Bullies like Me

by Lindy Zart

  You will, because you must.

  “—important that Lexie feels like she has someone to talk to. A regression is the last thing we want. She’s come so far.”

  I look up, wondering how much of the conversation I missed.

  Red faced and scowling, my dad shifts in his seat. The legs creak, and I hope the chair doesn’t collapse under the weight of his large frame. It would be the chair’s fault, of course, not the extra servings of food my dad likes. “I know how to take care of my daughter.”

  Yes, just ignore me and tell yourself I can survive.

  Dr. Larson levels her gaze on him. “I’m glad to hear that. Communication between parents and their children is vital for them to have a healthy relationship.”

  I tilt my head and study the red and pink petals of a painted rose on the wall to the right of me. I wonder what it’s like to live with Dr. Larson. A vision of her and a faceless husband come to mind. They’re sitting at the kitchen table, eating breakfast.

  Faceless Husband: I ate the last of the cereal.

  Dr. Larson: How do you feel about that?

  I smirk, quickly forcing it back when my psychiatrist turns her attention to me. I realize she’s waiting for something. Probably an answer to a question I didn’t hear. “Um…what?”

  “I asked if you were all set.”

  I hop up and grab my bag. The sooner I get out of here, the sooner I can move on to worry about something else. Like school. I look to my left. “Ready, Dad?”

  He gives a brief nod, Dr. Larson shakes my hand, and we go.

  Hollowness grows in the pit of my stomach as I step through the front doors and face the parking lot. I tell myself I’ll be okay, but I’m not sure I will be. The sky is painted in wispy gray clouds, and the tips of my ears immediately sting from the cold. They’re used to having hair cover them; now there are short layers flittering about my head that offer little protection. The chill and wetness in the May air quickly work their way through my hooded sweatshirt and lounge pants.

  My dad catches my shiver, shaking his head. I only wear jackets when not doing so would be life-threatening, like when it’s below zero out and the wind chill is strong and cold enough to rip the skin from your face. This forty degrees weather doesn’t have anything on me, but even so, I flip the hood of the sweatshirt before trekking in the shadow of my father’s footsteps.

  He silently unlocks the white Ford Explorer and takes my suitcase from me, setting it in the back before moving to the driver’s side. It isn’t like we’ve ever been all that close, but something happened to my dad when my mom left. Light left his eyes; words no longer passed his lips. He got colder. I don’t know if it’s because I look like her that he distanced himself from me, or if it was because he just couldn’t handle it all. All I know is, on the day my mom left, I lost my dad along with her.

  It was an avalanche of unexpected occurrences, with me at the bottom of it all. My sister Jenna left to live her own life across the country, my mom decided she no longer wanted a family, we moved to a new town, and inside the school where I was friendless and vulnerable, the hell truly began. If even one thing had happened differently, it all could have been different. But, here we are, with me leaving a mental institution. That gives you a good idea on how well it all went.

  I pause with my hand on the door handle, looking back at the brown and red brick building with lights shining from most of its windows. I’m waiting for something I shouldn’t, waiting for something that won’t be there. Still, I delay my departure. I know I don’t have long before my dad becomes impatient. One more look.

  Shifting my eyes from side to side, I search for a form in the gloom. It is as I am turning in dejection that I see him, a shadow that separates from the tree he stands beneath. Half of my mouth lifts as Nick’s hand does, and I nod once, climbing into the Explorer.

  As we leave, I think about the town. There are fourteen thousand people in Enid, Illinois, and during the months I went to Enid High School, a handful of them made my life hell. Overall, the whole school experience was abysmal, but two girls in particular made my time there unbearable. Just thinking about their uncaring cruelty makes my skin clammy and my head hurt. They ridiculed me, singled me out to beat down. Melanie Mathews and Jocelyn Rodriguez. Sixteen years old, in a new school, and I was bullied. Hurt, disbelieving, I became a person I didn’t recognize.

  I became someone who wanted to die.

  And that makes me angriest of all. That I gave them that power, that I let them decide my value. Monday, I’m going back to the school that took my soul. I have to. It’s the only thing that makes sense, the only thing that makes it all endurable. Because I have something I need to do, and one month to do it. I’m taking back what was taken from me.

  I’m going to make my bullies pay.

  Two

  Melanie

  THE SCHOOL IS HOT, SMELLY, and mine.

  I may be a junior, but with only a month of school left this year, I’m as good as a senior. Feeling my chest expand with importance, I turn to my locker as the first bell rings. I smile as endless greetings are called out to me, even though I don’t call any back, or bother looking to see who they’re from. This place is a madhouse of sounds with all the kids trampling up and down the halls, and it stinks like a collection of body odor and soap. After checking my hair and makeup in the small mirror on the inside of the locker door, I grab my books for my first class, and meet up with Casey Reed and Jocelyn Rodriguez near the door to the English classroom.

  “Nice haircut,” Jocelyn calls out to a younger classman with short, curly red hair, smiling the whole time. “Who did it? You?”

  The girl stops abruptly, and is shoved forward as the person behind her keeps moving. Sidestepping the redhead with a glare and an unfriendly comment, the boy continues. Unsure of Jocelyn’s intentions, the girl’s eyes dart around the hallway before landing on Jocelyn. “N-no. I go to Claire’s on Fifth Street.”

  Jocelyn nods. “That explains it.”

  Face crumpling, the girl hurries down the hall.

  “That was mean,” I tell Jocelyn, even though I don’t care. Her hair does look really bad.

  Jocelyn turns bored brown eyes to me and smirks. “Now she knows to not go there again, right? I was helping her out.”

  “And of course, that was the only reason you said it.”

  “Of course.”

  With long, wavy hair the color of ebony, a flirtatious personality, and long legs, Jocelyn gets her fair share of boyfriends. Even some of mine.

  Jocelyn focuses on Casey. “Mel, tell Casey it’s not okay to date Lucas Haskins.”

  I sigh and take my friend by the shoulders. When her wide hazel eyes meet mine, I shake my head. “It’s not okay to date Lucas Haskins. He’s a total nerd, Case, you know that. We have standards, and dating nerds goes against them. You’d be a nerd just like him if you did.”

  “I know, but—but…he’s nice and…” she trails off meekly.

  “He has to be nice. He’s a nerd. He has nothing but niceness to offer,” I explain patiently, dropping my hands from her shoulders.

  Quiet, and overall, uninteresting, if Casey didn’t dress as well as she does, or wasn’t a cross country star, chances are, she wouldn’t be one of us. It helps that her family has money, and with her silky blond curls and creamy skin, she’s pretty. Pretty is always good. And sports are important here. The three of us bonded during sixth grade basketball, and we’ve been friends ever since.

  “You know the rules. Two against one, Casey. He’s non-date worthy,” Jocelyn says apologetically, even as her dark eyes dance.

  Casey pouts, her blue-eyed gaze locked on the blond-haired boy in question as he struggles to remove books from his backpack. Lucas is smart, has never played a single sport in all his years at school, and knows more about science than any normal person should. Nothing about him comes close to being popular. He doesn’t know how to dress either. His outfits consist of gray or khaki slacks, polo shirts
in various colors, and white tennis shoes. I honestly don’t know a single thing about him that could be considered attractive.

  The last warning bell rings.

  With a blushing face and agitated movements, Lucas looks around as he tugs at the books crammed inside the bag. Anyone can see he overfilled it, the dork. As if hearing my thoughts, his eyes shoot to me before moving to Casey. With a silly smile, he lifts one hand to wave while the other continues to work on his books. Casey waves back, quickly dropping her hand when Jocelyn narrows her eyes at her.

  Surprise flashes across Lucas’ face as a book dislodges from the bag and smacks him in the face. The back of his head bangs against the locker, the sound sharp and loud in the emptying hallway. He slides to the floor, looking dazed.

  Jocelyn and I look at each other and laugh.

  “Total nerd,” I remind Casey as I step into the classroom.

  Sighing, she gives Lucas one last lingering look before following us.

  Even with it being a Monday, the noise level is high in the pastel green room, as is the scent of perfume clashing with someone’s body odor. Crinkling my nose, I look around the room, spotting the culprit. Winston Zander. I shudder. He’s overweight with acne covering his face, and he sweats, all the time. With his greasy brown hair and dirty clothes, I swear he must not know how to bathe, or use a clothes washer.

  Digging around in my sparkly teal wristlet wallet, I find a miniature bottle of body spray and go to war with his stench as I walk by. Vanilla subdues the stench of rankness, but doesn’t entirely snuff it out. When Winston turns clueless gray eyes on me, I make a face and give the bottle a few extra squirts. Maybe he’ll get the hint.

  “Looking good today, Melanie Mathews,” Clint Burns calls out, wiggling his eyebrows when I look at him.

  Other than a look of disdain aimed Clint’s way, I don’t bother acknowledging him. You’d think he’d have gotten the hint by now that I’m not interested, and never will be. Clint might be good at basketball, but his ears stick out too far and his teeth are crooked. And he’s not that smart. Too smart is bad, but being barely smart at all is just as bad. He has no right being as cocky as he is, not with those flaws. And he made out with Becky Sloan at my last party, the biggest slut in the whole school. No, thank you.

  I take a seat as far from the smelly kid as I can get. Jocelyn sits across from me, and Casey takes the seat ahead of me. We’ve been separated in multiple classes for talking when we’re supposed to be working, but we always sit by each other anyway. The teachers hate it, and yet, they allow it.

  “All right, class, settle down,” Mr. Walters calls, gesturing with his hands. With thinning brown hair, glasses, and a long nose and chin, he isn’t going to win any hot teacher contests.

  Jocelyn leans over, her dark hair curtaining the side of her face, and whispers, “What are we doing this weekend?”

  Casey twists in her seat, looking to me for direction. Honestly, I’m not sure Casey is able to have a single decisive thought on her own. She needs me.

  “I need a new dress for my end of the school year party. Shopping?” I suggest, and get two nods.

  “Girls.” Mr. Walters watches us, along with the rest of the class.

  “You can go shopping with us too, Mr. Walters,” Jocelyn says with a coy smile.

  “That won’t be necessary, but thank you for the offer.”

  Someone oinks when he turns his back to grab a folder from his desk, and Mr. Walters’ neck blossoms into a nice shade of pink to match his button-down shirt. I snicker along with half of the class. He faces the classroom, stony-eyed and tight-jawed, his gaze sweeping over the students. The oinking has happened every morning this past year; he should be used to it by now. Really, what does he expect with a first name like Wilbur?

  “That’s enough,” he snaps, glaring directly at the offender. Even though he knows who is responsible, Mr. Walters has never actually caught Jeff doing it.

  Jeff Oliver averts his gaze, but does nothing to hide the grin on his face. Now there is a guy worth my time. Just smart enough, a total jock, and nice to look at. Chestnut hair with a hint of a wave, strong jaw, toned body. He looks up, catching my eyes on him. Dark blue eyes. I smile faintly. Jeff winks before facing forward. We’ve barely talked since he came to the school in eighth grade, but over the last couple of weeks, I’ve been eyeing him.

  I catch Jocelyn’s knowing look, and my smile grows. I think I’ve found my next boyfriend. The smile disappears when my friend gives Jeff an appreciative glance. Don’t even think about it. Like she can hear my warning, Jocelyn smiles widely at me. All I see are white teeth, and my hands tighten around my textbook.

  “We’re having one final project of the school year, and it’s a big one. It’s going to take the next four weeks to complete, with presentation expected the last week of school.” He pauses. “Listen carefully.”

  As he explains the short story we’re all being tortured into writing in groups of three and four, I shift in my seat. Heat sweeps along my back, and I look over my shoulder, feeling like someone is watching me. I clash gazes with a girl who looks vaguely familiar. Her hair is shorter than I’d ever cut mine, but it actually doesn’t look bad on her—not that I’d ever tell her that. It makes her pale blue eyes stand out. Her pale blue eyes that won’t look from my green ones. I frown. Why is she staring at me like that? People generally avert their gaze once eye contact is made. Maybe there’s something wrong with her.

  “What?” I finally snap. “What are you looking at?”

  Her eyebrows shoot up, like she wasn’t just ogling me and has no idea what I’m talking about.

  “Hello. Yeah, you. Why are you staring at me?”

  “Melanie, is there a problem?”

  I face the front of the classroom and briefly meet Mr. Walters’ gaze. My skin heats up as all eyes swivel to me. “No,” I mumble.

  “Good,” the teacher says, and continues rambling on about the lame project.

  Jocelyn gives me a questioning look.

  I jerk my head back and she shifts her eyes behind me. Seeing the short-haired girl with the unnerving stare, she shrugs like it’s no big deal and turns around. Tapping my pencil against my notebook, I try to focus on what Mr. Walters is saying, but now I’m paranoid. Even if she isn’t looking at me, it seems like she is. Like tiny bugs are digging into my skin. I shoot a look over my shoulder, annoyed to find her eyes still on me. Whoever she is, she better disappear once class is over.

  “Stop it,” I hiss.

  The girl finally looks away, but not before I catch the small, satisfied smirk on her face.

  Three

  Nick

  SOMETHING IS DIFFERENT ABOUT ALEXIS the next time I see her. It isn’t anything she says, but it’s the vibe coming off her. She hums with energy. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes sparkle, and I want to press my lips to hers to steal some of her vibrancy. That, and I just want to kiss her.

  “I take it you had a good session with Dr. Larson?” I doubt that’s it.

  She sits down beside me at the table in the library, pushing my book back and forth along the surface of the table before I stop her with the touch of my hand. I look at my hand covering hers, and I swallow around a dry throat as I drag my eyes up. Electricity crackles between us. Alexis smiles, showing dainty teeth. My pulse quickens. I start to smile back, but she tackles me before I can complete it, working her arms through the space between my arms and my body. She smells like peaches. I try to swallow again. Can’t.

  It comes out muffled, but I hear it.

  “I’ve missed you.”

  I close my eyes and let those words sink into me.

  The library has dim lighting, and other than three or four other kids and one staff member, it’s ours. I always sit in the back, far from the entrance, and behind a row of books. Even with the cameras set up and recording every room in case of any incidents, it feels like we’re alone. I want Alexis to stay with me until she can’t.

  “That�
��s not why you’re so happy.” I want it to be.

  Alexis sits back, disentangling our limbs. She picks at the fabric of my pants. “Red and black plaid today. That’s new.”

  “My mom sent them.” I flush, not sure why.

  “Well, I know what to get you for your birthday,” she jokes, her fingers tailing down the material toward my knee. My muscles tense. Realizing what she’s doing, Alexis snatches her hand back and picks up the book. I can tell by the way she’s looking at it with absolute fixation that she’s not really seeing the words.

  Something falls to the floor across the room, and we both jerk at the unexpected noise, smiling as our eyes meet.

  “My dad and I had pizza last night,” she blurts.

  Eyebrows lowering, I say slowly, “Okay.”

  “Right.” Alexis turns back to the book. “This town has around fourteen thousand people, right? And only one really good pizza place. Giovanni’s.”

  “Which is where you got the pizza?” I guess.

  “No.” With her smile in profile, she tells me, “My dad got the pizza from Garfield’s, which is an Italian restaurant that has pizza, but they don’t specialize in pizza.”

  I sit back, wondering where she’s going with this.

  “He thought it was Giovanni’s.” Alexis lifts her eyes to me, and they sparkle. “That’s my story.”

  I nod. “I enjoyed it thoroughly.”

  Alexis laughs, and I go still to better allow it to wash over me.

  “What is this about?” She frowns at the black-covered book with silver lettering.

  “Robots programmed to kill anyone over the age of eighteen, and a nineteen-year-old girl trying to destroy one before it can get to her.”