Trinity High: High School Bully Romance

by Savannah Rose

  The lady bends over, so she’s closer to my height. “What’s your name, honey?” she asks me.

  I’m still busy with Sally, but I manage to answer. “Kira. Nice to meet you.”

  “Nice to meet you, too,” she says. “I’m Mary. And this here… is Elias. My son.”

  The boy reaches us, his truck stopping at my feet, inches from my toes. I wiggle them in my strappy pink sandals, but I’m not scared. It’s just a toy. It can’t hurt me.

  I look up at Elias, and he gives me a smile. “Hi,” he mutters.

  “I’m Kira!” I reply, reaching out. I hope he’s nice like his mom.

  He shakes my hand! Again, I can’t help but giggle. It makes him laugh, too. I think we’ll get along really well. Elias looks at me like we’re friends already. I can tell. Mom says I am always able to tell when people like me. It’s an instinct, she once told me.

  “Where are your parents, Kira?” his mom asks me, and I point behind me, somewhere beyond the bushes and the oak trees.

  “Just up the hill there. We’re having a picnic,” I say. “Do you want to have a picnic with us?”

  I hope they say yes. The lady laughs lightly. “I think that’s up to your parents, honey. And, of course, my husband. Martin, darling!” she calls out to a man in a dark blue suit. He’s on his cell phone, walking slowly. I didn’t even notice him until she pointed him out.

  He comes over but doesn’t hang up. My dad gets like that sometimes, too. All caught up in his phone and business…business…business.

  “What is it?” he asks. He feels cold. I’m not sure I like him. I don’t know why, but my skin tickles, like when I’m watching a horror movie, and the monster is about to come out. I’m not allowed to watch horror movies, but Margaret is a good nanny. She plays them on her laptop sometimes.

  “Kira here wants us to join her and her parents for a picnic,” the lady says, almost laughing. I must have said something funny.

  The man, Martin, looks down at me and flashes a smile—it’s not a real smile. It’s fake. I can feel it in my bones.

  “Thanks, sweetheart, but we have a dinner reservation in about a half an hour. Another time, maybe,” he says, then whispers to the lady. “Picking up little girls in the park?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Martin,” the woman replies. She’s upset. “Sally pulled me to her. We were just making conversation.”

  Martin rolls his eyes and goes back to talking on the phone. Something about business and supermall. I think my dad mentioned a supermall a few times, as well. He talks about it a lot during dinner, though my mom isn’t really all that interested. Neither am I. His business stuff bores me.

  “So, how old are you?” Elias asks me.

  I smile again. I can’t help it. He’s just so nice. If I was allowed to have crushes. I think maybe I’d have a crush on him. “I’m six,” I say, hoping my cheeks don’t tint the color of tomatoes. “Almost seven. You?”

  “I’m almost seven too!” he replies, and he seems so proud. “Do you live in Trinity?”

  I shake my head and then nod. “No…well, yes. Kinda. In Hampton Heights. It’s not all that far away from Trinity. We have a big house there. It’s got a pool.”

  His green eyes grow wide and round. “Really? We live in Hampton Heights, too!”

  “That’s cool!” I reply.

  “You can come over and we can play with Sally together! She loves the water sprinklers in the garden,” Elias says, and he laughs a little. “She’s so funny!”

  “Kira!” my dad yells, and I freeze for a moment.

  I hear him coming down the hill. Turning around, I see him as he comes around the bushes, his face red with anger. I made him mad. “I’m here, dad…”

  “I told you not to get too far away from-.” He stops and frowns at the lady, then at Elias, at Sally, and ultimately at Martin. “What the fuck are you doing here?!”

  I gasp, covering my mouth with both hands. Mom catches up, almost rolling down the hill, looking all nervous and scared, but her worries all go away when she sees me. “Kira, honey, what did we say about going too far?”

  “I told you I got this, Carrie,” Dad reprimands her. Why is he so angry?

  And why is Martin all stiff and red-faced, all of a sudden? I don’t get it.

  “Out of all the places in the world,” he mutters, shaking his head with disgust.

  “William, what’s going on?” Mom asks Dad, suddenly confused. She doesn’t know these people, but dad clearly does. The lady, Elias’s mom, she knows him, too.

  “Stay away from my family,” Dad says, scowling at Martin. They hate each other, that much is obvious. “I don’t want you dragging our wives and children into this!”

  “William?” Mom asks again, but Dad shushes her. He scares me when he’s like this.

  I look over to Elias. He doesn’t understand, either. “Daddy, why are you angry?” he asks Martin, who grabs his wrist and pulls him away. Sally is getting restless. She’s not happy about the way everyone is acting, either. I bet she’s also a little bit scared, just like me.

  “Come on, we’re leaving,” Martin says. “Not wasting our family Sunday arguing with that piece of shit!”

  Mom is shocked, her eyes wide as she sucks in a breath. It’s twice I’ve heard curse words in like… five minutes. My cheeks are burning red. I think maybe I’m a little bit angry too…and a little bit sad.

  “Martin!” the lady calls after him, but he doesn’t care. He drags Elias farther away, and Elias is looking at me, wanting to stay…

  The lady gives up, her shoulders dropping. She gives me an apologetic smile as she tugs Sally’s leash. “I’m sorry honey. Maybe in another lifetime.” She looks at dad, frowning. “You’re an awful human being, William Malone.”

  “Oh, yeah? Have you seen the guy you married?” Dad replies, waving her away. Mom takes him by the arm, but he yanks it back. “Get the fuck off me, Carrie! You have no idea what an asshole Martin Dressler is!”

  The lady leaves, and Sally goes with her. I feel alone, all of a sudden, watching Elias go. We were going to play with Sally by the sprinklers in his garden. I was going to invite them to our house, to swim in the pool, too. I don’t get it.

  “You ruin everything,” Mom says. There are tears in her eyes, but she doesn’t allow them to fall. She shakes her head at dad and starts walking back up the hill.

  Dad is breathing heavily. He’s obviously still furious. I don’t even think he knows how upset mom is. He looks at me as if I’m responsible for all of this. A knot forms in my throat, and I swallow it back. Sometimes dad scares me.

  “Get your ass back up to the picnic blanket,” he grumbles, and I don’t wait to be told twice. “If I ever see you talking to that kid again or anyone in that fucking family, I’ll send you to a boarding school in Switzerland.”

  I know he means it. When Dad uses that tone, he means it. Like when he told me that if I’m out on my bike after eight in the evening again, he’ll take the wheels off and throw the bike away. I didn’t believe him, and the next day I found my bike outside on the curb, next to the trash can, with its wheels screwed off. I tried to get it back, but he grabbed me by the hair and pulled me back to my room, telling me I was grounded.

  Dad confuses me sometimes. He can be so good and kind and sweet. But then he just turns into this bad man, and I can’t do anything about it. Mom’s scared of him, too, but she says she loves him. He just loses his temper, she says, that’s all. He’s always sorry about it later.

  Who cares about later?

  “Why can’t I be friends with Elias?” I ask as I walk up the hill, the bright sun making me squint my eyes. Ahead, mom is already packing the food and stuffing it into the basket. I think we’re leaving sooner than we wanted to; without even really getting started on our picnic.

  “Elias and everybody else with the Dressler last name are bad people, and you would do well to stay away from them!” Dad replies. “Martin is my enemy, and he’s not above mess
ing with my family just to get to me. You hear me, kid?!”

  I nod slowly, though I don’t understand it very well. Right now, dad feels a lot like the enemy. Maybe mom will explain all of this to me later. I just can’t believe that Elias is a bad person, like Dad says, no matter what his last name is. Grownups are so confusing…

  It hits me now that I’ll probably never see Sally again. That makes me even sadder. Just like mom, I do everything it takes to keep the tears in my eyes. Dad notices, and like Mom always reminds me, he starts feeling guilty. He doesn’t apologize, though. He sees Mom is angry, too, so he tries to fix it the only way he knows how.

  “Ladies, how about we go do some shopping, huh? Doesn’t that sound neat?”

  He doesn’t get an answer, but we don’t exactly reject him, either. I need a new tutu, anyway. The old one is starting to come apart at the seams. Maybe I’ll feel better if he buys me a new tutu. And ice-cream.

  1

  Kira

  This is it.

  The day I’ve been waiting for ever since I was a little girl, trying on tutus at Columbus Circle. My mom isn’t here to see me. My dad is busy. But Madame Olenna is a decent substitute for both, as I prepare myself for the single most important ballet performance in my life.

  Trinity High is notorious for its dance school, led by Madame Olenna, a former Bolshoi prima ballerina. She’s put together a minimalistic version of “The Nutcracker,” and I’m minutes away from auditioning for the part of Clara. There will be Julliard scouts attending the show. Naturally, my insides are squirming. I’m just glad I only had a cereal bar for breakfast, though even that one is threatening to come back up.

  It’s my birthday tomorrow. I’d like to go into it knowing I’ve accomplished something incredible this year. The only way that’s going to happen is if I give this audition my very best. Next month it’s Christmas, too, and I can’t think of a better present than Madame Olenna telling me I got the part of Clara for a show where Julliard scouts will be present. The mere thought makes me feel closer to my dream… the very dream my mom and I used to share when I was a little girl. The very dream she won’t get to see me make true.

  But I will turn it into reality. I made her that promise the day we buried her.

  “Break a leg, Kira,” Giselle says, pulling me out of my thoughts. That smile on her pretty magazine cover-girl face looks more like a sneer.

  “That’s not what you wish a ballerina, you plum,” I reply dryly, stretching my legs on the bar. My muscles moan with delight as I reach for my toes. My hamstrings, in particular, are tingling with glee. “But good luck to you, too,” I add without so much as a glance at her.

  Giselle and Lorna exchange some giggles and whispered words, and I know they’re aimed at me. But I don’t really care. They’ve spent the past five years trying to bully me into a corner, only to find themselves at a loss whenever I emerge victorious from every goddamn challenge that life and school have thrust my way.

  “Look at her form,” Lorna mutters. “She’s so friggin’ stiff…”

  “Meh, she might get to be a Snowflake if she bombs the audition,” Giselle says. “Madame Olenna doesn’t have the heart to cut losers from the show.”

  I glance around, noticing how none of the other thirty girls and boys in our ballet class have the courage to even look at me whenever these two tarts emit half-assed opinions about me. Fucking cowards, all of them. Nevertheless, I’m sharing a stage and the practice halls with these spineless sacks of meat. The best I can do is to keep focusing on my journey… to make sure I nail the lead part so I can later flip Giselle and Lorna off.

  “Giselle, perhaps you should focus on improving your Grand Jeté,” Madame Olenna’s voice cuts through the mélange of hushed voices and classical music playing in the background of our practice hall. “Petty gossip will not get you a prima ballerina position anywhere.”

  I love Madame Olenna. She is strict. Hell, she can be a cold-hearted and ridiculously demanding bitch more often than she is nice. But she appreciates talent. She nurtures it. She encourages it. Most importantly, she sees it in me, which is why she never tolerates the way they try to bully me around. As much as Giselle and Lorna try to make my life miserable, their attempts usually flounder between these four walls.

  The mistress is not done with them yet, though. “Lorna, your Penché makes you look like a thick tree tilting forward. It is beneath our standards. Take ten extra minutes to stretch before you get into it,” Madame Olenna says in her thick Russian accent.

  Sometimes, I imagine what she must’ve been like, headlining for the Bolshoi company.

  Her skin is wrinkled and slightly saggy here and there, but Madame Olenna could easily pass for a young-looking fifty-year old, even on a bad day. Despite the fact that she’s in her mid-seventies now, she’s as spry as a pixie. She has long white hair which she always keeps in a tight bun on the top of her head. Her blue Mongolian eyes watch us like famished hawks. There’s a love for life in that gaze, an unforgiving desire to create and witness nothing but excellence… it’s enough to kick my gears into motion anytime.

  Despite her strictness, she has a heart of gold. Mom used to say that good people are always beautiful, whereas bad people seem ugly, no matter how beautiful they are. Looking at Giselle and Lorna, I can see just how much that statement holds true.

  “Yes, Madame,” Giselle mutters, looking at herself in one of the floor-to-ceiling mirrors that cover all the training hall walls. There’s emptiness in her caramel eyes. A sadness of sorts. I get that she’s got a lot riding on this, much like the rest of us, but she doesn’t have to put anyone down in order to elevate herself.

  From an artistic point of view, Giselle is mediocre, at best. I don’t understand why she insists on auditioning for the lead parts in our school shows. She never gets them, anyway. Even Madame Olenna told her once, in front of her parents, that she should consider other career avenues. Needless to say, Giselle did not let that stop her. I’d normally applaud such perseverance, just not when it comes at my fucking expense. She and Lorna have been trying to screw me over for far too long.

  “Kira, make sure you warm your ankles up properly,” Madame Olenna says. She stands behind me, watching me through the mirror.

  Her gaze occasionally darts across the hall, checking the other students as well, but most of her attention is mine, and that is equal parts thrilling and terrifying. She always asks more of me. She’s asked more of me since I was seven, and my mom first brought me to Trinity High’s summer ballet program. Mom used to say that Madam Olenna is super strict with me because she has high expectations of me. I should be flattered, but there are moments when the thought of success is just… overwhelming.

  “Yes, Madame,” I reply.

  The last time I didn’t do a proper ankle warm-up I wound up with a sprain that benched me for three weeks. I was practically crying all the way until the time I was allowed to dance again. I don’t know what I would do without it. There’s not enough money in the world to replace my passion for ballet. Lord knows dad has tried to get me off the stage and into his office, promising fortunes and success. We live in Hampton Heights. We’re filthy rich… yet none of that matters, if I can’t dance. I hope I can make him understand that, someday.

  Madame Olenna moves around the hall, giving advice and observations here and there. Giselle watches her with burning hate—she can’t do anything against the woman, though. Her flimsy career would be over before it even begins. Lorna, on the other hand, is much more respectful towards Madame Olenna. She’s also more of a follower, hanging around Giselle like a lost puppy, which, in my opinion, is pretty ironic, since Lorna is a much better dancer.

  I can see Lorna making it big, someday. She’s beautiful, too, with cappuccino colored skin and big hazel eyes. Her black afro is neatly combed into a waxed bun, and sometimes I lose myself while watching her dance. Despite Madam Olenna’s jabs, Lorna is almost as good as I am. If only she’d pay more attention to ballet t
han she does trying to making me feel miserable…just because Giselle wants her to. I don’t understand why she hangs around Giselle, if I’m being honest. That bitter pansy will only drag her down.

  “Alright, ladies, gentlemen!” Madame Olenna says, her voice booming through the entire training hall. “Come December 20th, we will be putting on our version of the Nutcracker under Trinity High’s tutelage. Some of the school’s biggest sponsors will be present, along with at least one recruiter from Julliard, several scouts from NYU… and, I’ve even taken the liberty to invite friends who currently manage the Bolshoi company. I suppose I don’t need to tell any of you how important this show is.”

  Most of us nod, already knowing what is at stake. My heart’s the size of a flea, already. But my muscles are heated up, simmering and stretchy and ready to do their part. I want to be Clara. I want to dance with the Nutcracker and defeat the Mouse King. I want to get into Julliard, so if there’s a recruiter coming, I cannot, under any circumstances, find myself reduced to being one of the Snowflakes. Giselle can do that, if she even passes this audition. Last year, she barely made the cut for Swan Lake.

  “That being said, today, each of you will be auditioning. Not all of you will be selected. There is only one Clara and only one Nutcracker. I have high hopes for each and every one of you,” Madame Olenna continues. “But if you want to be noticed… If you want that Julliard recruiter to pay attention to you, I expect nothing short of excellence. Once you’re all warmed up, line up along the north wall.” She sits behind a glass desk, on which she keeps a printed list of our names with some of her scribbled annotations on the side. I wonder what she’s jotted down next to my name. “I will be calling out your names, and I will expect to watch you perform to the highest of standards. If you cannot hack it, well… there is also room in the drama department.”