Confessions of an Angry Girl

by Louise Rozett

  All right, it’s time. I can’t ignore this any longer. If Lena is pulling stupid crap like this, Tracy deserves to know why. “Tracy,” I say, taking a deep breath, “there’s something I need to tell you about Lena.”

  Tracy looks up from her phone. “What?”

  “Can we get out of here first?” I plead. “I really don’t want to be here anymore.” I grab her arm and pull her out of the clinic.

  “Tell me,” she says, scowling up at the rainy sky as we start walking to the bus stop.

  “Well, on Valentine’s Day, I was actually at Cavallo’s for a minute—”

  Her head snaps in my direction. “I thought you stayed home on Valentine’s Day.”

  “It’s a long story. But the important part is that when I was there, I heard Michelle, Susan and Regina talking to Lena about Matt. Lena said that Matt was going to break up with you that night. For her.”

  I wait for the volcanic eruption, the crying fit, the major freak-out. But Tracy stays calm. Deadly calm.

  “Lena has a crush on Matt,” she says. “He thinks it’s funny. But he doesn’t like her.”

  I want to grab her shoulders and give her a good shake to rattle her brain into reality. “Tracy, he’s probably been seeing Lena since you saw them in your parents’ bedroom on Halloween. Why can’t you admit that?”

  She throws out a hand to stop me from walking. “Is that what you really think?”

  “Yes! She’s been after him since your party and she doesn’t care if you get hurt. She’s a total…bitch.”

  “If that’s what you think, why didn’t you say anything before now? Friends tell each other that kind of stuff, Rose. They also don’t lie to each other about what they were doing on Valentine’s Day.”

  I was really hoping she was going to let that one go, but there’s no way I would ever get that lucky.

  “Jamie sent me that flower on Valentine’s Day. Not Robert.”

  Tracy stares, not saying a word.

  “And he asked me to meet him,” I finish.

  “Before he went out with Regina.”

  “I guess so, yeah.”

  “Were you ever going to tell me?”

  “I don’t know.” I look up at the rain and wish I were anywhere but here. The memory of all the things I felt while Jamie and I were kissing—and the embarrassment of him stopping and apologizing, of saying that he shouldn’t have kissed me back—makes me blush. I try to push it out of my mind, but it’s too late.

  “You kissed him.”

  I hate that she knows me so well that she can tell from the look on my face what happened to me a few weeks ago.

  “If what you say about Lena is true,” she says, “then you’re just as bad as she is. Jamie is someone else’s boyfriend, Rose.” The bus pulls up to the stop and the door swishes open. “You’re a hypocrite.”

  If I could open my mouth and tell Tracy everything about Regina—about the graffiti and the threats, about how crazy she is, about how she doesn’t deserve Jamie—I could make her understand that I’m not like Lena at all. But I can’t do it. Because if I tell Tracy about Regina, she’ll have to choose between her best friend and her beloved squad—and I’m pretty sure I know which she’d choose.

  Tracy gets on the bus and pays, taking a seat without looking at me. The driver waits, but all I can do is stare at Tracy through the window. The door closes and the bus pulls away.

  nemesis (noun): archenemy

  (see also: take a wild guess…)

  18

  I HAVE AN audience at track tryouts, and it’s making me more nervous than I already was. Jamie and Angelo are in the parking lot right next to the track, working on Jamie’s car. Every once in a while, Angelo stops what he’s doing, looks up from his work on the engine and waves at me or gives me a thumbs-up sign.

  Jamie does not.

  I’ve decided that’s because the cheerleaders are practicing on the field on the other side of the track. It’s pretty far away, but I wouldn’t put it past Regina to have supernatural vision. Jamie probably doesn’t want to do anything that will start up trouble with the Blond Witch again.

  Or else he’s just worried that if he so much as looks at me, I’ll kiss him again.

  Robert is leaning on the fence with a few people I don’t know who are also watching the tryouts. Except he’s watching Jamie and Angelo more than he’s watching the tryouts.

  Robert and I have stopped talking. Maybe he’s finally realized that I’m kind of mean to him and he can do better, even as far as friendship goes.

  Speaking of which, I’m totally friendless this week. Tracy and I are still in a fight, and when Tracy and I aren’t talking, Stephanie feels weird around me. She’ll say hi, but that’s about it. So that brings my friend count down to…zero. I’d like to say Jamie’s my friend, but we don’t talk in front of other people, so I don’t think he really counts. Plus, there’s the fact that we’ve kissed twice. Which means he’s not a friend, he’s…something else.

  If I make track—and that’s a big “if,” given what happened to me at cross-country tryouts—I’ll make new friends, I’ve decided. Track is going to be different. A fresh start.

  Whatever the hell that means.

  I stomp the ground to get my feet all the way forward in my track shoes. As I bend down to lace up, I realize I’m Angry today, with a capital A—I can feel it. Good. Maybe it’ll make me run faster.

  Coach Morley blows her whistle. “Zarelli! Stop daydreaming and get over here! Line up for the four hundred. Lane three.”

  Fantastic. I’m already making a great impression.

  I find my lane, and out of the corner of my eye I can see that Jamie and Angelo have stopped working and they’re watching. Robert has separated himself from his group a little bit, still watching Jamie. I can hear the cheerleaders practicing a new chant, and I wish they would just shut up. The sound grates on my ears, now more than ever.

  I have so many butterflies in my stomach, I wonder if I’m going to fly when I try to run.

  I need to stop worrying about Jamie and Robert and the squad and focus on what I’m doing, or I’m never going to make the team. And if I don’t make the team, I’m going to have to accept the fact that I’m a loser. With zero friends.

  I get into starting position and wait for the whistle. When it sounds, I take off as best as I can. Soon calm washes over me—everything falls away, and my brain stops going a mile a minute. The butterflies are gone, and I’m actually running the way Dad taught me to. Long strides, smooth arm motion, still torso. I didn’t realize how convinced I was that I would never be able to run like this again until I feel relief over the evidence that I can.

  The quarter mile is going to be my event, I can feel it. I might win this one if I have just a little extra left for the final one hundred. As I get close to the last turn, I suddenly see pom-poms in my peripheral vision. A few of the girls are lined up on the side of the track, like they’re cheering someone on. I’m tempted to look back to see who it is, but I’ll lose my stride if I do. I keep going. I get closer and closer to them, and I realize too late that it’s Lena, Susan and Regina. Just as I’m about to pass them, they chant, “How did Daddy’s Little Girl like the gynecologist?”

  Not only do I lose my stride, I lose my balance. I go sailing onto the track at full speed. I manage to stay in my lane so that I don’t trip everyone else as they run past me. I slide and bounce on the red rubber, feeling skin burning off my arms and legs. But that�
��s not all I feel. Rage fires up inside, and I can tell by the way it’s taking over my entire body that I won’t be able to control it this time. I hear Coach Morley’s whistle blowing, signaling the end of the race, and I stand up. My legs start to bleed, and I seem to have no skin left on my forearms at all.

  And then, before I know what I’m doing, I’m running across the lanes that separate me and the cheer bitches. It doesn’t matter that it’s three against one. After everything Regina has done to me, I want the satisfaction of hurting her. I run faster. I start screaming.

  Lena and Susan look like deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car—I must seem like a complete maniac, flying at them, covered in blood, screaming like a madwoman—but Regina stands her ground with a surprised half smile on her face, as if she didn’t think I had it in me but she’s glad to find out I do.

  “I warned you!” she yells as I get closer. “I told you to stay away from him!”

  Tracy. Tracy told her I kissed Jamie.

  I slam into Regina with every ounce of strength I have, knocking her to the ground. Her pom-poms go flying into the air, and I hear a gasp from her minions as her skirt flaps up. I’m blind with fury now, and I pin Regina down with my body weight and one arm. The fingers of my other hand form a fist. I can hear Coach Morley frantically blowing her whistle—the sound is getting louder, which probably means she’s running toward me. A tiny part of my brain tells me not to hit Regina because if I do, an all-out war will start that will probably end with me having to transfer to a different school.

  I don’t care.

  As I pull my arm back to get a good wind up before letting my fist fly, someone grabs me by the waist and lifts me into the air, off Regina. I can tell by the look of rage on her face that it’s Jamie. You’d think she’d be happy that he just saved her from getting punched in the face, but really, she’s pissed that he took away her excuse to pummel me. He pivots and puts me down, holding me back with one arm, stretching out the other to keep Regina, who’s now on her feet, at bay. Angelo grabs hold of Regina’s shoulders and gets in her face, talking fast, though I can’t hear what he’s saying. I seem to have gone deaf—all I can hear is the whooshing of blood in my ears. I shift my attention to Jamie, who is staring at my bleeding legs and arms, and I suppose I should thank him for saving me from getting suspended or expelled, but I’m beside myself. I wanted to hit her. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything more in my entire life.

  “Are you all right?” he asks, his voice cutting through the pounding of my pulse. “Rose?”

  Regina looks at him in disbelief, like she can’t possibly process why he’s asking me that and not her.

  Am I all right? No, I am not all right. None of this is all right. Nothing has been all right since June. Tears scald my cheeks. I still feel ready to kill. Jamie senses this somehow and moves directly in front of me, blocking my view of Regina, forcing me to look in his eyes.

  Coach Morley arrives, furious until she sees all the blood. She looks at Regina. Angelo is still holding her back, his hands wrapped around her wrists. She is struggling and clawing her fingers at me as if she wants to scratch my face off. I see Morley notice Regina’s bright-fuchsia nail polish, and I watch her face as she puts two and two together, solving the graffiti mystery. She gently puts her arm around my shoulder, leading me away from Jamie, across the football field in the center of the track, toward the locker room.

  “Next time, Zarelli, tell an adult before it gets to this point,” she says. “Bullying is a serious offense.”

  I almost laugh. First of all, bullying happens to kids on the playground in elementary school. What Regina did is called harassment. Second of all, telling an adult would have made things worse. If Morley would just take the time to think back to high school, she would remember that if you tell on someone, that person just finds a way to get you back tenfold when no one is looking.

  I don’t bother to ask Morley if I made the team because I already know the answer. Granted, there were unusual circumstances, but it doesn’t matter—if you don’t finish your race, you get disqualified. I’m 0-for-2 this year. Guess I won’t be making new friends after all.

  As we get close to the school, I hear someone running behind us. I hope Regina has escaped from Angelo because I’m ready to finish this thing. I whirl around, my heart instantly racing again, but it’s not her. It’s Tracy, super freaked-out and on the verge of tears.

  “Tracy,” Morley says, “will you take Zarelli to the locker room for me? Help her get cleaned up, okay?”

  Tracy nods. When we’re out of earshot of the coach, Tracy says, “Rose, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know what Regina was going to—”

  I raise my hand to shut her up.

  We walk the rest of the way to the locker room in silence.

  * * *

  I’m standing at the sink, picking pieces of dirt and rubberized track out of my forearm. I can see Tracy in the mirror, hovering behind me, wanting to help but not wanting to get too close to the gore. I can also see the first locker that Regina painted on back in December. The nail polish is gone but whatever they used to remove it lightened the metal so you can still read, “Suck it, Stupid 911 Bitch.” I’m pondering the irony of the fact that the school’s cleanup effort made the graffiti permanent when Tracy says the thing that begins the end of our friendship as we know it.

  “I had to tell her, Rose. She needed to know the truth about you and Jamie.”

  There are so many things wrong with those two statements that I hardly know where to begin. I look at her in the mirror. She looks unsure of herself. Tracy doesn’t know what to do when the tables are turned, and I have power, which only happens when I get really, really mad. The storm roils in my brain and I know that I’m about to say everything I haven’t been saying all year.

  “You don’t even know the truth about me and Jamie.”

  “I know that you kissed him,” Tracy says.

  “That’s all you know.”

  My mouth hurts, and I lean over and spit blood into the sink, realizing that I bit the inside of my cheek when I fell.

  “What did Regina mean, ‘I warned you’?” Tracy asks.

  “She saw Jamie follow me at your party and at homecoming. She told me if she saw me near him again, she’d kick my ass and throw you off the squad. That’s when she started with the graffiti.”

  “Regina was doing that?” She actually looks surprised, like she couldn’t possibly imagine dear, sweet Regina doing something that horrible.

  I turn the water on and watch the blood rinse away. “I kept my mouth shut for you, Tracy.”

  This isn’t exactly the truth. I kept my mouth shut out of fear—fear of Regina, fear of Tracy choosing the cheerleaders over me, fear of being labeled a tattletale who can’t fight her own battles—but I want her to believe I did it all for her so that she’ll feel as bad as possible.

  “I kept my mouth shut so you could stay on that stupid team that you love so much, with those pathetic, messed-up girls. Did you hear what they said to me? They brought my dad into it, Tracy. My dad! What kind of person does something like that?” I rasp, humiliation knocking the wind out of my lungs.

  She has no answer.

  “They’re not your friends. Not one of them. Lena is sleeping with your boyfriend and they’ve all known about it for months. When are you going to realize that?” Suddenly I’m dizzy. I grab on to the sink and start wheezing like I have asthma. The color begins to drain from t
he edges of the world.

  Tracy’s eyes fill with tears, but she grabs my shoulder and spins me around so that we are no longer arguing through the mirror. I lose my balance and reach out for the wall to steady myself. Everything in the locker room starts to blur.

  “And when are you going to realize that if you would just stay away from Jamie, everything would be fine? I don’t even know why you want him anyway! He’s not even smart. And he’s kind of a freak and a loser. But maybe you are, too, Rose. Maybe that’s why you like him.”

  And there it is. It’s finally on the table. My best friend from forever thinks I’m a freak and a loser, and she’s choosing the pom-poms over me because they’re cooler.

  Welcome to high school, Rose Zarelli. It’s survival of the coolest here. And you, with your running shoes and your French horn and your fear of sex and your missing hymen and your weird attacks and your dead father, you are definitely not part of the posse.

  Well, fine. So be it.

  Fuck cool.

  “You think I’m the loser? You’re a cheerleader! You spend all your time cheering for people instead of actually doing something yourself. What’s the point of it, other than to wear short skirts and feel like you’re better than everyone?”

  I might as well have slapped her, she looks so stunned. Apparently everybody is learning what I’m made of today—including me.

  “I cheer because I like to encourage people,” she says, ice in her voice. “That’s actually the point of cheering.” She looks in the mirror and wipes a finger under each eye to catch the mascara running down her face. She straightens, throws her shoulders back and turns to me. “You might try being supportive sometime, Rose. It’ll help you make some new friends, which you’re going to need, especially if you keep making out with other people’s boyfriends.”