Mean girl_A dark, disturbing psychological thriller

by Natasha A. Salnikova

  “Hi!” she heard while taking out what was needed. Corby slowly turned her head to the left. Jacob closed the door of his locker and smiled.

  Corby didn’t know what to do and just smiled back. Jacob winked at her.

  “Thank you for yesterday,” Corby said.

  He didn’t answer, closed the locker, and went down the hall. He didn’t want anyone to see them having a conversation. That was fine. Corby understood and didn’t take offense. The school had its own rules; popular students were on one side and losers on the other. Jacob followed this rule during school hours, but now, Corby knew that he was different and played by the rules just for show. Maybe he even liked her.

  Corby wasn’t smiling when she came into her next class, but Jane and her friends still watched her like hawks. Good thing she didn’t meet them in the hallway when Jacob smiled at her, because she would be in big trouble. Sylvia had decided that Jacob belonged to her and if she found out that Corby looked at him, the situation would become worse than usual. Corby now struggled not to look at Jacob during her algebra class. It was difficult to think about formulas, but she tried and even managed to get an A.

  Everything went well until lunchtime.

  Corby decided not to sit at the table, and went to the curb in the farthest corner of the school yard, with the hope that no one would notice her. It was warm outside during the day now and people could sit in the sun without jackets, enjoying the fresh air.

  It wasn’t comfortable to eat from her lap, but still, it was better than Jane’s company. Especially since Corby had the same box with a cold ham sandwich, that she hated so much, and a carton of milk. She took one bite of her sandwich and drank only a sip of milk before Jane and her friends appeared on the horizon. Jane and Sylvia stood in front of Corby and Vera sat down beside her, hitting Corby’s elbow so that she nearly dropped the food. The trio were wearing red jackets or sweaters and skinny jeans. Certainly Jane’s idea. Everyone knew that she was full of ideas. Corby now wished she had sat in the open. There was still some hope that the teachers would awaken their conscience and stand up for her.

  “The box of meat is refilling,” Jane said through clenched teeth. Today, unlike other days, she was in a bad mood and it could end up worse than usual for Corby. She stuck her sandwich back in the box and put it down. She hated when her food was laying around. It wasn’t pretty and it attracted attention.

  “Just look at her!” Jane continued. “Look at her pretending to be an innocent lamb.”

  “The essence of innocence,” Sylvia agreed.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Jane asked.

  Corby just blinked. She probably needed to say something, but she didn’t know what to say or what they expected from her.

  “We thought you were a good girl, but you steal boys,” Jane said.

  They couldn’t be talking about Jacob, Corby thought. First—she didn’t see them by the lockers, second—she didn’t steal anyone, and third—Jacob wasn’t the boyfriend of any of them. No matter what Sylvia said, Jacob wasn’t dating anyone in their school and Corby had heard he had a girlfriend living next door. She heard rumors, but didn’t know any details. No one would share with her and she didn’t hear much.

  “Are you going to talk or not?” Sylvia asked. “You know he’s my guy.”

  “Boxes of meat are like that,” Vera said, looking into Corby’s face, and Corby moved away.

  “I don’t understand what you want from me,” Corby finally muttered.

  “Stop it!” Jane approached Corby and leaned over her. “Molly told us how you were whoring with Glasgow by the lockers.”

  “I didn’t.” Corby shook her head.

  “Really?” Sylvia asked.

  “What did you do with him then?” Jane asked.

  “Nothing. He just said hello.”

  Vera burst with laughter and clapped Corby on her shoulder. “He just said hello. That’s funny.”

  “Why would he suddenly start talking to you? Stop dreaming and lying,” Jane said.

  Corby understood that there was an urgent need to correct the situation, otherwise it would get worse. She didn’t know how it could become worse than it was already, but she had no doubt that anything was possible.

  “He just answered. I said hello first by accident, because he was there when I came,” Corby blurted out and couldn’t believe she had said so many words at once.

  “Wow.” The three friends looked at each other. They probably didn’t expect such talkativeness from Corby. She talked only in a classroom when teachers called on her, and her voice was always barely audible. Students joked that she received good grades just because teachers had no idea what she was saying.

  “She’s guilty,” Vera said.

  “Yep.” Jane nodded. “Too much talking.”

  Sylvia came closer and bent to look at Corby’s face.

  “Listen,” she said. “Listen to me very carefully, you fat cow. Glasgow is mine. End of story. If I find out that you have talked to him again, looked at him or anything like that, you’re dead meat.”

  Corby wondered again if Jacob knew that he belonged to Sylvia, but hoped that none of the trio could read her thoughts, or she would be what Sylvia just said—dead meat.

  As if to make a point, Sylvia grabbed the edge of Corby’s silver headband, the one she had bought this past weekend at the supermarket when she was there with her mother, and pushed it over Corby’s eyes.

  All three girls laughed and it took a few seconds for Corby to recover and put the headband back in place.

  “Did you get that?” Sylvia asked.

  Corby didn’t move.

  “Did you hear her or not? You’d better answer.” Jane gently pushed Corby’s shoulder. The only thing they were afraid to do in public was something physical. Would anyone even notice if they did? Never. They could do anything to Corby without consequences and she prayed their attitude toward physical violence would never change.

  “I heard you,” she said.

  “That’s better. Don’t sit like an innocent lamb. What if I call you a lamb? I think it’s perfect.”

  “Maybe too cute,” Vera said as she rose. “She looks more like a cow to me.”

  Jane winked and Corby didn’t know why. Maybe because she wanted to make her lamb tremble.

  “You are a box of lamb meat now. Sheep meat,” Jane said aloud so the whole school could hear her, but she looked at someone sitting across from where she stood. “See you later, sheep.”

  “Bye-bye, and remember,” Sylvia said as she headed after Jane.

  “If you don’t want to be dead meat, remember,” Vera said and followed her friends.

  Corby looked to where Jane directed her message and saw Jacob and his friends. She hadn't seen them before, but they probably came closer when they heard an argument. It was fun for everyone but Corby.

  Jacob looked at her and turned to his friends again. He was making jokes and laughing. Corby heard snatches of conversation about a strip bar. He didn’t even stand up for her, she thought. She’d made a mistake. He was a coward or he didn’t realize that he was insulting her with his silence and ignorance. He didn’t stand up for her, didn’t say a word. He just stood there and watched. Did he intend to call her again to apologize? She didn’t know. She didn’t know, but it would be better if he didn’t. She didn’t know why he apologized the first time, but it obviously didn’t mean anything. Maybe it was some kind of joke after all.

  Corby picked up her milk and went to the trash can where she intended to discard her food. She wasn’t hungry today. Her mother hinted at some kind of diet and maybe this was what she wanted.

  She didn’t turn to Jacob once while walking to the school building and didn’t respond to Jane’s comment.

  “We’re watching you, Mackentile,” Jane yelled from the table in the center. They preferred to sit in the center of the cafeteria, in front of everyone. They showed their clothes and makeup off to the girls and flirted with the boys
.

  Corby went straight to the classroom and stopped by her locker on the way there. She stopped and looked around. There was no one. A perfect moment to write something nasty on the door. While she was thinking, people appeared behind her and she hurried away. She could do it some other time if she wanted, but she was sure that she would cool down soon and forget about the idea.

  CHAPTER 4

  Mackentile’s Meat Shop was closed only on Sundays. All other days its doors were open to those residents of Boston who preferred to buy fresh meat from local farmers in a specialty store rather than from giant factories in supermarkets. Patrick bought organic meat from local farmers and hung pictures of suppliers on the shop’s walls, so the customers would see who offered them their product. The store had fresh meat as well as ready-to-cook food for those who were short on time or simply didn’t like to cook anything complicated. Also, five days a week, Mackentile invited people to lunch in the store and offered meat lovers the most delicious burgers in town.

  Patrick used to come to the store every day two years ago, but since he adopted Buddhism, he only came in three to four times a week. He didn’t carry any ceremonies associated with his new faith, but he stopped eating meat and didn’t even know what his burgers tasted like lately. Corby noticed the change when she saw salads or pizza on the table for dinner instead of aromatic burgers, but there was nothing she could do about it. She was just a kid.

  Besides Patrick there were other workers in the shop: a butcher, sellers, a manager, a cook, and a cleaning lady. Corby worked in the store too, for as long as she could remember. She couldn’t imagine not working after school and not having her own money. Without money, she would be hungry all the time and would never be able to eat chocolate. Their shop was just around the corner from their apartment, near Beacon Street, and she walked there herself while her mom or dad watched her from the balcony, so nothing would happen to her. She went there after hours, sometimes earlier; after doing her homework (sometimes she even did her homework in the store.) She wiped tables, adjusted vases, changed the flowers, added napkins to the holders. Sometimes she even washed the floors if the cleaning lady was sick or had some family issues. She began to wash the floors over a year ago and didn’t like it much, but she didn’t want to argue and her dad had always paid her extra for that kind of labor.

  Today, Corby didn’t have to wash the floor. She sat at the table and ate a sandwich. Usually there was nothing left after lunch, people bought everything, but sometimes miracles happened and Corby was happy, refusing to eat at home. Mom didn’t care and usually asked her daughter to at least sit with them at the table.

  Corby was eating a sandwich, examining old, brick walls, old framed photos, and waiting for Gaby to finish cleaning the toilets, the last task on her list. Corby planned to check napkins and tableware, play a little on her phone, then close up the shop and go home, hoping that her parents would finish their arguments by that time.

  Gaby, a small and thin Mexican woman in her fifties, came out after ten minutes, zipping up her jacket on the way, heading to the door.

  “I got to run, Ms. Mackentile.”

  “Okay. See you tomorrow, Gaby. Say hi to your husband and kids.”

  Corby closed the door behind the woman, trying to remember if they had ever had anyone else to clean the store besides Gaby, but it seemed that she was with them for as long as Corby could remember.

  Now she was alone in the shop and she loved it, but her father could be here only with other people. He said that when he stayed here alone, he felt remorse and paranoia. It seemed to him that he heard the groans of dying animals. Corby hated when he talked like that, because she loved burgers and bacon and he sometimes spoiled her enjoyment of food. The taste of food was such a pleasure. She didn’t count a cold, tasteless sandwich out of a box that served only one purpose—stopping her stomach from grumbling.

  On her way back to the table, Corby heard an unexpected knock at the door. The shutters were closed, hiding the shop from looks from the street and the sign on the door said closed. Who would knock? It was probably a foreign tourist who didn’t understand the rules and couldn’t read English. Her dad no longer came at this time and she had never seen her mother here as long as she could remember. Corby once again regretted that they didn’t have a surveillance camera outside. She could find out who was there without having to reveal herself, but Dad wasn’t in a hurry to keep up with progress and didn’t worry about the store being attacked by thieves. If no one had attacked them in all the years the store had existed, it meant no one ever would. That was what he thought.

  She went to the door and pushed the shutters away. To her surprise, Vera looked at her through the thick glass. Corby froze in indecision. She didn’t want to open, but she would face big problems tomorrow if she didn’t let Vera in. What did she want? Were others hiding somewhere? Even if they weren’t here, Vera would certainly tell them. Maybe even right now, at the door, she would call them.

  While Corby hesitated, Vera chewed gum, rolled from heel to toe, and looked around. Her hands were tucked into the pockets of her denim jacket and she had a fashionable scarf with leopard print around her neck.

  “I know you are closed,” she said at last. She said it loud enough for Corby to hear on the other side of the door. She said it in such a tone that reminded Corby of who she was. A cool girl. A popular girl. A girl who scared Corby. “I know, but my mother forgot her order and sent me to pick it up.”

  “Okay.” Corby nodded and opened the door.

  A gust of icy wind burst into the store when Vera entered. Afternoons in April were already warm, but evenings were still cold.

  “She told me that someone should be here,” Vera declared, pulling down the scarf from her neck. “I didn’t know it would be you. Tomorrow is Saturday and we have guests coming. She wants to start getting ready in the morning.”

  “Got it. I’ll look for it.”

  Corby went to the refrigerator, which stood directly behind the counter. All phone orders went there. A paper wrap with the name Bodroff on it lay on the top shelf. Corby took it out and carried it to the register. Fortunately her dad taught her how to operate the register a long time ago.

  Vera looked around the store, rolling from her toes to her heels and chewing gum, and then she also went to the register.

  Corby named the price, trying not to look at her schoolmate, but only at the package.

  “What are you doing here at this time?” Vera asked, putting money on the counter.

  Corby counted the bills and reached for the change.

  “I’m always here after hours,” she said. “I close the store.”

  Vera grinned. “Come on. We all know you wash the floors here. You slave for your father.”

  Even when they were alone, Vera didn’t want to treat Corby nicely.

  “I help him,” Corby said, slamming the register shut. “This is our family business.”

  “Business.” Vera giggled and took the package from the counter, stuck it under her arm. “What do you make in a year? Enough to pay bills?”

  Corby said nothing, though she could. Her mom never complained about money. Actually she did sometimes, but she had never blamed her husband for it. One time, for example, she said that she needed to win a lottery to buy a new Chanel purse every season.

  “Well, you go to private school,” Vera continued. She could just go away, but for some reason she decided to continue the conversation. “You should have something. Does your mom make a lot of money? What else does she do besides television?”

  Corby frowned. The question didn’t sound nasty, but Vera looked like she had said something mean or was about to. And she did say it a second later. “I mean, does she have a rich lover, something like that?”

  “Why would she have a rich lover?” Corby was taken aback.

  “Because your mother is beautiful, unlike you.”

  “Do you need anything else?” Corby lowered her eyes.

&nbs
p; “Can’t wait to get rid of me? Maybe I want to buy something else.”

  “Please, we don’t have much left. We’ll have everything fresh in the morning.”

  “Sure.” Vera, chewing her gum and blowing bubbles, walked up to the counter. “Not much,” she said. “Meat, meat, meat. You sell meat. My mother told me that your father is a vegetarian or whatever. I mean, everyone knows that more or less.”

  Corby shrugged. A lot of people started this conversation. They talked to her, to her father and mother. How could a vegetarian sell meat?

  “Twist of fate,” Vera said. “Are you a vegetarian?”

  Corby shook her head, hoping that Vera would leave faster if she remained silent.

  “What a family. Listen, tell me the truth, how come your mother is so pretty and you are so…? You know.” Vera leaned against the glass counter. “My mother can’t stand her. She said your mother looks like a worm. I get her, she’s jealous because she’s fat like you. But she’s also old! She’s like forty-two! And you? Why don’t you just lose weight? Stop eating meat, bread, and sweets, and start exercising.”

  Corby said nothing. Her mother had never talked to her so frankly, she just told her to eat salads and less flour. She talked about health, not weight. She had never insisted. She didn’t have time for insistence. She had to think about her own diet and find time for the gym.

  “No, I’m serious. Do you like the way you’re treated in school? If you were skinnier, it would all be a different story. You’re tall and you got big boobs like your mother. My mother thinks that your mother has fake boobs. Is that true?”

  Corby had no idea and didn’t understand why Vera was interested, so she shook her head.

  “I don’t give a shit,” Vera said. “Fake boobs are really gorge and they don’t drop. I’ll get fake boobs when I’m out of school. My dad will pay for it. Jane also wants to have surgery. Don’t tell anyone! And your eyes. Your eyes are not too bad.”

  Corby blinked.

  “Only you will never lose weight because you’re lazy. You’ll spend all your life as a fat cow and people will laugh at you. You won’t get married. Who would want to have a cow as a wife?”