Bullied: Book One in the Bullied Series

by Christopher Smith

  When I was finished, I dressed and stood in front of the mirror again. I looked the same but not the same, if that makes sense. The change was just enough. I filled out my clothes but not ridiculously so. I hadn’t gone too far. People would notice and they might mention it, but I had a plan for that, and over the next several weeks the changes would continue to be subtle.

  I left my bedroom and was met by my father in the kitchen. He was brewing a cup of coffee. His lower back was pressed against the countertop and his eyes were bloodshot. One look at me and they widened. “What the hell happened to you?”

  I wasn’t staying long. I grabbed my backpack and swung it over my shoulder. “What do you mean?”

  “You working out or something?”

  “Trying to.”

  “Huh.”

  No criticism? No caustic judgment? That was new. I wonder if he knew it was my eighteenth birthday today. I doubted it. “See you tonight,” I said.

  “I’ll probably be out.”

  Of course, you’ll be out. You’ll be at Judy’s with creepy Jim.

  “Time to find work.”

  And that stopped me.

  “What kind of work?”

  “Doesn’t matter. Just time to find work.”

  “That’s great, Dad.”

  “Nobody’s going to want a washed-up drunk, kid. Don’t fool yourself. But I’ll give it a shot. I have to. They’re cutting off our disability.”

  “I can get a job.”

  “You might have to.”

  “I can flip burgers or something.”

  “What you need to do is do better in school so you won’t have to when you’re my age.”

  I walked outside, surprised by what had just taken place and glad that it was another sunny day. I started walking up the incline that led to the street, where a group of other students were waiting for the bus to arrive. I hoped he could find a job. I hoped they could turn their lives around. I felt that if they could get back into their routine, the drinking would stop and it would be better at home.

  As usual, I hung back from the other kids, not wanting to draw their attention, but when a car rounded the corner and stopped beside me, that changed. It was Jennifer and she was smiling. I felt a little rush and couldn't help smiling back.

  The passenger-side window was open. “Want a ride?” she asked.

  “You’re picking me up?”

  “Maybe.”

  “That would be great.”

  I slipped off my backpack and was aware that she was looking at me.

  “No hoodie,” she said. “That’s a change.”

  I got in the car, aware of the others watching and likely wondering why this girl of all girls had swung by to give me a ride. “Change is good.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without one.” She looked over at me. I could almost feel her eyes on me as I tucked the backpack between my legs. “You should wear a T-shirt more often.”

  “I had nothing else to wear.”

  “Let’s keep it that way.”

  Was she flirting with me? What the hell? Nobody ever flirted with me.

  She put the car into gear and moved forward to turn around. And then we saw it. She stopped the car and put her hand over her mouth. I stared at it and felt shame, embarrassment and anger.

  It was our trailer.

  Sometime in the night, somebody had spray-painted the words “A FAGGOT LIVES HERE” in huge black letters that took up almost the entire side of our home. Behind us, the kids at the street corner started to laugh because they knew we had just seen it. I stared at the words and while I knew I could make them disappear, I obviously couldn’t do anything about them with Jennifer or the other kids here.

  I looked at her and saw genuine concern in her eyes. Behind us, the bus arrived in a rush of squealing brakes.

  “Would you mind if I walked to school?" I asked. "I need to take care of that.”

  “Let me help.”

  “No,” I said. “I appreciate it, but I need to do something now before my parents see it. They’ll freak and I don’t want you to see that if it happens.”

  I grabbed my backpack, opened the door and stepped out. “Would you mind telling Principal Roberts that I’ll be a little late.”

  “Of course.”

  “And don’t worry about this,” I said as I shut the door. “I’m used to it. I can handle it. I’m stronger than they think I am." I smiled at her. "See you in class.”

  * * *

  I watched her drive off and made sure she was well down the street before I turned to look at that the trailer and the words someone had scrawled across it. Would I never get a break? Is this how I always would be seen?

  Happy fucking birthday. My chance to have a moment alone with Jennifer, who for some reason had gone out of her way to offer me a lift, was now driving away.

  I looked around and wondered how many people in the neighborhood had seen this. No one was around, but still it was humiliating. I looked around me, saw that it was clear, and waved a hand over the side of the trailer. The words disappeared.

  Now, the larger question was who did it? Hastings? Would he really come after me after what went down yesterday? If he was sane, it would seem unlikely. But the thing about Hastings is that he is off. Something isn’t right with him. There’s a craziness about him that's always worried me. You can see it in his eyes.

  Yesterday, I gave him one hell of a show. He busted his hand on my pinky, which pretty much was a kick to his balls and to his masculinity. Was he pushing back or was this done by somebody else? Maybe a friend of his? Maybe one of the dozens of others who’d like to see me burn?

  I didn’t want to be late. There was nothing worse than walking into a classroom when class was in session--all eyes suddenly were on you. I checked my watch and knew I could make it. I hurried to the woods behind my house and, with a little boost from the amulet, I ran faster than I ever had.

  ~~~~

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  I made it with a few minutes to spare.

  I went to my locker, dropped off the books I didn’t need, grabbed a few others I did need, shut the door and spun the combination lock. I turned to leave for my homeroom--and there it was.

  Everyone in the hallway was looking at me.

  Some were trying to be discrete, but others were flat-out staring at me and there was no question that what I saw on their faces was confusion. I swung my backpack over my shoulder and walked through the crowd, expecting the typical jeers, but they didn’t come.

  At least not immediately.

  I was about to enter my homeroom when Jake Tyler, he of yesterday's broken nose and boo-hoo crying jag, came up beside me and blocked the entrance with an outstretched arm. “How’s it going, roid boy?”

  I looked at his arm, then up at his swollen nose. “Let’s put it this way--things are way better than what's going on with that blob of a schnoz of yours.”

  There was a flash of genuine surprise on his face. I’d never stood up to him before. “What did you just say to me?”

  “Your nose,” I said, loudly enough so people could hear me in the room beyond. “It looks like shit. Are they going to try to straighten it, or are you going to be stuck with a hooked nose and be permanently disfigured?” I put my hand on his arm and pushed it down so I could pass. “Excuse me,” I said.

  Every eye was on me as I entered the room. It was like I was an alien. Or that I had some secret-op doppelganger who had taken my place. I looked quickly for Hastings and saw that he wasn’t here. Neither was Jennifer, though Alex was. And then, by the expression on his face, I knew I was in for it even before Jake Tyler lifted his books and slammed them down hard on top of my head.

  I went down like a ten pin, my backpack spinning across the floor. I heard laughter, but as I blinked in an effort to pull myself together, I also was aware of feet rushing toward my backpack and a hand reaching down to pick it up. I tried to will the pain away, but I couldn’t focus enough to do s
o. My head was splitting and I saw Alex coming toward me. His hand dipped and he helped me up. “Are you okay?”

  I faked it. I tried to shake it off, but it hurt like hell. I felt the top of my head for blood. There wasn’t any. “I’m fine,” I said.

  Alex looked over at Jake, whose face was flushed with anger. He was every bit as big as Alex, but unlike Alex, he felt the need to hold himself in such a way that suggested nothing could touch him.

  Was he insecure? I couldn’t imagine it--he’d always been popular and he hardly was a disappointment on the football team--but that cocky stance didn’t lie. I wondered about him. In some ways, Tyler was worse than Hastings because he was pure stealth. Hastings was more showy--he liked to get in your face and get the crowd going--but Jake looked for opportunities and would only act if he was sure he was in the clear, as he was now. Our homeroom teacher wasn’t here yet and so he went for it.

  “What’s your problem, dude?” Alex said.

  “What’s it to you, bitch?”

  “Keep your hands off him.”

  “You his boyfriend or something?”

  Alex laughed. “Some of you are so backwoods, it's a joke. Have you ever been out of this town? Ever been to a city? Because if you had, I think you’d have a different perspective. For some reason, and I can only guess why, everything is gay to you."

  From the back of the room, someone said, “There’s a good reason for that. Did you see Moore’s trailer this morning? ‘A Faggot Lives Here’ is written all over it. Doesn’t get any gayer than that, buddy.”

  So, the word was out.

  Fine.

  My head was clearing. I was able to focus. I turned to look at the room and, struck with an idea, I decided to go with it.

  They were all staring at me, their smiling mouths and eager eyes waiting to see what would happen next. Some were taking in every inch of me, wondering about the changes in my body. I was not the Seth they remembered. I was changing and they knew it, but since they didn’t fully understand it, their natural inclination was to keep me down. Hammer away and hammer hard. Keep me in my place. Don’t let me rise above.

  But that wasn’t an option anymore.

  I cocked my head at them, glanced over at Jake, who looked as if he was about to have an aneurism, and then crossed my arms just as Jennifer entered the room. She looked over at me, tried to process the situation, couldn’t. Surprise was on her face. “You’re here,” she said.

  “I am," I said. "And you should have seen my entrance. It was Biblical.”

  “I just told Principal Roberts you’d be late.”

  “Thanks for doing that, but I think I’m right on time.” I looked around the room and could feel the amulet growing warm against my chest. I leaned forward and as I did, it was interesting to see that a few leaned back. In a mere whisper, I said one word to all of them: “Boo.”

  And with the exception of Alex and Jennifer, every one of them--including Jake, who was wearing a pair of khakis--literally started to piss their pants.

  ~~~~

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  In the chaos that unfolded, our homeroom teacher, Mr. Garland, stepped into the room and then stopped just beyond the door as the wetting of twenty-six pairs of underwear got underway.

  I stepped back and watched the circus erupt.

  Ginny Gibson, certainly one of the most mean-spirited snots to ever enter the world, was up and dancing while urine ran down her legs and pooled in her shoes and beneath her feet.

  She was wearing a bright orange dress that might have been cute if it weren't for the dark stain spreading over her crotch. Watching her, I felt nothing--of all the girls in school, she was one of my chief tormentors and had been since I could remember. Just moments ago, her laugh was among the loudest when Tyler bashed me over the head with his books.

  And now she was peeing and dancing and screaming, while some of those around her either did the same or remained rooted to their seats. They were too embarrassed to stand and reveal that their bladders also had let loose.

  I looked over at Jake, who was looking down in disbelief at the front of his pants, now soaked and clinging to his skin. When he looked up at me, I looked down at his pants and screwed up my face as if it was the most disgusting site I'd ever seen. He looked up at me and I just shrugged.

  Mr. Garland, who was in his early thirties, came forward with raised hands. "Quiet!" he said. He looked over at Alex, who was standing beside me, and it was clear by how he addressed him that Alex already was being looked upon as a student leader. "What's going on here, Alex?"

  He shook his head. He pointedly wasn't looking at me. "I don't know what happened. With the exception of a few of us, everyone just started to wet their pants.”

  "Why?" Garland asked.

  "No idea. It just happened."

  And then there was Jake. "It didn't just happen." He shoved a finger at me. "It was him. He did it."

  I looked at Jake with bemusement. "You're saying I have control over your bladders?”

  "That's right."

  “Okay, Tyler? I’m just going to point out the obvious. That’s just a pocketful of crazy right there.”

  “The hell it is.”

  I presented him to the class with a wave of my hand. "Everyone, I’d like you to meet the poster child for disillusionment." I looked at him. "It’s obvious you’re not well. It’s obvious that yesterday’s fall and your uncontrollable fit of crying did something to your head, let alone your nose. The fact that you actually think that I have control over everyone’s bladder is the funniest thing I’ve heard in weeks."

  Before he could speak, Ginny Gibson suddenly got all righteous. "You said 'boo' to us," she said. "You leaned forward and said, 'boo.' And that's when it happened. You said, 'boo' and now look at us. Look at us!"

  I was aware that Garland was looking at me, trying to process the situation but failing. I needed to step in and give him the big picture.

  "Actually, Ginny, it really went down like this. I tried to walk into the classroom when Jake blocked my entrance with one of his meaty arms and started in on me, just as he always does." I turned to Garland. "And don't pretend you don't know anything about that. I assume Hastings isn't here today because he came after me yesterday. Is that right?"

  He said nothing. Obviously, Principal Roberts had delivered her bullying speech at last night's teachers' meeting.

  "Since crazy Jake here wasn't about to move his arm, I pushed it down and walked through the door."

  "And when he did," Alex said, nodding toward Jake, "this idiot came after him and smashed his books over his head. Seth went down hard. For a moment, I think he lost consciousness because he wasn't moving. It's a wonder he didn't break his neck in that fall."

  Garland looked at Jake. "Is that true?"

  Too stupid and too proud to deny it, Tyler went for it. "Yeah, it's true,” he said, glaring at me. "And it'll happen again. Bet on it. Soon."

  "Not in this school, it won't," Garland said. "And you better watch your mouth about delivering any additional threats, because that one's going to the police. Go to the principal. I'll be down in a minute." He looked at me as Jake left. "You need to see the nurse. Have her check your head. You could have a concussion."

  And then he turned to the class. "Seems to me that people got a little nervous when Seth was hit. When you saw that he wasn't moving, that Alex couldn’t revive him, then a lot of you got really nervous, which is why I think many of you are in the situation you're in now."

  "That's not true!" Ginny shouted.

  Garland pointed a finger at her. "Detention. One week."

  "What?"

  "Do you want me to make that two?"

  Her face became so ugly, her lips twisted back in rage.

  "Go to the principal. Now."

  "Are you joking? Look at me. I'm a mop."

  "Not my problem. Go."

  In a huff, she grabbed her books, stepped over her little yellow puddle with whatever dignity she had le
ft and swung out of the room with her books held low in front of her. As she passed Jennifer, who hadn't left the doorway, I was aware that she was looking at me. What I saw wasn't so much concern on her face, though it was there, but also what appeared to be her trying to solve some sort of mystery. Me.

  Garland stepped to the center of the room. I waited for him to say what I wanted to hear him say--that the school had enacted a strict no-bullying policy--but that's not what he said. In fact, he didn't address the situation at all. He merely told the class to call their parents to come pick them up so they could go home, take a shower and change into fresh clothes.

  As the students filed out of the room, he turned to me. "What's going on with you, Seth?"

  My answer was immediate. "I'm not taking their shit anymore. If the school board and the teachers won’t protect me, then I need to start standing up for myself. I've been going through this for years--and you know it. You've seen it. You’ve done nothing about it. The same goes for too many other teachers in this school. It's wrong what's happening and yet every teacher in this school knows it's happening to me and to others, but you do nothing about it. Sometimes, I think you're the worst bullies because you choose to look the other way. You let it happen. It's easier to say let it happen. I'm tired of it and I'm not going to back down from the students who hate me, from you or from any other teacher who doesn't act on my behalf. I'm done with it. And I'll go public with it."

  "That's your choice," Garland said. "But I wouldn't recommend it."

  "I'm sure you wouldn't."

  He walked over to his desk and sat down. "Care to know why?"

  "Shoot."

  "Because you’ll only make it worse. We can't prevent anything that happens off school grounds. I think you're setting yourself up for something bad, Seth. I think if you take this too far, it could blow up in your face."

  "So, I should just continue to take it? You should just continue to ignore it? What kind of bullshit is that?"