They left me alone, probably thinking I might end up complaining to the principal. Chances are, they’re planning more for tomorrow, and the day after… and so on. That level of vitriol couldn’t have ended with today. They’re not the type. They’re persistent, and not always in a good way. But I’m resilient. I know I can beat them, one way or another.
At home, it’s quiet. Mom’s not home yet, and I have no idea where she is. Her shift at the jewelry store ends at six. It’s eight, now, and the house is empty. It’s a nice place, though. I reckon she went for the more expensive house on the street to make sure I wouldn’t take the sudden move too badly. My room faces west, and the sky is painted in neon-bright shades of orange and red, darkening as the sun has already sank below the horizon.
I’m enjoying these last few late sunsets left. Before I know it, the moon will be out by five in the afternoon, and mom will be taking out the Christmas decorations, dusting each piece off as she prepares us for our first holiday season without dad. Since I’m eighteen, there is no custody battle—only my choice in whom I want to spend Christmas with. For better or worse, I’m staying with mom. At least she tries…
My phone buzzes, just as I’m about to slip into my jammies and put on a Netflix show. I’m in the mood for something dark and European. Maybe something French, with just the English subtitles, so I can learn the accent better. If I’m to become a senator, I’ll need a damn good set of language skills. A trip to France wouldn’t hurt, either. The last time we went, I was only twelve and didn’t understand much of it. I reckon I’d appreciate Paris more now.
It’s a message from Kyle. “You okay?” he asks. “Just checking you got home alright.”
I can’t stop myself from smiling. He’s a nice guy. I don’t want him involved with what I’m about to do with The Hotshots. “It’s Trinity, not South-Central LA,” I text back. “All good, just chilling with a movie.”
“What movie?” he replies.
A deep sigh rolls out of my chest, as I lean against the window frame. The sun comes through the soft white, semi transparent curtain, casting an orange glow through my room. Shadows from the cherry tree outside play across the walls, like immaterial blobs dancing on the wind. Yeah, it’s a good place. I like it. A couple of weeks ago I hated everything—from the staircase to the backyard, from the open plan kitchen to the sprawling lounge room. Heck, I was ready to burn my whole room if it could get me back to Barkston. But it wouldn’t. I quickly realized that. Brenda’s advice helped, too. Tough it out. Get to college. Make my own life. It still sounds like a good plan, but I need to figure out what the hell is up with The Hotshots. I’ve never been in conflict with anyone, let alone three of the most important people in my life…
“I haven’t decided yet,” I text to Kyle. “Probably a European mystery or something to take the edge off today. Unsolved murders and stuff like that.”
“Thinking of killing someone?” he asks, adding several laughing emoticons.
A smile curls my lips, as I gaze at the screen, my fingers quickly moving across the keypad. “Absolutely. Looking for some inspiration.”
It makes me chuckle. I couldn’t even kill a fly. Last year, I rescued a sparrow and insisted on nursing it back to life. The poor thing died, eventually, and it broke me into a million pieces because I’d tried so hard to save it. But yeah, killing anything is not part of my fabric. Thinking about it, on the other hand, and planning the murder down to the last detail, well… that’s simply cathartic. I doubt Kyle would understand, though, so I add a flurry of laughing emoticons just to make sure he thinks I’m joking.
Outside, the houses all look alike. Two-story residences with white facades and grey roofs, small green gardens at the front and large, square backyards with pools or Jacuzzis or gazebos or whatever the hell the suburbanites of Trinity like to abuse during the hot summer days. I think about the camp again, and I’m starting to hate myself for it.
If anything should be crystal clear by now, it’s the fact that what I had with Kellan, Rhett, and Gage back at Lake Tahoe is gone. It probably never existed, anyway. They could’ve played a part, pretending to not be the utter assholes they’ve proven themselves to be today. Does that thought make me feel better in any way? Nope, it does not. It’s still awful, and I’m still humiliated. But at least I got the smell of strawberry milkshake from my hair with a hot bath and a ton of conditioner. Bastards…
I glance down the street. Some of the neighbors are out, mostly parents with toddlers. Chances are, I’m one of the oldest on this block, from what I can tell. There’s a car outside, parked across from my house. A black sedan. An arm hangs lazily over the driver’s door, the window rolled down. I recognize the slim forearm tattoo, even from this height and distance.
“Motherf—” I stop myself before I utter a profanity I’ve sworn to use as rarely as possible. Today has been filled with verbal trash of all kinds, already.
That’s Gage behind the wheel, I realize, crouching slowly to get a better look. What the hell is he doing outside my house? A cigarette burns between his fingers. “Right, you’re smoking again,” I mumble.
My heart is racing, and I don’t understand what’s going on. The Hotshots have made themselves clear. We don’t belong together. I’m a ragdoll, at best, theirs to play with if I give them the opportunity. They’re my enemies, not my friends. So what on God’s green earth is Gage doing here?
I pull the curtains aside so I can see better. He spots me looking, frozen, like a deer in headlights. Maybe he didn’t think I’d notice him? It’s kind of hard not to, since everyone on the street seems to own a silver or baby blue Prius. He sticks out like a sore thumb with his second-hand sedan.
“That’s it,” I breathe and storm out of the room, my body working against me, my mind struggling to keep up. I need to confront him now that he’s alone. There’s no one from school around, so we can speak freely. He’s here for a reason, that much I know for sure.
I race down the stairs, already sweating, my chest constricting, suddenly too small for my agitated heart. But I can’t stop now. I’m almost at the door. He’ll tell me what I need to know. Maybe Rhett and Kellan keep their cards close to their chests, but Gage is sort of a different species. He’ll talk. I’ll make him talk. He always softened up when I was around, back in summer camp. Even earlier, at school, I could see him struggling with the situation he and Rhett and Kellan had built around me. He didn’t seem comfortable. I didn’t imagine that.
An engine roars to life outside. “No, no, no!” I snap as I pull the front door wide open.
The sedan screeches out from its parking space, narrowly missing a neighbor’s white Prius. I can see Gage behind the wheel. He shoots me a brief glance before he sets his eyes on the road, cigarette tightly trapped between his teeth. Sweat glistens on his temple as he drives off, the car rumbling nervously, its thunderous echoes turning heads up and down the street.
“Gage!” I shout after him as I reach the middle of the road.
But it’s too late. He’s already gone, his taillights red and staring at me as they shrink in the distance. He makes a sharp turn to the left and vanishes from sight. I’m staring ahead, panting and all the more confused, trying to understand what Gage was doing here, in the first place.
After all the crap they pulled on me today…
Was he looking for a way to apologize? Should I have left him alone, until he’d found the courage to come up to my door, maybe? No, he has my phone number. He could’ve called. He could’ve texted. It would’ve been easier than face-to-face, at least for him. He can be so adorably shy sometimes.
I quickly remember how he and the other two stallions treated me today. Chastising myself for softening up so quickly, I decide to stick to my plan. Whatever comes next, I’ll face it with my chin up high. There’s no way they’re breaking me. And I’ll find out what Gage was doing here, too. Screw it. No more nice Elly.
10
Elly
The rest of t
he week goes by rather smoothly. I spend every second of every day on edge, waiting for another strawberry milkshake to be poured over my head, or another tripping incident, or anything designed to further humiliate and eventually destroy me.
But none of that happens.
Sure, I get the odd looks, and I hear the chatter and the nicknames and all the bashing, since The Hotshots want to make sure I hear them, loud and clear. But I do my best to ignore them. Keeping my head down, I manage to sail through the week and welcome the weekend. The wound has yet to heal, though. My throat still burns, because my brain still can’t make the connection between the Rhett, Kellan, and Gage I hung out with in summer camp, and the assholes who’ve made my first days at Trinity High a living hell. It just does not compute.
Nevertheless, I can’t help but relax a little as Monday comes around. Maybe the storm has passed. Maybe they’ve got someone else to torture and make fun of. As long as I keep my distance, chances are I’ll make it out of this unscathed. My mom drops me off on Monday morning. The beat-up Mini Cooper pulls up in front of the school, and she turns the radio down. We’re drawing too much attention from the incoming students. I don’t like it.
We haven’t been talking much since the divorce. I’ve made my feelings about moving to Trinity from the very beginning, and I did not watch my words in the process. I’ve said some hurtful things and, while I know she’s trying hard to make everything as comfortable for me as possible before I go off to college, I stand by my original statements. She took me away from everything I knew and loved, and she tossed me in a piranha pool because she couldn’t stand being around my dad for another year. I may be selfish, but the incidents with The Hotshots so far have done nothing but bitterly proven my point.
“I packed you lunch today,” mom says. She leans over onto the backseat and hands me a paper bag. She’s made sandwiches, neatly wrapped in aluminum foil, and she added an apple and a banana—the staple fruits of the Fox household, for as long as I can remember.
“Thanks,” I mutter, genuinely relieved. It means I can eat outside or as far away from the crowd as possible. Part of me still fears I’ll get attacked again. Talk about trauma, huh?
“I’m really trying here, Elly,” she sighs, hands gripping the wheel. “I’m sorry I got you out of Barkston, but your father and I made an agreement with only your best interest in mind.”
I chuckle. “Let’s not go into that again, mom, please. You don’t want to start the week like this.” My hand finds the passenger door, fingers fumbling for the handle.
“I know… But I feel like I’m not getting through to you at all. You’ve been giving me the silent treatment for over a month, now, Elly. It needs to stop. I need a break from all this… Work isn’t any easier, either.”
“School ain’t a peach, if it makes you feel any better,” I grumble.
“Listen, let’s sit down and talk tonight, okay? I’ll make some pasta. You can have some of my Chardonnay… and we can just work through it. What do you think?”
I think she’s extending an olive branch, and it’s not in my nature to reject such a peace offering. Dad called once last week, for about five minutes. Other than that, he sends me dumbass memes on Messenger, probably thinking it’s the equivalent of quality father and daughter time, in this day and age.
Making enemies out of both my parents is not how I want to spend senior year. It’s bad enough I’m having to see The Hotshots every day and wonder what drove them from cool guys to bastards over the weeks between summer camp and the first day of school. I’ve been so busy feeling sorry for myself over this that I’ve completely neglected the tension between my mother and me. It’s time to change that.
I give her a soft nod and a faint smile. “You know what? That sounds really good. Let’s do that.”
As soon as I get out of the car, the stench of danger hits me. Weirdly enough, there’s no sight of Rhett, Kellan, or Gage. And yet my Spidey sense is off the charts, my skin tickling all over. My mom drives off, and I shove the lunch bag in my new backpack. The herds are moving towards the main entrance, as classes are about to start.
I spot Kyle in the crowd, but my first instinct isn’t to go after him. No, I check the parking lot first, and a lead weight settles in my stomach as I see the Range Rover. “They’re here. Shit,” I mutter to myself. What did I expect? They go to this school. Respectable bullies would’ve skipped class by now, but Rhett, Kellan, and Gage have not done that so far. It’s a little… suspicious, though I’m not exactly sure why.
If they were the bad mobster boys that Kyle described them as, surely, they would’ve bothered less with class and more with boozing and gangbanging the cheerleaders.
I allow myself a false sense of safety as I put on a bright face and go inside, hoping that this week will start better than the last. Prestley, Sarah, and Tandy are by their lockers, already. Mine’s not far from theirs. I give them a friendly nod but don’t wait for a reaction, remembering Prestley’s words after the strawberry incident. Opening my locker, I find myself drenched in a sudden deluge of cold sweat.
Someone’s been in here. Someone painted “Whore” and “Rag” in crimson letters all over the inside walls of the locker. It’s filled with condoms, all of them removed from their original packaging. Some of them look used. I try not to focus hard enough to find out if they really are because I’m already way too close to vomiting. I stare at the “art direction” for a while, then my eyes catch what I know is a fucking used condom. Would Rhett, Kellan or Gage really stoop themselves to such a cheap fucking tactic? Or maybe one of their fangirls? What’s her face? Haylee, Kaylee or whatever?
My head turns slowly, and I see Prestley staring at me, slightly amused. Rage fills me to the brim. “Did you do this?” I ask.
Suddenly, her expression changes. She’s the most innocent creature to have ever lived. “Do what?” she replies, then saunters over, bursting into laughter at the sight of my locker. “Oh, holy shit! Tandy! Sarah! Get a load of this!”
Summoned, the other two beauty queens swoop over and join Prestley in a raucous chortle, while I’m standing, utterly baffled and disgusted. Soon enough, others gather behind me, sharing their own thoughts.
“It’s open season on Eleanor Fox, ya’ll!” one of the jocks shouts.
“Oh, look at that! Looks like you’ve been busy!” a girl I’ve never even seen before tells me, while I contemplate ways of violently wiping that smirk off her face.
“Whore? Is that your middle name?” Kellan asks, and my blood freezes.
Stunned, I spin on my heels to face him. He towers above me, flanked by Kellan and Rhett. Time slows down to a creaky halt, as I try to figure out what the hell I’m supposed to do with all this. There’s no way I can defend myself in this situation—obviously, the condoms aren’t mine, but who will listen? They’re all too busy laughing at my expense. They don’t give a crap about my integrity.
“You did this,” I murmur, my eyes stinging as I look up at Kellan.
“What, the locker potpourri of all your favorite things?” he replies, a grin slitting his face.
I shake my head slowly. “What in the fuck is the matter with you, Kellan? What did I ever do to you to deserve this—”
He pushes me back so hard, I slam into my locker with an underwhelming clang. The air escapes from my lungs, as I wheeze desperately for a quick breath. I hear “Ooh” and “Aah” murmurs from the swelling crowd around us. Kellan is immovable, his expression dark, cold and stern as he stares me down.
“This is your weekly reminder to keep your distance, Elly. Plain and simple. You’re in a new school now. Rules apply,” he says.
Rhett can’t even look at me. Gage shares a chuckle with one of the jocks, but he can’t face me, either. They’re by Kellan’s side, but they’re not actively participating. Somehow, I find that all the more insulting. “Hey Rhett, Gage,” I snap, drawing their attention. “At least grow a pair and do some of this shit yourselves. It’s the second tim
e that Kellan’s had to do it on his own.”
I bang the locker door shut and slip through the crowd, leaving the guffaws and mean nicknames behind. We’re back in war mode, it seems. Chances are they’ll try to do more today, but I will not have it. I will not let them break me!
The noise won’t leave me. I rush into class, where only a few students are seated. All the others are back in the hallway, laughing at my locker full of condoms and painted slurs. I collapse behind my small desk, then exhale sharply. They keep laughing. I can hear them, all the way in here, and I just want the ground to open up and swallow me whole—this urgent need is becoming a pattern, I realize. The shame is just so intense…
My vision is hazy, tears making their way up. I pull a notebook and pen out of my bag, which is now safely stored under my desk, and I start jotting stuff down. Anything I can think of. Ways to kill The Hotshots. Grocery lists. Colleges to apply to. Whatever can get the laughter out of my head. Whatever can tune me out of this mess before it takes a hold of me… before it destroys me.
“Elly. Elly…” Kyle’s voice comes through as I scribble angrily across the page.
I look up, a tear rolling down my cheek. Wiping it quickly, I scoff. “What?”
“I couldn’t get to you earlier, I’m sorry. The moment they caught the scent of blood, they all gathered there like starving sharks,” he says.
“It’s cool,” I reply, staring at my barely legible writing. “It doesn’t matter. I knew they wouldn’t let me off that easy…”
“For what it’s worth, they’re skipping first period. I saw them leave the school.”
That gets my attention. “Quite the first. Or am I wrong?”
“No, you’re not wrong,” Kyle says, shaking his head. “Despite their background and… extracurricular activities, they actually keep a good track record in school. Which makes it all the more difficult to report them when they do shit like this.”
Trinity High: High School Bully Romance Page 7
