by Bella King
I rushed into the women’s bathroom and turned to a row of pearlescent white sinks with silver knobs to control the water. With a school this expensive, I would have thought that they would be able to afford automatic facets, but they preferred to keep things old-fashioned. It was all about maintaining a certain appearance.
I didn’t think anyone else was in the bathroom until I heard the sound of liquid splashing in a stall on the far side of the room. I was desperately soaking my shirt and dabbing it with a towel to get the stains out, making little in the way of progress. If anything, I looked worse with my pale green bra showing through the wet blouse.
The liquid sounded again, followed by coughing and the acidic scent of vomit. I shook my head. Who was already getting drunk in the second week of school? It only occurred to me that it might be one of the girls from Megan’s initiation after a few moments of continued sickness.
I tossed a crumpled piece of brown paper towel into the silver garbage bin beside the sink and went to the stall to check on whoever was in it. They sounded like they were on the verge of puking up their internal organs, and I wasn’t apathetic enough to just ignore someone dying.
My knuckles met the black plastic stall door with a satisfyingly loud clack. “You okay?” I called.
The toilet flushed, and the door swung open a second later. The girl with the glossy brown eyes stood there, wiping the sides of her mouth with the back of her hand. “Oh, it’s you,” she said, looking just as spaced out as could be. She stumbled forward but steadied herself before I could catch her.
“Maybe you need some water,” I said, placing a hand gently on her back.
She shook her head, straight brown hair hanging low and sticking to her lips. “Megan already gave me some before I left,” she replied, her breathing labored and her words slurring.
“Uh, are you sure it was water?” I asked, leaning down to examine her face.
She didn’t react to my question, staring blankly at the tile floor as she swayed on her small feet.
Shit, this girl was out of it. “Maybe you should sit down,” I said, applying pressure to her shoulder.
She buckled easily, collapsing on her ass, slumped against the side of the stall.
“Okay, well that wasn’t so hard,” I said, more to myself than to her. She was like a rag doll, limp and pliable. I was worried that she had alcohol poisoning, but she was still conscious.
I squatted down in front of her. “I didn’t catch your name before,” I said, trying to keep her talking. If she kept ignoring me, I would have to call someone in.
“Molly,” she replied before erupting in a fit of coughs.
“Molly, nice to meet you. My name is Ava,” I said, holding out my hand to see if she would take it.
She looked up at me, then at my hand, her body remaining limp. “I know who you are, but I doubt you’re going to be here for much longer.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, pulling my head back at her odd words.
“You defied Megan, so you’re basically toast,” she said slowly.
I rolled my eyes. “Please, Molly. Megan doesn’t own the damn school. Besides, look at you. You’re the one all fucked up.”
“You’re wrong,” she said, frowning and looking into my eyes. “Megan doesn’t like you anymore. You’re in a lot of trouble.”
“What are you, one of her minions?” I asked, shaking my head and standing back up.
She let out a chuckled, followed by another fit of coughing. “We all are. Even you, Ava Libby Powell.”
She knew my full name, which was a bit creepy. I didn’t think anyone knew that here. “Excuse me, but how the fuck do you know my full name?”
“I already told you,” she said, her voice growing louder. “You are in a lot of trouble. Megan doesn’t like you, and that means everyone at the school is going to know who you are. You’re not safe anymore.”
She was so dramatic, and I didn’t buy her nonsense about how I wasn’t going to be here much longer. It was likely that she sided with Megan and was threatening me in the guise of advice. It could all be a trick from Megan to get me to fall in line.
I crossed my arms and looked down at the pathetic girl slumped over in front of me. She seemed barely able to speak, much less get herself out of here before a janitor found her and called emergency services. As much as I didn’t like what she was saying, I wasn’t going to abandon her on the bathroom floor. I wasn’t like Megan.
“Come on, let’s get you out of here,” I said, grabbing her under her armpits and hoisting her back to a standing position.
“I don’t feel good,” she said, wobbling from side to side as I held her.
“Yeah, I would assume as much with how much vodka you drank.” I tried to get her to stop leaning against me, but she wasn’t able to stand on her own.
“I think I’m going to puke,” she groaned.
“Well, don’t do it on me,” I said, trying to push her up against the bathroom stall so that she didn’t hurl all over my blouse.
Too late, I felt the sickly heat of whatever stomach bile had been left in her dripping down the back of my shirt. Fuck, now I really wasn’t going to be able to get back to class without going home first. I didn’t even have a jacket to cover myself up with.
“Molly, please do that it the toilet,” I said, pushing open the stall door and pushing her inside.
She collapsed over the toilet bowl to dry heave. Nothing came out of her mouth, but she had still managed to get some on me. Just my luck.
I didn’t want to have to go home now, because I wouldn’t make it back to school in time to attend any classes. It wouldn’t look good for me to miss a whole half-day of classes so early on. I knew it wasn’t Molly’s fault that she was so wasted, but I couldn’t help but feel a tinge of resentment toward her for the comments she had made in support of Megan.
My wicked mind began to churn up a plan to get me back to class before the end-of-lunch bell rang. I stepped into the stall while Molly still dry heaved, and kneeled down beside her, placing a hand on her back. “Hey, why don’t you take this shirt off, so you don’t get it dirty,” I suggested, my voice laced with an ominous sweetness.
Molly obey my suggestion immediately, unbuttoning the little white fasteners and letting it fall open as she kept her face over the toilet. I helped her remove it, pulling it off her arms and holding it triumphantly in my first.
I sprung up, undoing mine and dropping it on the floor. I held her blouse up to my torso as she coughed and looked up at me.
“What are you doing?” She asked, her face plastered with strands of her hair.
“Changing,” I said dryly, pulling her blouse over my arms and pulling it shut in the front. It was too tight, but it beat going out with a pink and brown stained one. “How do I look?” I asked her.
“Like you’re wearing my shirt,” she said angrily, reaching out a hand and grabbing at my legs.
I jumped back, out of the way. She was too weak to stop me. “Maybe you should reconsider whose side you’re on, Molly. I can be a lot worse than you think Megan is,” I snarled.
She slumped back into the toilet as I walked away. I had enough of this bullshit. I didn’t think Molly was particularly bad, just misguided. Regardless, I didn’t appreciate her warnings, and I especially didn’t like weak-minded people. They were often just as dangerous as the evil people who controlled them.
Chapter 4
Passion and practice make perfect.
It was a kill or be killed world. Part of me felt bad for stealing part of Molly’s school uniform and leaving her in the bathroom to dry heave until her guts were blue, but there was another part of me that urged me to be the aggressor so that I could have a place of power at Palm Valley Academy.
Megan wanted me in her ranks, and she would probably want me there even more when she got wind of what I had done to Molly. I was certain that Molly would crawl back to her, telling all about how I had stolen her blouse to save face at sch
ool. She was a mouse, and Megan was a cat. I hoped to be the poison.
I whisked myself off the class, the buttons on Molly’s blouse straining against the size of my breasts. I was several cup sizes larger than she was, and I had to walk with my shoulders curved inward to make sure they didn’t pop out in front of the drooling boys at school. The last thing I wanted to be known for was flashing a bunch of horny dickheads in the hallway.
I caught sight of Bradly on the way to my classroom, but I didn’t make eye contact with him. I was lucky enough to get the chance to snatch one shirt off a girl here. I doubted I would be able to pull that off twice.
I rushed past a group of cheerleaders who were huddled outside of the classroom, catching snippets of their conversation as I breezed through the doorway to find my seat. They were talking about the guys on the football team, which didn’t surprise me. My ears perked up on the mention of Bradly, but I didn’t linger long enough to hear what they had to say. It was probably something obscene anyway.
I slid down into my seat in the back of the room. Was I a good student? Of course not. That was why I took the back seat. I wouldn’t have to pay any attention to the teacher, and they wouldn’t notice me all the way back there. It was my favorite spot.
Not everyone thought like me though. Some students were here to get an education. I scoffed at that idea. I was smart enough already. What did these teachers have to teach me that I couldn’t learn on my own outside of class?
Here was the kicker. I aced every test I was given, because they were all quite easy. Five minutes online could give you a much more palatable version of whatever the teacher was rambling about in the front of the classroom, and you would barely lose any time.
What I liked to do during class was thinking about ways to improve the dress designs that I had stocked up in the sewing room at home. I was only passionate about a few things, and aside from eating through ten seasons of my favorite TV show in a week, making dresses was the only thing I did when I was at home.
I wanted to be a designer when I graduated. I hoped that if I could come up with stuff that was convincing enough, that my parents would pay for me to go to design school instead of the stuffy university they had planned. I didn’t want a degree in chemistry. I wanted to be a clothing designer.
I had been working on a particularly grungy piece between episodes of my favorite show, but I felt stuck on a certain aspect of it. The neckline really threw me for a loop, because when I had it cut really low, it looked like it was meant for clubbing, and when I raised it up higher, it looked far too formal for streetwear.
I was sketching out some alternative ideas in my notebook during classes, which was also what I wanted to do now. Without even looking up at the teacher, I pulled out my notebook and got to work.
I recognized the teacher’s voice without even having to look at them as they walked in and began the lecture. It was Mr. Griffon, a short man with a funny little tuft of blonde hair on top of his otherwise bald head. He looked something like a talking egg.
I never had to pay attention in his class, because he graded things so easily. It had only been a week and a half, and he had given us two quizzes, both of which I aced without studying. Maybe it would get harder, but it was unlikely. Nobody else seemed to be paying attention either, even the nerdier of folks.
I scribbled down some new ideas in my notebook beside a concept for a dress that I would wear to prom if I had a date. By the looks of it, that wasn’t going to happen, but I couldn’t be too quick to call it. There was still a good bit of time to find a date. I just didn’t think many of the guys at Palm Valley were cute.
Okay, so that was excluding Bradly. He was cute but a complete asshole, so it wasn’t going to fly. Plus, he had probably sunk his dick into half the cheerleaders here, if the conversation outside the classroom had been any indication of how they treated him.
I shook my head, trying to focus on the task at hand. This dress was about to be scrapped if I couldn’t figure out how to make it flow the way I wanted it to. I gave myself another few days before I burned the damn thing out of frustration.
I sighed, flipping over my notebook to a clean page, and began to start again. I was so immersed in my sketch that I didn’t realize that class was over until people began getting up around me. I lifted my head as students flew out the door.
I packed up my bag as Mr. Griffon waddled out, throwing my notebook and pencils into the same compartment. I was never one to be very organized. That just wasn’t my style.
The bag was light on my shoulder as I swung it over. I didn’t pack a lot for school because I rarely paid attention. That meant that I didn’t need any of the books that I was given. I just looked up the assignments as they were updated in the computer system online when I got home and looked up equivalent videos online to explain the chapters I was supposed to be reading.
My parents called it lazy when they caught me doing it, but I called it efficient, and I wasn’t going to stop. This way allowed me to pursue my true passion while not dropping out of school. I wasn’t that stupid, plus, my parents would kill me.
I walked toward the classroom exit as the last student scurried out. I was halfway there when a slender leg stepped through the door.
Chapter 5
Yellow skies are a good indication of a storm.
I should have known that getting away from Megan wasn’t going to be as easy as walking out on her initiation. She walked into the classroom, cutting off my only exit, and close the door behind her.
I looked down from the evil red smile on her lips to the black bag in her hands. I already knew what was in it before she placed it only the table with a loud thud and pulled out its contents.
“Hello, Ava,” she said, pulling out a half-empty bottle of vodka and a stack of white cards. “Are you ready to finish the game?”
I laughed nervously. “I already told you that I wasn’t going to play anymore. I don’t like drinking that much.”
“It’s not really a choice, darling,” she said, her lips curling into an even larger smile. “Come here,” she whispered, curling a finger with a long red nail on the end of it.
I stepped toward the desk at the front of the room. I planned to shove her aside and leave, but that was before I saw the outline of a large man standing with his back against the door through the little window at the top of it. I was pretty sure that was Bradly.
“Okay, what the fuck?” I exclaimed, beginning to grow nervous. The effects of the two shots from earlier had worn off, but I wasn’t ready to take on much more alcohol today, especially after seeing the state Molly had been in. She wasn’t that much smaller than me.
“You could have stayed, but this time, you’re answering all of the questions by yourself. Do you see what happens when you start acting up?” She said, her voice floating so delicately through the air.
I dropped my bag on the floor beside me and stepped up to the table. “You can’t make me do anything,” I said, glaring at her. I was tempted to swipe the bottle right off the smooth wooden desk.
Megan raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow. “I think I can, because if you don’t,” she said, raising her chin up pompously, “Then I’m going to keep you here the entire night until you play the game.”
“I could scream,” I said, my heart thumping wildly in my chest.
“And I could cut you,” she replied, whipping out a blade from the band of her tights. “It’s really up to you.”
The metal of the thin blade shined in the harsh overhead lights of the classroom, reminding me of something a biker gang would use. It was small and narrow enough to remain concealed throughout the day, but it was long enough to puncture a lung if things came down to it. I knew better than to mess with a knife like that.
“I’m sure there’s another way of resolving this,” I said, studying her face for a sign of mercy.
“I’m afraid not,” she snapped.
I sighed and ran my fingers through my hair hard enough
to pull at the roots. I guess I really didn’t have another choice right now. “Fine, let’s play your stupid game,” I said, looking her dead in the eyes.
“Good choice,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. She picked up the first card on the stack with her free hand, standing on the opposite side of the desk, and read it aloud. “Who was the fifth president of Palm Valley Academy.”
Why the fuck would I know that? I didn’t even know who the fifth president of the United States was.
“I don’t know,” I replied, my voice showing signs of frustration.
“Take a shot,” Megan said calmly.
“I don’t want to,” I replied, crossing my arms over the straining buttons of Molly’s blouse.
“I assume you also don’t want to be shredded into a pile of limp noodles either,” she said, waving the blade around in her hand. “Pour the shot.”
Of all the situations that I had been in, this had to be the weirdest. I felt trapped with no easy way out, which had been a first. I was used to being able to punch my way out of anything, but Megan had more going for her at this school. It was a more elite operation than I had anticipated.
I couldn’t believe that my hand was trembling when I reached for the bottle. There was a little shot glass on the table that I could hardly get the vodka in because I was shaking so badly. It was embarrassing. I hated to be reduced to a quivering coward.
I threw back the shot easily, showing confidence where I had none. I was playing along until I could find a way out of this, but it seemed like I wasn’t going to get out without a few more shots of something that would put me down in five.
“Next question,” Megan said cheerfully, picking up another card from the tall deck.
There had to be at least thirty cards there. I wouldn’t live past ten.
“What was the annual growth in students last year?”
