Bully Me: Class of 2020

by Shantel Tessier

  Madison gave me a satisfied, cruel smirk as the others blocked my path. Turner paused halfway through the cafeteria doors and turned around with a frown.

  “I hope that’s not coming from the cafeteria. I swear, the standards at this school are slipping.” Steph tutted. Everyone laughed.

  I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me, anything to keep Turner from seeing this. Hopefully they’d get bored or hungry quickly.

  “I mean, everything looks clean, but . . .” Steph looked around, making it obvious I was invisible in this scenario—like a bad smell.

  “What’s that stuff? That gas that comes off volcanoes?” Jayden snapped his fingers. “Smells like rotten eggs. It’s in fertilizer and shit.”

  “Sulphur,” Turner supplied, his voice flat, emotionless.

  It wasn’t until that moment that I realized I’d been hoping he would say something, do something, to stop them. No, he didn’t know I was Mena—the girl he’d been talking to all this time. But I hadn’t thought he was the kind of person to be OK with assholes being assholes for no reason.

  My heart cracked in my chest; I couldn’t make myself look at him. I couldn’t make myself look at any of them as they continued to pretend I didn’t exist while cracking jokes about how bad I smelled.

  I blocked out the rest of their words, keeping my head down as my eyes searched for a way out.

  “We gonna stand out here all lunch? I’m fucking starving.” Turner’s deep voice was the only thing that could’ve made me tune back in. My head unconsciously turned in his direction, but years of habit kept my eyes low.

  His right hand was in a fist by his side; his other arm lifted and flopped back down in a frustrated gesture. A small blue band circled his wrist—a hair tie. My hair tie.

  As shitty as it felt to be standing there copping their shit, a tiny flare of warmth erupted in my chest.

  They all followed Turner into the cafeteria without another glance at me, and I rushed away, gulping air, suddenly realizing how hard it had been to breathe just moments before.

  After that, I was extra vigilant to avoid them and made it to my last class without another incident.

  Moments after I arrived, Turner wandered in and sat in the seat directly in front of me—the seat he’d occupied since school started. It had gotten increasingly more difficult not to reach out and touch him, brush a bit of lint off his collar, run my hands through his soft, messy hair. But I restrained myself, not even looking at him too much.

  Jayden sat next to him, and I tried just as hard to ignore him too, albeit for vastly different reasons.

  The first half of the class was spent discussing The Crucible, the second half working on an upcoming assignment. Most of the students fell into silence, hunched over their books, as Mr. Chen buried his face in his laptop and typed away furiously.

  It wasn’t long before people lost focus, and several surreptitiously pulled out their phones. After a long and stressful day, my concentration was lacking too. The words on the page kept blurring; I’d read the same sentence three times, and it still wouldn’t register in my brain. I kept finding myself glancing around the room, forcing my gaze away from Turner’s broad shoulders hunched over his desk, the short hair at the nape of his neck, the way his knee was bouncing lightly. I knew how hard those shoulders were, what that hair felt like under my palm, what a thrill it had been when that knee pushed its way between my legs.

  I bit my lip to keep from smiling and shifted in my seat, pointing my eyes back down at my book. After a few moments, I looked around the room again. No one was paying me a lick of attention, so I chanced another ogling of my boyfriend (I couldn’t believe I had a secret boyfriend!).

  Turner shifted, extending the leg that had been bouncing a moment earlier. He leaned his head on his left hand, totally slouched in the desk that looked tiny supporting his big frame. His right hand hung off the edge of the desk, and his fingers were fiddling with something.

  Those fingers . . . the things those fingers had made me feel, the places on my body they had touched, the places I still wanted them to explore . . .

  My inappropriate fantasizing evaporated when I noticed he had my hair tie in his nimble fingers, twisting it around his pointer finger, stretching it out, scrunching it up. I’d tried not to read too much into the fact that he’d kept it, but I couldn’t help wondering.

  I glanced around the class again. At least half of them had their phones out now, and several people were chatting at their desks, abandoning any semblance of doing work. I ached to take my own phone out and text my boyfriend, but that was dangerous. What if someone read over my shoulder? What if someone took it or broke it or both? What if they started teasing me about why I even had a phone when I had no one to message?

  The anxiety almost overwhelmed me, but it also pissed me off. I didn’t want my life to be dictated by bullies. It wasn’t fucking fair.

  I didn’t want to be Phil—the sad, friendless loser everyone picked on. I wanted to be Mena—the normal teenage girl who had a boyfriend she could secretly text in class. So, I pulled my phone out, hiding it behind the bulk of my textbook, and surreptitiously did just that.

  M: You have something of mine.

  I kept my head down, pretending to read, as I watched him in my periphery. He pulled his phone out and read the text under the desk, sitting up a little straighter.

  Would he deny it? Would he be confused? Maybe he didn’t put as much meaning into it as I had.

  My phone flashed with his reply.

  T: You left it when you ran away from me. I’m holding on to it, as per the finders-keepers rules. You can’t have it!

  M: LOL! OK. Why so intense about a little hair tie?

  He chuckled, glancing at the teacher before lifting his phone onto his desk. He tapped away at the screen, but my phone didn’t go off. I frowned. Maybe he was texting someone else.

  He shook his head lightly and tapped some more. Then he grunted and ran his hand through his messy hair before tapping at the phone a third time.

  I was wondering who was making him frustrated when my phone finally went off again.

  T: I like having something of yours with me since you already have something of mine.

  I racked my brain but couldn’t think of a single item of his I’d even held, so I replied with several question marks.

  His reply was instant.

  T: My heart.

  My breath hitched. My eyes stayed glued to my little screen, my body frozen. He felt it as deeply as I did—this connection between us. I could hardly believe it.

  In front of me, Turner shifted in his seat and blew out a big breath. He wiped both hands down the fronts of his thighs, his head bent over his screen.

  I tried to think of the perfect response. Something simple and heartfelt that wouldn’t come off gushy but would show him how hard I was falling for him.

  Before I could find the words, another text came in.

  T: Too much?

  I smiled and suddenly found it easier to reply. His nervousness was putting me at ease.

  M: Not too much. You have mine too.

  I added a heart emoji and sent it.

  He leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers behind his head, giving me a good view of his defined arms, as he sighed—the relief palpable.

  “You good, man?” Jayden asked next to him, breaking my happy bubble. The soft murmurings of the class came back into focus, and I remembered where I was—shark-infested water. I couldn’t show any of these people the gaping hole in my chest where my heart thudded for the boy sitting in front of me. They could smell blood in the water, and my heart was overflowing.

  I tucked my phone back into my bag.

  “Yeah. I’m fucking perfect.” I could hear the smile in Turner’s voice, and apparently, Jayden could see it.

  “That is the most goofy-ass smile I’ve ever seen, bro. You got a chick on the hook?” Jayden nudged Turner’s shoulder, and my boyfriend laughed, neither denying
nor confirming Jayden’s suspicion.

  “Holy shit, you do!” Jayden announced a little too loudly, his exclamation masked by the bell. “Who is it? Is it Kelsey? She’s been all up in your crotch since the first day of school. Is it Bonnie? She gives it up to everyone though, man. Be careful of her. Oh, wait! Is it Steph?”

  We all packed up and got to our feet, eager to get home.

  I waited until Turner and Jayden were making their way out, carefully staying out of their line of sight. Not even Jayden could completely ruin the buzz of Turner’s adorable semi-declaration of love.

  Even so, it still stung that by the time we’d made it out into the hall, Jayden had named almost every single girl in our year and even a few juniors, and my name wasn’t even mentioned as a joke.

  Chapter 10

  FOR TWO GLORIOUS weeks, Turner and I flirted unashamedly via text, sending each other messages I would have been horrified for anyone else to read. We met up in the storage area off the gym a few more times, but we had to be careful not to get caught. And I had to be careful not to let him see me.

  Friday after school, it was pouring down rain but still kind of warm, in a humid way. Naturally, I didn’t have an umbrella with me, so I got drenched on my walk home. After a shower, I planted myself on the balcony, resigned to the fact that my hair was going to frizz up.

  Rain continued to pelt down, the afternoon sky prematurely dark due to the heavy clouds.

  I thought about doing a makeup look, but that just made me feel guilty; I had a World History assignment, Statistics homework, and the assignment on The Crucible to work on. Plus, the weather was too humid, and the light outside was too crap. I was hoping Turner might come out to his balcony later.

  I slumped in the chair, propped my feet up on the little table, and pulled my phone out. I should’ve been dragging my books out and starting on my homework if I was going to be tragically pining for my boyfriend on the balcony. Oh god! I was basically Juliet. Did that mean this love story was doomed to end in tragedy?

  Apparently, I was a massive procrastinator as well as a Juliet, because I pushed all thoughts of homework out of my mind and started scrolling Instagram. I did my best to get lost in the makeup pics and cute dog videos, but ignoring the DNHS Confessions posts was almost impossible. Every time the distinctive burgundy (our school color) background popped up, a jolt of anxiety shot up my spine. I scrolled past as fast as possible, but when I started seeing Turner’s name crop up, I couldn’t help myself. I went onto the page and looked.

  There were the usual posts about how ugly my birthmark—and pretty much everything else about me—was and how I should just put myself out of my misery. But speculation about who Turner was sneaking off to see had finally reached the wide gossip network. It was inevitable that someone would notice eventually.

  One post, dated three days ago, read, “Caught a glimpse of Turner making out with someone with shiny blonde hair behind the science building at lunch. Bonnie was also mysteriously not at lunch.” It made me gag, but I knew it was a flat-out lie, because I’d been pushing Turner against the gym mats in the storage room at lunch three days ago. Bonnie had probably sent it in herself.

  There were several other posts in the same vein, including a few pics of the girls that had made my life hell leaning into him, whispering in his ear, touching his shoulder. I wanted to throw my phone off the balcony so I would never have to see that shit again.

  “Fucking bitches,” I growled, squeezing the device in my hand.

  “Hey, neighbor.” Turner’s voice sounded a bit wary. “You OK?”

  Shit. I’d been so absorbed by the bullshit on social media that I hadn’t even heard him come out. “Hey, stranger. Yeah, I’m fine. Just crap on Instagram.”

  There was a beat of silence, the relentless rain humming all around us.

  “You know none of that shit is true, right?” His ocean-calm voice was serious. “I’d tell them all I was yours if you’d let me.”

  You wouldn’t want to be mine if you knew who I really was. The thought flew through my mind before I could stop it, surprising me a little with its intensity. My chest suddenly felt tight.

  I wanted so badly to show him who I really was.

  I wanted to show them all the truth.

  I wanted to run away and never see any of them again.

  Before I had a chance to answer, the sound of Turner’s balcony door sliding open cut through the sound of the rain.

  “Turner?” It was his dad.

  “Hey, Dad. You’re home early.” Turner shifted; I could just make out the outline of his body as he got to his feet.

  “Work was quiet. What are you doing out here? It’s pouring. Never mind. How was today? Did you speak to her? Did you convince her?”

  I kept still, frowning in confusion. Was he talking about me? Had Turner confided in his dad? I couldn’t really be mad about that, but it didn’t make sense. His dad sounded really intense about it.

  “No, Dad. I would’ve messaged you right away. Let’s talk inside.”

  Whatever it was, Turner clearly didn’t want me to know. I wasn’t the only one keeping secrets.

  I tried not to let it get to me, but it was hard not to feel hurt when I was already in a vulnerable, self-conscious state. My feet fell to the floor, and I leaned my elbows on my knees and dropped my head in my hands. What the fuck was I doing? This needed to stop. I had to tell him the truth—the whole awful history. If he decided he didn’t want me after, then I didn’t want him either. The thought of losing him—not just losing him but being rejected by him—felt like a punch to the gut, and tears welled in my eyes.

  My phone went off, and I reached for the welcome distraction.

  It was my boss.

  Leah: Hey, Philly. Are you free to work the dinner shift tomorrow night? Chelsea canceled on me again.

  M: Again? Sure, I’ll be there.

  Chelsea had bailed on three shifts in the last two weeks, and I was starting to worry for her job. Leah was not happy.

  L: Thanks, lovely. You’re a lifesaver!

  I headed inside to start on my homework, telling myself I needed the money and that taking the shift had nothing to do with wanting to delay my chat with Turner.

  Saturday nights were always busy at work. Tonight there were three other waitresses on with me, two cooks in the back, and Leah floating around helping where she could, constantly cursing Chelsea’s name under her breath for bailing on us.

  About halfway through the dinner rush, Donna, Harlow, and Amaya came in with a group of their friends from school. I wasn’t sure what they were doing on the shitty side of town, and I didn’t have time to ask them; I just greeted them all warmly and seated them in a booth in my section before rushing off.

  The girls had seen my birthmark plenty of times, of course, but most of their friends saw me only occasionally at parties and things. Thankfully, none of them seemed to care about it, although I did notice Nicola lean over the table and whisper to Donna, who gave her a withering look and then waved her hand dismissively. I couldn’t help but wonder if they were talking about me.

  I seated a couple and cleared another table before going back to take their order.

  “What can I get you guys?”

  “What’s good?” William asked. Will had neat brown hair and had been on again/off again with Donna for nearly a year.

  “Uh, the loaded nachos are pretty good, and we have a great pecan pie—it’s the owner’s nana’s recipe.”

  “Hey, Mena.” Drew, a guy with black hair who drove a car probably worth more than our apartment, flashed me a grin. We’d hooked up once at a party. He was nice enough, but we really didn’t have anything in common. “I’ll have the nachos, but when can I take you out?”

  “Oh my god.” I rolled my eyes but laughed lightly. He’d asked me out a few times, always in front of other people. I suspected he was doing it more to show off than because he actually wanted to date me.

  “Leave her alone, Dr
ew.” Harlow slapped his shoulder. “Mena’s spoken for.”

  “What? No.” He groaned, a little over the top.

  “Yeah, it’s true love. You can’t compete,” Donna added.

  “Not that she’ll give us any damn details on the guy.” Amaya glanced up from her phone long enough to give me a reproachful look.

  “Stop,” I hissed at them but struggled to keep the smile off my face. Any mention of Turner had me feeling giddy. “Are you assholes going to order or what? I’m kind of fucking busy.”

  “Two servings of nachos.” Drew pouted. “I need to eat my feelings tonight.”

  I rolled my eyes at him and took the other orders.

  I was elated no one had made a big deal about my birthmark, and being around the girls always made me feel good. Maybe I could even sit with them on my break—if it ever slowed down enough for me to take a break.

  As I headed for the servery to place their order with the kitchen, the door swung open, the little old-fashioned bell dinging. My smile fell, a heavy weight dropping in the pit of my churning stomach.

  Jayden swaggered through the door as though he owned the place, his hand clasped around Madison’s. I caught a glimpse of the rest of their group before dropping my gaze and rushing behind the counter.

  After placing the order, I caught one of the other waitresses as she passed. “I’m running to the bathroom,” I told her, then hurried to the back before she could answer.

  In the dingy toilet, I took a few deep breaths to try to slow my racing heart. With a conscious effort, I pulled the impassive mask I wore at school over my features and hoped they’d eat quickly and get the fuck out before they noticed me.

  I couldn’t leave the other waitresses in the middle of the dinner rush for long, so I forced myself back just in time to see Leah handing my worst enemies menus. She’d seated them in the booth directly next to Donna and her crew—in my section.

  I groaned internally as dread settled around me like a heavy mist, making it hard to breathe or move or think straight. I cleared another table, kind of hoping one of the other girls would take their order—we weren’t super strict on sections. But we were slammed, and I had no luck.