Be the Girl: a Novel

by Tucker, K. A.

  The one where I’m not the victim.

  “I can’t believe you.” Emmett’s expression is filled with disbelief and aversion. He spins on his heels and strolls down the hall with his backpack, past McNair, without saying a word.

  Emmett’s never going to talk to me again.

  And that’s probably what I deserve.

  “And you wanted to make me look bad in front of Emmett. Well …” Holly’s face twists with bitter triumph.

  Only then do I feel the steady stream of hot tears running down my cheeks. “How could you do that to Cassie? Me? Fine! I would have deserved it. But Cassie?” Who has only ever been kind to Holly.

  A flash of something like pain—or guilt—flickers in her big blue eyes, but then it’s gone and her eyes are cold and hard again. “Whatever. Zach is taking her like I knew he would. She’ll be fine,” Holly scoffs, dismissing Cassie’s feelings as if they’re trivial, as if she’s incapable of having them.

  I don’t even realize that my fist is flying until it crashes into Holly’s nose.

  * * *

  I pick at a loose thread on the sleeve of my sweater. If I don’t stop soon, I’ll ruin it.

  “Assaulting another student is an automatic suspension.” Mr. Keen’s squinty eyes narrow into tiny slits as he studies me intently. “What reason did you feel you had for hitting Holly Webber?”

  Because she’s the anti-Christ? I bite my tongue before that slips out.

  Ms. Moretti sits beside him, her brow furrowed with worry as she waits for my answer.

  We’re in a small conference room beside Keen’s office. There’s nothing in here but a round table with four chairs, an oversized clock that ticks too loudly, and a framed School Conduct poster on the wall directly across from me. The room overlooks the visitor parking lot, which means I’ll see exactly when my mother pulls in.

  Out of everything, I’m dreading that part most of all.

  “I believe there has been some ongoing tension between Holly and Aria,” Moretti offers. “It likely has to do Emmett Hartford.”

  “So, this is over a boy.” Keen may as well roll his eyes for the annoyance in his voice.

  “No, it’s about Holly being a jerk and a bully and getting away with it for too long.”

  They exchange glances and I can almost hear the unspoken words. We’re finally getting somewhere.

  “What did Holly do to you, Aria?” Moretti asks.

  “It’s not what she did to me. It’s what she did to Cassie Hartford.” I explain the joke prom invitation.

  “And you know for a fact that Holly was behind that?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How?”

  I stretch the fingers of my right hand. Nothing feels broken but my knuckles are swelling. The school nurse said she’d be by with an ice pack but that was fifteen minutes ago. I guess a bruised hand is less critical than a nose gushing blood.

  “Because I used to be like her.”

  * * *

  I check the wall clock as Moretti pushes the blinds apart with two fingers to squint at the parking lot. “She was in Toronto when I called. She should be here soon.”

  That’s right. Mom and Mick were looking at something for the bathrooms. Vanities or something.

  Mr. Keen left five minutes ago to meet with Holly and her parents, a notepad listing the chain of events that led to this morning under his arm and a deep scowl of disapproval on his face. It first appeared when I played them the video of Holly in the bathroom and deepened as each plot point of the rest of the story was revealed—the ensuing threat, the “accidental tripping,” the cookie fiasco, the SWF Eats Instagram account, and the final straw: the prom joke.

  I left nothing out.

  “I told you that I like to know about my students.” Ms. Moretti settles into her chair again and clasps her hands in front of her. “I was curious about you, about why you quit cross-country after ninth grade, that sort of thing … so I spoke to your old guidance counselor, Ms. Forester.”

  The stomach-clenching reaction I’d expect to feel hearing that doesn’t come. Probably because I’ve already confessed to everything. “When?”

  “About two weeks ago.”

  I was right that day she started asking questions. “What’d she say?”

  Ms. Moretti pauses for a long moment. “Boy, that woman needs to retire, am I right?”

  The answer is so unexpected—and so on point—I burst out laughing, the simple act lifting some of the weight from my shoulders. “She had these printed one-page calendars on the wall in her office, for each year until retirement—2022, I think? There had to be, like, six years on there and she X’d off each day with a red Sharpie.”

  “Probably not the best person to have in that role, then.” Ms. Moretti sighs. “She told me all about Julia Morrow. The video that started it. The joke that ended it.”

  I nod, focusing intently on the ice pack against my knuckles. I’d much rather have a bag of frozen peas. “There were a bunch of us in on the prom joke. Not that that makes it okay.” My best friend, Denise, and three other friends who didn’t like Julia either. We’d all gone to the same small elementary school together, so naturally we clung to each other as we navigated this new, daunting world of high school—of unfamiliar faces and pecking orders. I can’t even say if the dislike for Julia Morrow was already there before the dubbed video she made of me. All I do remember is my friends’ fierce loyalty and desire to avenge me afterward.

  The prom joke was actually Denise’s idea but I readily jumped. At the time, I thought I was so lucky to have such good friends. Only after did I see us for what we really were—a pack of rabid wolves, feeding off each other’s innate ugliness.

  “We didn’t know her.” We didn’t know that she had a learning disability—not a serious one, but one that had fed the chip she wore on her shoulder and a steady cloud of depression. We didn’t know that there was a thick folder from Children’s Services attached to her address, thanks to years of alcoholism and verbal abuse from her family. We didn’t know—but we suspected—that Julia didn’t have a single person she could call a friend, that she could talk to.

  Julia was just the sour-faced girl who lived in a ramshackle house by the train tracks in town, who came to school in cheap clothes and greasy hair. She was the one who went after me for talking to the guy she was crushing hard on, and in our eyes, she deserved all the rumors spinning, all the laughter, the rejection.

  And then she killed herself.

  “And she didn’t know you, either.” Ms. Moretti’s face fills with sympathy. “Ms. Forester sent me the video that Julia made and let float around, of you talking to that boy.”

  I shouldn’t be surprised that they’d kept a record of that. “It came out about a month after I found out that my dad had this secret family.” I went from a semi-obscure ninth grader to a punch line overnight, while my family was falling apart.

  “I’ll bet those daddy-issue jokes she made hit you pretty hard.”

  “I assumed she somehow knew what was going on. It felt like an attack.”

  And so I struck back, again and again, with the help of my loyal friends. My home had splintered and I had no control over it. But making Julia pay for using it against me made me feel better.

  Ironically, everything she dubbed into that video likely stemmed from her own family issues.

  Things changed swiftly after Julia Morrow killed herself. Students who freely joined in on the ostracizing, on the “Julia Morrow has scabies, pass it on” type rumors—many that my friends and I hadn’t even started—were suddenly weeping for this girl who had been bullied and killed herself. We were suspended for two days, for the prom-proposal joke, but that’s as far as our official punishment went.

  That’s when the unofficial punishment began. It started with a private message in my filtered IG folder, telling me I’m a bitch. It quickly escalated to dozens of messages a day, calling me everything from ugly to skank to whore. Anonymous notes were stuffed
into my locker, one of them giving me instructions on the best ways to kill myself. All little acts of retribution, from people who felt justified.

  The final straw was the day someone gave me a shove as I was climbing the stairs. I tumbled. Fortunately, all I ended up with was a broken ankle.

  Unfortunately, my scattered things—along with the note on how to kill myself—were picked up by a teacher, who then showed it to the principal, who then called my mother.

  She had no idea what was going on. I hadn’t told her.

  “I still think about her a lot. Julia, I mean.” About all the things I should have said and done. I wasn’t fake like Holly is; I didn’t pick on kids for the sake of picking on them. But that doesn’t mean I was any better than her, the way I behaved, bolstered by my friends or not.

  “You still feel guilty.” It’s not a question.

  I nod, my eyes stinging with tears. “I would do anything to change to past. But I can’t.”

  “No, you can’t. You can only learn from your mistakes.” Ms. Moretti sighs heavily. “The school suspension will likely be for two days. And I have no choice but to remove you from the cross-country team. Both you and Holly.”

  I nod, studying my hands. “I get it.”

  “I wish you had come to me right away, Aria. Maybe we could’ve avoided all of this.”

  “I went to Ms. Forester once.” I grimace at the memory. “She wasn’t much help.” She told me to delete my social media accounts and reflect on why people might be doing this to me. In short, she told me I deserved it.

  And I believed her.

  I still believe her.

  A knock sounds and the door creaks open.

  I take a deep breath before I turn to face the shame and disappointment in my mother’s eyes.

  24

  Dear Julia,

  I lied to you before. You know, when I told you that Emmett knew what happened in Calgary. Well, technically I lied to ME, seeing as you can’t read this. At least, I don’t think you can, but maybe you are somewhere nearby. Maybe you’re haunting me. I’d deserve that, wouldn’t I?

  Dr. C. warned me to not lie in here and I know why now—I actually fooled myself for a second there into thinking all would be okay. But the truth is, I’d rather be you than who I used to be, because that girl? I don’t know her anymore. I don’t want to know her anymore. I wish I could erase her. Julia, you have no idea how much I wish I could go back and change what I did to you. I may not have realized that until people started harassing me, but walk a mile in someone else’s shoes and all that, right? Emmett asked if you ever apologized for making that shitty video of me talking to Jeff Humphrey. Did you ever wish you had? I don’t know how much it would have helped, to be honest. I was in a dark place then. But now? Julia, if you apologized to me now, I would accept it and move on.

  Another truth? I’d punch Holly all over again for what she did to Cassie, and not feel bad about it. So, does that mean I haven’t really changed at all? Is new Aria just old Aria but with a shred of empathy and misfit friends?

  Mom has taken away my phone, canceled plans for my driver’s license test, and booked an appointment with Dr. Zanelli, my new therapist. Dr. Z. from here on in. Beyond that, she said she needed time to think, so she sent me to my room and told me not to come out until Murphy needs a walk. But I just watched her head down the sidewalk with him so …

  Maybe I can just hide in here forever.

  ~AJ

  * * *

  My stomach is a ball of nerves as I trek past Emmett’s Santa Fe and up the walkway toward the Hartfords’ front door, Murphy hobbling beside me.

  Cassie is the first to the door. “Oh, hi, AJ!” she exclaims. It’s as if the drama with Holly never happened. But I know better than to assume that.

  “Hey, Cassie, how are you?”

  “Good. Well …” Her face scrunches up. “Not so good. My mom knows about the cookie with drugs that Adam gave me and that you punched Holly in the nose.”

  What must Heather and Mark think about me now?

  “Was there a lot of blood?”

  I nod. “There was.”

  “Is Holly okay?”

  “I’m sure she’ll be fine.”

  “Yeah. Hi, Murphy!” She turns her attention to him. Though, I note, I got a few minutes first. That’s progress.

  Footfalls pound down the stairs and a minute later Emmett appears, his jaw clenched as he takes me in.

  I shrink into my jacket under that gaze. As much as I came to check on Cassie, he’s the real reason I came. But now that I’m facing him, I want to go home and delay the inevitable. “Hey.”

  “Hey.” He chews his bottom lip a moment. “Cass, go help Mom. I need to talk to AJ alone.”

  “About how much trouble you’re in?”

  He sighs heavily. “And other things.”

  “Bye, Murph! See you later!” She waves and then strolls off, her heels heavy against the floor.

  “Give me a sec.” Emmett disappears to the mud room for his coat and shoes.

  I lead Murphy toward the row of shrubs at the edge of the Hartford property. Next to Uncle Merv’s rosebush, this is his favorite pee spot.

  Emmett meets me on the sidewalk, drawing his zipper closed against the night chill.

  “How’s your hand?”

  I peer at the red knuckles. “Not broken, at least.”

  “Why’d you hit her?”

  “For what she did to Cassie.”

  He nods. And then a tiny smirk curls his lips. “Wish I’d stayed long enough to see that.”

  I smile. At least he’s making jokes.

  The amusement evaporates just as quickly. “You lied to me. You let me think that you tried to kill yourself.”

  “I’m sorry.” What more is there to say?

  He smooths a hand over his face. “Maybe I shouldn’t have pushed you to talk in the first place.”

  “You would’ve found out either way, thanks to Holly.” Maybe knowing part of it, albeit skewed, helped soften the blow. “I hate the things I did, Emmett. I’m trying to get far away from that person. That’s why we moved here.” So I could start over. So I had a fair shot of becoming someone better.

  His eyes wander from his shoes to the grass, to the street beyond, avoiding me at all costs, it would seem. “I looked up Julia Morrow.”

  I figured he would. So has half of Eastmonte Secondary, I’m sure.

  “Pretty shit thing to happen to her.”

  Now it’s my turn to avoid his gaze. Is he picturing Cassie in Julia’s place right now? “She started it by making this horrible video of me around the time that my dad left us and …” My voice drifts. I won’t make excuses for what I did. Not to Emmett.

  “So, when you said that you shut down your Instagram and all that because people were harassing you, was that even true?”

  “Yeah. That happened. Because of what I did.” Which is why I never deserved your pity.

  Uncomfortable silence settles between us. It was only this morning that we went for a run, that he had his arms coiled around me. That things were good and we were perfect and happy.

  It feels like so long ago now.

  He clears his throat, and when he speaks again, his voice is a touch huskier. “I’ll present the first five slides for our project and you can do the last five. We’re pretty much already done so … no need to get together again over it. And I’m sure Jen will be happy to swap desks with me.”

  A painful lump flares in my throat. “So … that’s it?” I was expecting this but now that it’s happening, I don’t know that I can handle it.

  He studies his shoes. “I’m gone next summer anyway, Aria. And this year is too important for me to screw it up by …” His voice drifts.

  By getting mixed up with someone like me. I duck my head to hide the rim of tears that are welling, but they quickly escape, rolling down my cheeks. “What about getting to school and back?”

  “I’ll still drive you. And if you still
want to walk with Cassie, that’s fine. Unless you were only doing it because of me—”

  “No.” I let him see my tears now, because he needs to see the sincerity in my eyes. “That’s not why.”

  His jaw tightens. “Prove it. But it won’t change us.”

  “I know.” Emmett and I are finished.

  “So …,” he begins backing away, “I guess I’ll see you around. Good luck with regionals.”

  “I got kicked off the team.”

  He nods slowly. “That’s too bad. You would have done well.”

  I watch Emmett disappear into his house.

  And then I walk home, counting all the ways I screwed up.

  * * *

  “Well … on the plus side, no one’s going to mess with you.” Jen slams her locker shut, adjusting her Day of the Dead shirt in honor of November 1. It was Halloween last night—and the two-year anniversary of discovering my father’s secret family. I sat on my window ledge and watched the children stroll up our doorstep for trick or treat.

  “Is that what all these weird looks are this morning?” Fear, because apparently I broke Holly’s nose?

  “No, those are likely because you came in with Emmett.”

  But not with him. He had the decency to not make a point of putting a twenty-foot gap between us when we walked down the hall. I felt the distance all the same.

  I kept my head down as I strolled into school, after taking the back seat in Emmett’s SUV. Cassie kept asking if I was okay, the sudden change in seating arrangements—in our routine—jarring to her. Otherwise, she was the same Cassie—greeting every staff member by name, and then marching to her locker to unload her things.

  The first bell goes.

  “I’m sitting with you again, if that’s okay?”

  “You mean, I don’t get to listen to Sleepy Steve snore in my ear anymore?” Jen smiles and softly nods. “Yeah. Of course.”

  I take a deep breath and steal a glance at Emmett. He’s alone by his locker, fumbling through his textbooks. My heart aches.