Bullied: Book One in the Bullied Series

by Christopher Smith

  “He didn’t do it,” he said, looking at me. He nodded over at Hastings. “It was him. He did it. I saw it go down."

  Hastings had one of two things he could do--lose face and back down in front of everyone, or he could fight. Naturally, he chose the latter and came after the new kid, who immediately stood and showed us all for the first time just how big he was.

  He wasn't fat--there wasn’t an ounce of chunk on him. He was just big. Well over six feet. Big shoulders. Big arms. He was wearing a white polo shirt that barely could restrain his chest, which pressed against the fabric and made it stretch. “Think twice,” he said to Hastings, who’d stopped in the aisle when the new kid stood. “You take a swing at me, I protect myself. And I’m telling you now, in front of everyone here, that I will protect myself. Worse, you’ll lose.”

  They were only a couple feet apart. Sara had stopped her squealing and now was staring at the new kid, who turned to look at her. “You know who did it," he said to her with disappointment. "Why are you being silent? Why not take a stand and tell the driver the truth?”

  Her eyes flicked to Hastings, then to the driver, then back to the new kid.

  “Nobody likes a liar,” the new kid said. “Especially me. I won’t have anyone near me who lies. Tell the truth. Tell the man who did it.”

  She pulled her blonde hair away from her face and twisted it behind her head, forming a knot. You could actually sense her weighing her options--screw over her popular former boyfriend or side with this new guy, who obviously was going to dwarf Hastings' standings in school. She took in every ounce of him and, unless you were blind or dead, you’d be a fool not to see the attraction she was trying to conceal.

  “It was Mike,” she said to the driver. “He tried to spit on Moore, but he missed and spit on me, instead.”

  "Who's Moore," the new kid said.

  She screwed up her face at him. "Moore," she said, pointing at me. "Him."

  "You say 'him' like you just realized you've got a piece of dog shit stuck on the bottom of your shoe. Why not show him some respect and address him by his first name?"

  "I don't even know his first name."

  That was a lie. We've been going to school since kindergarten. We've known each other since we were kids. I just looked at her and shook my head.

  The new kid looked at me and, if I wasn't mistaken, there was a hint of a smile on his lips. "I'm Alex," he said. "Just moved here from Manhattan, which I'm happy to be out of. At least, I think, I am. I thought I was getting away from all this. What's your name?"

  "Seth," I said.

  "Good to meet you, Seth. How about having lunch with me later? I'm new here and could use a friend to show me around."

  He looked at Sara. "See how easy that was? I think I might have just made a new friend. His name is Seth Moore, the one who didn't spit on you. The one who didn't call out the guy who did spit on you when every finger was pointed at him. I'd say that's someone worth knowing. I'd say that’s someone I want to be friends with. What's your name?"

  She lowered her eyes. She was trying to play it cool, but it was clear she was shaken by being pressed. He was breaking every rule. This isn't how their caste system worked.

  "I'm Sara."

  "Perfect," Alex said. "So, let me introduce you two, even though I’m pretty sure you already know each other. Seth, this is Sara. Sara, this is Seth. And that guy who spit on you? Until he apologizes to Seth and to you, he isn't worth being introduced."

  But Hastings didn't apologize. Instead, armed with his pissed-off face and his set mouth, he looked down the length of the bus and glared at me.

  It was at the moment I knew I was in for it--he'd come for me. He'd get a group of his friends and he’d get me. He'd find that pocket of time when no one was looking and they'd corner me--God knows, it had happened before. As I sat there looking back at him, I wished the day was over now even though it was just beginning.

  First day of school and already, I was facing what might be the worst day of my life.

  ~~~~

  CHAPTER TWO

  When I stepped off the bus, Alex came alongside me and slapped me on the back. "So, that was intense," he said, while Hastings walked ahead of us. "That happen often?"

  "It's never not happened."

  "Sorry to hear that."

  "I've learned to live with it."

  "You've learned to live with it?"

  "I guess so."

  "Nobody should learn to live with that. My older brother did for awhile and I hated it. I couldn't stand what people did to him. But then he put an end to it. You can, too."

  "What was his secret?"

  He smiled. "At first, it was me. I've always been the tall one in the family. But then he found his confidence and decided enough was enough."

  He looked ahead at the school. Crowds were moving past us and I was aware of some people looking back, wondering why I was walking with this guy. Sara was one of them. She turned her freshly cleaned face around, tried for a smile, but because I also was there, all she could manage was a face filled with smiling confusion.

  "So, lunch later?" he said. "I need to go to the office and sign some papers."

  "Sure," I said.

  "And listen to me," he said. "Don't take their crap."

  "Easier said than done."

  "We'll work on that."

  Behind me, I could hear my name being called. I turned and saw creepy Jim off to the right. What was he doing here? He was sitting on the hood of his beat-up Buick and sipping something tucked in a paper bag. Pure class. He nodded at me and waved me over.

  "You know him?"

  "Only by association."

  "He looks like a character," he said. "Let's catch up later. What grade are you?"

  "Senior."

  "Same here. I'll ask for the same homeroom."

  "That would be cool. See you at lunch."

  I watched him walk away and couldn't help wondering why he'd been so nice. Was it just because his brother was bullied? Could be. Who knows? Best not to question it. It isn't often that I was treated with any sort of kindness and if I was honest, I have to admit that I felt uncomfortable with it. Was there an ulterior motive? I thought about it and decided it didn’t make sense. He was new in school. He didn't know me.

  Maybe he really was looking for a friend.

  I walked over to creepy Jim, who looked like a skeleton hiding behind a gray beard. He looked like hell but truth be told, I felt more comfortable around him than I did with Alex. This is where I belonged. It's where I'd always belonged. I didn't belong with the good-looking, affluent crowd. I belonged tight with the likes of creepy Jim and everyone else like him.

  "What's up?" I said as I came near him. "What are you doing here?"

  "Got something for you."

  Rabies? A staph infection? Tuberculosis? "What's that?"

  "Just something I've been meaning to give you for awhile, but haven't."

  Was he shit faced? Was he messing with me? The only thing creepy Jim had ever given me were the creeps.

  "Who were you walking with?"

  "I don't know," I said. "He's new here. Name's Alex or something."

  "Why was he walking with you? Nobody walks with you."

  "Thanks."

  "You know what I mean. I ain't here to bust your balls, Seth. Just something off about it."

  He was right. It didn't make sense to me either. I shrugged at him.

  "There's something I want to give you."

  "You've already said that. Look, I need to get inside. The bell is going to ring soon. If I walk in late and there's no seat for me, do you have any idea how that's going to go down?"

  "That's sort of what this is all about," he said, reaching into his pants pocket. He pulled out a blue velvet bag and kept it cupped in one hand. With his free hand, he took a swig from whatever was in the brown bag. He coughed and there it was--a rush of whiskey. Six feet separated us and I could smell it from here. "You know," he said. "I know
you have a tough time of it. Not just at home, but everywhere."

  I really didn't want to hear this, especially from a drunk. I had enough of those in my life.

  "But this will help you." He lifted the velvet bag. "I wanted to give it to you years ago, but you were too young for it. My daddy gave it to me when I was your age and going through the same shit."

  "What are you talking about? Jim, I gotta go."

  "Not yet, you don't. I want you to watch something." He dipped into the bag and pulled out a necklace. He lowered his head, put it on and then I could see what was dangling from the end of it. It either was a flat piece of rock or a piece of bone. It was tough to tell, but Jim was thumbing it. "Been a long time since I wore this. Maybe twenty years. Gives you a little rush. I'd forgotten that."

  What was this? Voodoo? What was Jim going to do next--skin squirrels? I didn't have time for it. He saw I was about to speak and held up a finger. Then, he turned that finger so it pointed at students leaving the buses and walking toward the school. "Tell me which one picks on you the most.”

  "We'd be here all day, Jim."

  "Just pick one."

  I wanted out of there. I turned and looked over the crowd. Coming off one of the buses was Jake Tyler, who was right up there with Mike Hastings in treating me like a piece of shit ever since I'd first met him in grade school. "Him," I said. "The one getting off that bus over there. His name is Jake. He's been after me since I can remember."

  "If anything could happen to him right now--something that would humiliate him--what would you choose?"

  Jake was now walking with a handful of friends, all of whom had joined him in turning me into the person I was today. A nothing. A nobody. The last person you wanted to be seen with. The first person whose ass you wanted to kick. Just watching him laugh and walk with that swagger of his was enough to make my cheeks flush. Like Hastings, he'd won life’s lottery. Nothing touched him.

  Without even knowing it, I said, "I'd like to see him break his nose."

  "You sure about that?"

  "Why not? He's done enough to me and others over the years to deserve it. I know he's even dished out a few broken noses of his own. I'd like to see him trip over his feet, smash his face on the pavement and come up crying like a baby while his broken nose bleeds all over his new clothes."

  Jim slid off the hood of the car. He reached out and touched my forearm, and I noticed how warm his hand was. "He pick on you a lot?"

  "He picks on me."

  "Wonder what he'd look like with a broken nose?"

  "Probably still better than me without a broken nose."

  "Only one way to find out."

  His hand was growing warmer--and then it got hot. I looked at him and he appeared to be somewhere else. His eyes weren't right--they were shiny, glossy. And though it was daylight, there was something else about him--he was slightly glowing.

  "Watch," he said. He parted his lips and blew a rush of air.

  I looked over at Tyler, who suddenly tripped over his feet and fell face-first on the pavement. He hit it hard. Those around him stepped back in surprise, then drew closer when he started screaming.

  I turned to Jim. "What--?"

  "Just watch."

  Tyler rolled onto his side and his hands flew to his nose. Blood spilled from between his fingers and dripped down his face, curled over his mouth and chin, and then onto his new clothes.

  Jim released his grip from my arm. I pressed my hand over the spot where it had been and found it still hot. Unbelieving, I watched one of the teachers rush out of the school and stop beside Tyler, who was crying like a newborn, just as I'd imagined it. His eyes were squinted tight and he was blubbering uncontrollably.

  Suddenly, creepy Jim was all business. He took off the necklace and gave it to me. "Put it on."

  "What did you just do?"

  "Something I shouldn't have done, but given what you said, he probably deserved it." He shot me a sidelong glance. "And you wanted it--don’t forget that. If you ask this necklace for anything, you’d better want it. There’s no turning back." He nodded at the necklace just as the bell rang. "Put it on."

  "I don't want it."

  "You got a long year ahead of you, boy. Why not make it tolerable. Think twice about it. Put it on."

  "What is it?"

  "It's an amulet. It can help you just as it helped me."

  "How?"

  "That's the thing," he said. "It's different with everyone. Might not even work for you. But if it does, you'll need to figure out how it can help just like me and everyone else before me did. There's no training manual. There's no directions. You work it with your heart and with your head. You'll figure it out. But don't misuse it. Don't give in to all of it. Most times there's no need for violence--you can handle a situation another way. A positive way. Sometimes, you can't and that's that. Sometimes, you need to go to war. But that's rare." He reached out and took my chin in his hand. "You hear me? That's rare. Respect this and you'll have a friend in it. Put it on."

  I put it around my neck and couldn't help but feel a jolt of energy when I did. Jim reached forward, pulled out the neck of my shirt and dropped it inside so no one could see it. "Wear it like that. No one ever should see this on you."

  "What's at the end of it?"

  "Bone."

  "From who?"

  "Hell, boy, I don't know. It's a piece of someone's skull. Native American. That's all I know. That and the fact that it will help you. Just don't go crazy with it. Don't show your hand. Use it only when you need to. Once you get how to use it, understand that it could be used for good or for evil. Use it for good. The other will call for you--it'll come hard for you--but ignore it. Use it for good."

  I looked over at Tyler, who was still crying, still bleeding and now being helped up the school's steps by a teacher and the school nurse. "Use it for good?” I said. “Like we just did by breaking his nose?"

  The second bell rang, indicating that students had five minutes to get to their homerooms. "You wanted it," Jim said. "That’s the key. And it can get a whole lot crazier than that. But you're a good kid. I didn't give this to you without thinking hard about it. You'll find out a way to use it that will keep them off you without violence. Just because you have it doesn't mean you also will become a bully. In fact, it means just the opposite. Experiment with it all you want, but do so with kindness. Only go for violence when there's no other option."

  "And if there is no other option?"

  The hardness in Jim's face surprised me. "Then give it all you got and give it hard."

  ~~~~

  CHAPTER THREE

  When I walked into my homeroom, there was no teacher and everyone was talking about Jake Tyler’s broken nose.

  The room was buzzing with it, so alive with it that I actually was able to take my seat without anyone noticing me or giving me a hard time. Chalk up a victory for me, because that’s never how it went. I listened to the cacophony of voices surrounding me and was surprised by what I heard.

  “Bitch bit it big time.”

  “See him cry? What the hell was that? He sounded like a girl.”

  “What’s weird is that he dropped like a stone. I was behind him. He just went down hard. It was kind of funny. I’ve seen him on the field getting tackled from behind and go down harder than that, and yet each time, he just gets up as if it was nothing.”

  “That’s because he was wearing padding and hit grass, idiot. Pavement is a little different.”

  “I still think it’s funny. Did you hear him? It was like, ‘Boo, hoo, hoo! I bwoke my nose! Call me a waaaambulance!’”

  “Jake’s a good guy. I think you should tell him that yourself, loser, and see how he reacts.”

  That silenced everyone. The person who said it was Sara Fielding, who now, after taking a load of snot and spit in her face, was apparently one of God’s children. She was above it all. She was the voice of reason. After facing an act of cruelty, all cruelty had left her. She was a s
hining example of someone rising from the ashes.

  She was the worst kind of hypocrite.

  She sat stick straight in her chair, her aggressive blonde ponytail the perkiest thing in the room, which was saying plenty given her perky boobs. Her books were on the left of her desk. On top of them were her iPad and iPhone. Everything was neat, neat, neat. Watching her, I thought how much I disliked her. I thought given her new stature in life, there should be some sort of shining aura around her. She had transformed herself into an angel, so why shouldn’t she look like one? She obviously considered herself one. She should be lit from within.

  And then she was.

  It didn’t last long, but everyone saw it. Suddenly, Sara had light shining out of her eyes and nostrils, her private parts, her ears and her mouth, the latter of which became blazingly apparent when she opened her trap and started screaming again.

  As she turned her head, it was as if a spotlight was fanning the room, with some of the students taking the blinding light straight in the face.

  It was surreal. All around her was light. She literally was a feast of light. It came off her in waves. She stood and turned in horror for help--but no one was coming for help. Everyone reared back. They were terrified of her.

  Some held up their hands to shield their eyes when she turned to look at them. What was more bizarre is that she was getting brighter. What was once a series of powerful lights now was a fierce show of light. Her head was so bright, you could see through her cheeks. In the electrical stimulus that consumed her, her hair started to fan out and the tips of each strand lit the room in thousands of tiny laser-like beams.

  As I looked at her, she reminded me of something Lady Gaga might try for her next video. And then Sara’s hair started to singe at the tips. Smoke curled and wafted into the air, filling the room with a rancid stink.