?” Kelly asked me. “The one trying to rescue Hazel?”
I nodded, tense with anticipation. He was going to talk to me.
“Watch it,” Cecily snarled.
“Royalty coming through,” Darien snidely commented. “Madame Cecily.”
Tears filled Cecily’s eyes as she glared at Darien. “Shut up,” she demanded, her pride wounded from being called a royal. “You don’t know me.”
“I might not know you now, but I knew you then. Remember in elementary school when we would hang out and throw rocks into the river?” Darian questioned. Cecily felt embarrassed and her face turned red. “What are you doing talking to the duchess Sabrina anyway? Are you one of them now, a royal?” Darien looked disappointed. “You are going to go to that party, aren’t you?”
“I don’t have to explain myself to you!” Cecily barked. “And I’m not a royal, okay!”
He started counting on his fingers. “You treat me like a bottom feeder, you seduce teachers, and you’re caught in the middle of the cafeteria talking to the duchess. You are acting like a royal.”
Seducing a teacher? My mouth gaped open and Cecily’s heart jumped. No one knew about that, not even Hazel. Tears suddenly filled her eyes and she covered her mouth, gasping.
“You don’t know me, Darien, not anymore! And I did not seduce that disgusting pig,” her voice cracked. “He touched me!”
“I said that wrong, I’m sorry—” Darien reached for her. “I know what Mr. Leison did to you, Cecily. I’m sorry!”
Cecily started bawling hysterically and had to cover her mouth to stifle it.
My hands covered my mouth too, but in shock, and tears filled my eyes. Mr. Leison . . . now I remembered. He sexually assaulted me, but I didn’t tell because he had threatened me. That’s why I was so dark?
“Late work?” Kelly wondered as he looked at me. “I guess it wasn’t just that, was it?”
“That sick freak,” I whispered, my heart clenching in fear. “It’s Leison’s fault––”
Darien moved closer to comfort her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean––”
Cecily pushed him away. “Don’t come near me!” she screamed hysterically.
As she cried, running through the doors, it made me question what Sabrina had to do with it all. Why she had threatened me—as if she knew that Leison had assaulted me.
Sad and surely kicking himself now, Darien wat
ched the doors slam shut behind her.
Chapter 10
I stood at the little white church again, the one I had seen so many times before. A black limo and a hearse were outside, awaiting their occupants––living and dead.
“Where are we now?” Kelly wondered.
As if I knew. “I’m not sure.” I sounded bitter—angry. Some horrible, dark man hurt me and scared me—how could anyone do something so horrible? My hatred for Sabrina had only grown stronger, that’s for sure.
Upon stepping into the foyer we found a large picture of a teenager, maybe fifteen. He had short black hair and kind grey eyes.
“Chase Drake,” Kelly said, examining the picture closely.
I made a sour face. “Sabrina’s brother.”
People stood in the halls of the church because the chapel was full. It was to be expected, because the Drakes owned the coal mine in which my father worked. Billionaires? Easily.
In the chapel stood Chase’s father, Gordon Drake, at the front as he shared the story of his son’s life. If I recalled correctly, it was Gordon who had shot his son in a freak accident on a hunting excursion. The tall and broad man had poker face and his gray eyes hid his pain away from the world.
A few pews from the back sat the Wolf family. Papa sat on the end with his arm around his wife. Next to Mom was Adie, then me, kicking at the pew in front of us in boredom. I had those shiny black Mary Jane shoes on that every eight year old loved to wear.
It was the weirdest thing to see my Papa alive. I touched the space around his face and tried to memorize his firm features. Life had a way of replacing the realistic faces of the ones you love most with the slightly changed figures that you so dearly remembered.
We continued toward the front. People sobbed and cried. Others were falling asleep. Funerals, right?
On the front bench sat Carmen Drake, the gorgeous Spanish woman with dark hair and exotic looks. At the moment she was forsaken by grief. Sabrina had definitely acquired her beauty from her mother. Next to her sat little Sabrina, fuming and crying at the same time. Her arms were crossed over her black lacy dress.
