by Ashley Love
And that's not really that big of a deal, because most people are better than him.
But it's the fact that he cares what she thinks.
Ariel hadn't fought back. A couple weeks ago when Zane, Slate, and Gordon had pushed her into the mud, Ariel hadn't fought back. She hadn't even tried to hit them, or kick them, or yell out for help.
To be fair, they hadn't exactly beaten the shit out of the girl—they'd just shoved her into the mud. But still, Ariel hadn't fought back once.
This bothers Zane for some reason. It kind of feels like a slap in the face a little bit. Who doesn't fight back? Is she trying to prove that she's better than them? Like she wouldn't dare stoop to that level? Make herself look bad?
As the afternoon rolls around and the cocaine wears off, Zane decides something, then and there.
He's going to hate Ariel Riley. He's going to hate her with everything he has, just like he tells himself he hates that freshman kid Barry, and that depressive girl Krissy, and those two dweebs from the school newspaper he and his friends like to pick on.
He's going to hate Ariel Riley, because it feels better to hate someone than to envy them, to pine after them.
Sure, Ariel is gorgeous, and strange, and intriguing, and Zane would give anything just to know more about the girl. But he'd rather hate her and go along with his friends than feel worthless every time he speaks to her.
And who does she think she is, anyway? Acting like she doesn't give a shit when him and his friends are picking on her. Most other kids cry or snitch or hit back when him and his boys are messing with them. But not Ariel. And he convinces himself that she's just a stuck up bitch who thinks she's better than everyone else, and that's why she doesn't fight back.
It's mid-afternoon when Ryker finally stands to leave Ghost Town, and Zane and his friends follow. They head back to the school since the last classes are about to get out, and when they break free of the trees and begin walking towards The Docks, Zane spots Ariel exiting the school and heading towards the path she takes home through the woods.
This is his chance.
He swallows back every doubt he has, every little voice in his head whispering that Ariel is not actually a stuck up bitch, that all the little things he's telling himself to make himself feel better about being a bully are lies, and he nudges Noah with a grin, nodding towards her.
"Look who it is," he says, chuckling a little. His laughter feels like acid in his throat.
Noah smiles and points Ariel out to the rest of them. "Come on boys," he announces. "I believe we have an appointment with Miss Riley."
Zane's heart feels heavier and heavier every second they get closer to Ariel, and when she finally notices them coming, it's too late. Gordon grabs her first, startling her, and Zane surprises himself by immediately throwing a punch.
Maybe he's just trying to get it over with. The first punch is awful, and it solidifies something inside of him, confirms something. He hates himself. He hates himself and he's taking it out on Ariel. And so he hates Ariel. That's how it works, right?
The second punch is easier, and knocks her off her feet.
By the third punch, he feels much better. This is a familiar feeling. This is something he's used to, the feeling of someone's face against his knuckles. Girl or boy, it doesn't matter who it is. And he just has to keep telling himself that.
There's nothing special about Ariel. She's no different than any of the other students at this school. Zane has been convinced all this time that she was somehow unlike all the other kids, which had made it harder for him to go along with his friends.
But Ariel is the same. And Zane hates her, just like he hates everyone. Just like he hates all those other kids he and his friends have decided to torment in addition to her. Just like he hates his friends. Just like he hates himself.
It's easier just to hate everything. It's easier to live in a world where everything is black and white. And punching Ariel right now is a wakeup call.
Zane only gets a few punches in before his friends take over. Ryker picks her up off the ground where she'd fallen and slams her back against the side of the school. Ariel hits hard, grunting on impact and coughing as the wind is knocked out of her.
And she just stands there. She doesn't cry, she doesn't call for help. She doesn't fight back.
Zane wants her to fight back.
Instead, a determined yet defeated look crosses her face. Her nose is bleeding from one of his punches, and the sight of the blood satisfies something in him. This is familiar.
The victim not fighting back isn't, however.
Gordon reaches out and tears a notebook she's carrying out of her hands, throwing it aside on the ground. Ariel looks at it for a moment, and then sniffs, looking back at them, locking eyes with each of them individually, landing last on Zane.
Zane glares. He tries his hardest to glare. He hates Ariel. He just has to keep telling himself that. And the sooner she gets that through her head, the easier this whole thing will be. And things will carry on as they're supposed to: Zane and his friends tormenting the crap out of her every few days to remind her of her place as part of the loser community at this high school.
It's the natural order.
He watches Ariel swallow, and then the girl lets out a sigh. "Let's just get this over with," she says in that soft voice. And it almost looks like she doesn't even care?
Slate and Ryker exchange a glance, and then they laugh, and someone throws another punch, hitting Ariel in the gut. She kneels over in pain, but Gordon catches her, pressing her flat against the wall again and punching her in the jaw.
Zane is frozen in place. His friends continue to hit Ariel, and he can't even bring himself to move. Did she really just invite them to beat the shit out of her?
What the hell is wrong with this chick?
He doesn't get long to ponder this though, because a movement out of the corner of his eye catches his attention. He glances up and sees the security guard, Victor rounding the corner. When Victor sees the group of them beating on Ariel, he breaks into a jog. "Hey! What the hell is going on over there?"
"Shit, come on, let's go!" Gordon says, pulling away from Ariel and dragging Ryker with him. Slate gets in one last good punch right to Ariel's diaphragm, jolting a choking cough out of her. She crumples to the ground.
Noah turns and grabs Zane, pulling him away, and the five of them run off towards the woods laughing. Zane is the only one not laughing, not making a sound, just running mechanically.
Just before disappearing into the woods, his knuckles still throbbing where they connected with her jaw, he glances back and sees Victor kneeling down over the fallen girl, glancing once in their direction, obviously torn between helping her and chasing down her attackers.
Zane pauses, hesitates, staring at her. It's only when he sees her raise her head that he allows himself to continue running again.
And he spends the rest of his way home pondering why he would stop long enough to make sure Ariel is conscious, when he supposedly hates the girl so much.
7
"You alright, kid?"
I blink a few times, clearing my throbbing head, wiping the blood away from my nose with the back of my hand. I lift my head up, spotting Zane and his friends disappearing into the woods. I see him stop, hesitate, look back at me, and then continue on.
"Kid?"
I groan a little in time with the ache in my head, turning my eyes upwards to find a Hispanic man in an officer's uniform kneeling above me. I blink a couple times, making out the nametag on the guy's shirt—Victor Vargas.
"I'm fine," I say, grunting a little as I wipe my nose one more time and push myself up. Victor immediately grabs my arm to help me to my feet, and although it's a nice gesture, it's unnecessary. I've taken worse beatings before. I really am fine. Physically, I'm fine.
"Come on," Vargas says. "Let's get you to the nurse. She's here late today."
I sha
ke my head with a little sigh. "No, it's alright, I'm okay," I assure the officer. Or security guard, maybe? "I should really be going. My sister is waiting for me at home."
"Wait, hang on now," Victor urges, holding his hands up to stop me as I begin to walk past him. "You sure you're alright? I'd really feel better if you just went and saw the nurse before you go. It'll take ten minutes tops."
I give the man a tired smile. "I'm really fine, Mister— "
"Call me Victor."
I nod. "Victor. I'm alright," I assure him. "This isn't my first run-in with a bunch of jerks, and I'm late picking up my sister from my neighbor's house."
"These kids mess with you before?" he asks, looking down the bridge of his nose at me.
I shrug, wincing as I feel a scrape I hadn't noticed before tug on the back of my shoulder. Must have happened when they slammed me against the wall. "These kids, other kids. There are always going to be kids like this, anywhere you go," I say. "I'd rather not make a big deal out of it."
"So you don't want to file a police report about this?"
I shake my head no.
Victor huffs a hard sigh, but I'm surprised—and grateful—that I see no pity or sympathy in the man's eyes. Usually when people find out that I'm a walking doormat, they either stomp all over me too or immediately feel bad for me. I hate both. But Victor looks hardened, not remorseful. It's refreshing.
After a few seconds, Victor nods once, tightly. "Alright, kid," he says. "You handle this whatever way you want. I'll respect that."
I'm a little taken aback by the words. Then I smile a little. "Thank you."
He nods again, stepping aside and allowing me to pass. "Just take care of yourself, you hear?"
I tip my head in agreement, stooping over to pick up my notebook that one of them had tossed away. It's dirty and a little wet, but otherwise undamaged. I glance back. "Thank you for stopping them," I say, my voice a little smaller.
The corner of Victor's mouth quirks up. "No problem, kid."
I eye him for a moment. This man is one of the good ones. If I've learned anything through my experiences, it's how to tell the good people from the bad pretty easily. Victor Vargas is one of the good ones.
Pinching the bridge of my nose since I feel a little more blood running out of it, I turn and head for the trees, feeling Victor watching me the whole way, probably making sure Zane and his friends don't pop out of the woods and jump on me again. I'm on alert as well, my eyes darting around as I take the worn path home, looking for movement in the trees.
But there's no one there, to my relief, and by the time I get back to my little blue house, my nose has stopped bleeding and I feel a slight swollen lump under my eye, emblazoning my cheekbone.
I pop over to Bonnie's house next door to pick up Sophia. Bonnie has taken to keeping Sophia at her house every afternoon until I get home from school so that she isn't alone in our empty place. It's comforting. I used to worry all the time when Sophia was alone at our apartment in the city for hours on end when I couldn't be there. And Sophia doesn't seem to mind—if she does, she's not complaining. She does her homework and plays with Bonnie's crystal collection and has already learned three words in some ancient dead language that Bonnie has somehow mastered for fun.
I wonder if everyone in this town has a not-so-secret personal life as strange as Bonnie Baker's. I haven't even bothered to ask about the rabbit foot collection she keeps displayed in the living room of her house. They're all hanging from the ceiling by membrane-thin gold chains. Maybe I'm too afraid to ask.
I don't even get a chance to knock on the door before Ethan is pulling it open. The kid is sluggish today, I notice, and I nearly have a heart attack when he raises his eyes and grins up at me, because the kid's mouth is full of blood, dripping down his chin in crimson rivers.
"I think I bit my tongue," he slurs through all the blood, and my own mouth falls open, a soundless choke leaving my throat.
I don't get long to freak out though, before Ethan bursts out laughing, spitting half the blood out of his mouth in the process. The little boy holds up a small black tube, and I blink a few times, realizing that it's fake costume blood. My breath leaves out of me in a gasp of relief.
"Your sense of humor leaves something to be desired," I tell him, pressing a hand to my chest.
"He's been doing that all day," Sophia complains from behind Ethan. I look up at her and her eyes instantly widen into round little coins. "What happened to your face?!" she exclaims, stepping forward and shoving the still-laughing Ethan out of her way, reaching up and prodding at the swelling lump along my cheekbone.
I flinch. "Ow," I complain, batting her hand away. "It's nothing. I just fell off my bike in the woods."
Sophia cocks her head to the side in confusion. "Your bike's been in the yard since I got home."
I freeze up, my mouth half-open, ready to spew another lie, anything to protect Sophia from all this crap. But then her face falls, and she glares a little, but I can tell it isn't a glare that's meant for me.
"It's starting again, isn't it?" she says, and she doesn't even try to phrase it like a question. She knows it's true. It's happened too many times before.
I start to reply, but my mouth snaps shut when Bonnie comes around the corner from the living room, spotting me in the doorway.
"Well hey, sugar! Didn't know you were here! Come in!" she greets warmly, her voice that breathy bird-like chime I've grown to love.
I glance at Sophia and I shoot her a we'll-be-discussing-this-later look, to which she returns a just-drop-it glare. She pulls me inside by my thumb, closing the door and pushing Ethan out of the way. The kid is cute, but damn, he needs to shut up sometimes. He goes running off down the hallway into the bathroom to clean up his fake-blood-covered face before his adoptive mother can see it.
The house smells like nutmeg and candle wax. It's odd, but comforting. It's homier in here than at our new house anyway, that's for sure. We'd just finished unpacking the last of the boxes this week. I wonder how long it will be before we're just packing them up again.
Sophia pulls me into the kitchen where Bonnie is standing over the stove stirring what looks like a pot of extra-thick hot cocoa. It's not terribly cold outside as far as Vermont autumns go, but it's already October and the chill is starting to settle in. It blankets the town like an icy exhale and hot cocoa sounds like the best thing in the world right now, especially after dealing with several fists to the face from the Cancers.
Bonnie Baker's kitchen is almost humorous, it's so tiny. I wonder who lived here before. Everything is just one size too small. I have to duck to get through the doorway, even though I'm of average height for a girl my age at just around 5'7. It's like the kitchen of a dollhouse. Everything is adorned in doilies and lace. There's a pellet stove in the corner that heats up the room like a sauna. The cabinets are a rose-pink that somehow just works with the sunflower yellow walls and the mossy-green floor. Bonnie has just about every herb known to man hanging in bunches from the ceiling in all the corners, making it so that one has to duck to avoid hitting their head on them.
The kitchen is like something you would expect to find if you walked into the home of a gnome living in a tree in the forest. It's like something out of a fairytale.
I don't think I'll ever get tired of this woman.
Bonnie turns around after tapping the wooden spoon off on the edge of the hot cocoa pot. The spoon is stained a deep dark brown from the richness of the chocolate, and my mouth waters as my skin thaws out. In the warmth of the kitchen, my bruises are beginning to throb, but I ignore them.
"Oh, honey, what happened to you?" Bonnie exclaims as she really takes in my appearance. I glance down, biting my lip, sneaking a warning look at Sophia. I don't want to drag Bonnie into his crap.
Sophia seems to get the hint. "She fell off her bike," she lies for me
"Ariel Victoria Riley, are you so careless?" Bonnie scolds, tutting to herself
and shaking her head.
Me and Sophia exchange a brief glance as Bonnie rounds the tiny island counter covered in bowls of herbs and just about every type of bread anyone could ever ask for. How does all this stuff fit in one tiny kitchen?
She ducks past a clump of rosemary hanging by a red ribbon and walks right into my personal space, taking my chin in her hand and tilting my head this way and that, examining my bruises and mumbling to herself.
"You got all this from falling off your bike? Girl, you are all kinds of clumsy," she scolds.
I just stand there sheepishly, looking down at the woman. I always forget that Bonnie is shorter than me by at least half a foot. The woman is such a powerful presence, it's easy to disregard the fact that all that sass can exist in such a little body.
"Come on," she says, placing a hand on my back and leading me out of the kitchen. "Watch your head. Let's get you cleaned up."
I duck under the doorway out of the kitchen and follow Bonnie down the hallway. It's one thing to refuse help from Victor, but I can't say no to Bonnie Baker. And besides, she's the nurse at Sophia and Ethan's school, so she must know at least halfway what she's doing.
She sits me down on the lavender porcelain toilet, and as she digs around in her cabinet for a first aid kit, I look around. The bathroom is just as strange as the rest of the house. Every inch of every wall is covered in individually framed tarot cards. The various pictures stare out at me, and I study each and every one until Bonnie steps into my line of vision and pulls up a little stool with a stack of gray towels on it from beside the lavender bathtub. Everything in here smells like sandalwood.
I watch as she douses a small cloth with a clear liquid. "This may sting a little bit, but you have a little cut above your eyebrow there," she says, before pressing the cloth gently to the wound that I didn't even know I had. I wince a little, but Bonnie has very steady hands, and she cleans the blood away efficiently and almost painlessly. It feels good, someone taking care of me like this. Almost like a mother. I smile before I can stop myself.
