by L V Chase
This whole bullying bullshit isn’t even hurtful anymore. It’s goddamn boring.
I dip into the black paint. I start painting the outline of our dance costumes. Not paint either. I bring the paintbrush close to my nose.
Chocolate syrup.
I grit my teeth together and keep painting. It won’t look as good, but it still leaves its mark, and I can’t miss my chance to prove myself. Dahlia is reaching the final chorus.
The projection screen abruptly dims, taking away my visibility of the paper and the paints. Dahlia stops singing. I look up.
The video is shaky, but the underside of the football field’s bleachers is unmistakable. A woman’s breasts are exposed. Her waist isn’t visible from the angle, but she appears naked. The camera focuses on her face, which is consumed by elevating mania.
My mania. My face. My naked body under Grayson’s half-naked body. His face isn’t visible, but mine clearly is.
Holy fuck, it’s the sex video he told me that Aurora had.
I tear my eyes away from the screen, but I overcompensate, and I’m staring out at the DDD girls and the crowd.
Dahlia is clutching her microphone, her mouth slack. Desiree’s face is scrunched up in confusion, glancing from the screen to my face and back again. Demi’s eyes are wide, but a smirk ruptures across her face as she looks down at me. I’ve never seen her so elated.
Heat floods my face, a crown of sweat forming at my hairline. Tears threaten to expose me as weak, as humiliated, as ashamed, and it would all be true.
You need to understand that your best asset—that you’re a teenager with a good body—is depreciating, my mother’s voice slithers in, soft and cruel.
I can’t move. It doesn’t feel like I’m in my body. My thoughts spiral behind me, unable to formulate a plan on how to escape. I just watch the crowd laughing as they watch me have sex.
Everybody here seems to know who you are. And they don’t like you, my mother’s voice continues.
Demi takes a step back, gesturing to me like I’m an animal on display. Boys start hollering.
But I heard that you know some crackheads who would do anything for a blowjob, Demi’s voice joins my mother’s.
A loud bang. Several people in the crowd jump as the stage falls into partial darkness. Some part of me is aware that the darkness is because the video is no longer playing. I still continue to stare at everyone in front of me. At best, all of these people hate me. At worst, they think so little of me, it doesn’t occur to them to feel anything towards me except disgust.
Eric, sitting in the front row, switches his focus from the screen to me. His hand rubs his groin.
If you fuck as bad as you dance, I understand why you’d stick to sucking dick, his voice echoes with the others.
Grayson runs out of the projection booth. Betrayal stomps down inside me, matching his rushed stride.
I can’t stop hurting you.
Well, he wasn’t lying that time.
Slut. Bitch. Whore. Cocksucker. Gold digger. Fucking idiot.
Grayson bounds onto the stage. He grabs my arm, pulling me towards the backstage. I barely register it’s him until Damian appears on my other side.
“Let go of her,” Damian snarls, grasping my arm and Grayson’s wrist. He tries to pull Grayson off of me, but it only stretches my skin.
“Fuck off, White, or find out what happens to pretentious shits who get in my way,” Grayson says, stepping up to him, but keeping his hand on my arm. “This isn’t the time for you to be playing savior.”
Damian’s grip on me tightens, but he doesn’t back down. Eric and a few other boys I’ve seen around Grayson walk onto the stage behind Grayson.
“Would you like to modify that statement?” Damian asks.
Four boys walk up behind Damian. One of them is his buddy from back home, but I don’t recognize the other three. “I know how much value the Voss family puts on their reputation. I wouldn’t want to publish anything that desecrates the throne.”
As my thoughts slip back into my body, Grayson releases my arm. The sudden loss of pressure almost makes me wish I’d stayed detached, but I’m trapped inside my own skin again.
“Just get her out of here,” Grayson says, bitterness coating his tongue. “From what I’ve heard, your family loves to turn tail and run.”
Damian’s grip on my arm tightens to the point of sharp pain. His nostrils flare as red blotches rise under his skin.
He swings. His fist scrapes against Grayson’s jaw as Grayson dodges backward. Grayson swings back, his fist hitting Damian in the face. As Damian lurches backward, covering his face, one of his buddies grabs him while the other three rush forward. Grayson, Eric, and his three lackeys step up, their fists raising in preparation.
As the audience starts chanting for a fight, the boys hurl themselves at each other.
At my old school, it wasn’t unusual to see a fight break out. It could be as trivial as Idiot #1 seeing that Idiot #2 got the same chocolate bar from the vending machine that they got.
This isn’t like those fights.
Damian and his comrades fight like they’re injured animals backed into a corner. Their moves are frantic and uninhibited. Every punch is thrown like it’s their last one. They don’t fight. They brawl.
With Grayson’s flunkies, their fists swing like pendulums, methodical but uncompromising. They dodge some of the punches, moving like experienced boxers, and striking back with precision. They don’t land as many hits, but when they do, it slams into their target with brutal force.
Grayson’s fighting style somewhere in between. He’s agile for his size, evading some of Damian’s shots, but as soon as he lands a hit, anything restraining him snaps.
He uppercuts Damian. As Damian’s head snaps back, Grayson closes the distance between them. His fists slam down, frenzied and effortless.
I try to reach him, to touch him, to urge him to stop, but I can’t get close with all of the other boys fighting. As I lurch forward again, trying to get closer, someone grabs my arm and yanks it back. I swing around, ready to fight, but Jay grabs both of my arms. We stare at each other, condiments from my paint jars seeping under our feet.
“We need to get out of here,” he urges.
I look over my shoulder. The audience is still watching us, some of them crowding closer to the stage to witness the spectacle. He releases one of my arms but pulls me toward the east stairs that lead off the stage.
Eric steps in front of us. His upper lip is swollen and blood coats his teeth, but he’s still smiling.
“Where do you think you’re going, Winters?” he asks. His fists are clenched, his knuckles bright red and raw. “Should have known you’d buddy up to Damian. He’s a pansy bitch just like you.”
Jay drops his hand from my arm, but he doesn’t retreat.
“Jay, forget him,” I urge. “Let’s go.”
Eric lunges forward. I grab onto Eric’s arm, but he pulls it out of my grasp, swinging it hard enough into Jay’s gut to send Jay keeling over. Eric doesn’t hesitate. His fists fling forward, missiles exploding on their target over and over. Jay falls, covering his face with his arms, but it’s not a deterrent to Eric.
I reach for Eric’s arms again, but he shakes me off. I lock my arms around his neck, trying to choke him out. Someone seizes me by the hair, hauling me backwards. I spin around, hitting my attacker in the jaw. He reels back. It’s one of Grayson’s other buddies.
Grayson charges at the guy, grabbing him by the shirt and shoving him back. He turns to me. His face is tight with stress, specks of blood covering it like large freckles. His eyes remind me of deadly rip currents, swirling with color.
The school’s security team storms the stage, their commands barely audible over the fighting. They wrench people apart, separating all of us. I try to get back to Jay, but one of the officers stops me, shoving me back. I duck my head down to get a glimpse of the center of the chaos.
Two officers heave Eric off of Jay.<
br />
Jay, blood staining his face, doesn’t move.
18
Grayson
It's late, nearly ten, but the three of us, me, Cin, and Eric, are sitting in Walsh's office. The aftermath of the fight and dead talent show was a clusterfuck. The ambulance showed up to take Jay away. Then, the police dispatched an officer to take statements. Of course, a bunch of lawyers showed up before that could happen.
We all kept quiet. We weren't stupid. Even Cin kept her mouth shut for once while one of Dad's lawyers stonewalled the police officer trying to take statements. Everyone got the message, at least for now, to keep their mouth shut.
I'm surprised, maybe even worried, that the police bothered to send someone over. Usually, this type of thing would be hushed up and dealt with quietly. Dad was too busy to do anything but send a legal team. I'll deal with him later. For now, we have to deal with Walsh. The principal.
It's a joke. I don't even know why we're here, but Jared from Dad's legal team insisted that I placate Walsh. He had insisted on being present in the office, too, but Walsh, fucking Walsh of all people, chased away all the lawyers.
So, after nearly three hours of bullshit, we're sitting on the folding metal chairs on the side of Walsh's office. He scowls at us from behind his large, boxy steel desk.
"Do you have any idea the magnitude of the mess you've caused?" Walsh glares at all of us, making it clear that we three share the blame.
I'm still not quite sure why I'm here. "We don't have to listen to this," I tell Eric.
Eric shakes his head. "Yeah. Fuck you, Walsh."
I give Eric a small smile. I had thought he might have been drifting, that Damian might have bought him off, but he had my back just now. He made it clear which side he was on.
I stand up, ready to leave. "Let's go." I beckon to the others, including Cin, who's staring at me icily, like I'm the one behind the mess.
"No, Grayson, you don't understand," Walsh says. "I have an agreement with your father. We're dealing with this. My way. Now."
The hell? I stare at Walsh in confusion. We practically own this school. Who the fuck does he think he is? And what agreement with Dad is he talking about?
I walk up to Walsh's desk, lean over it, staring at him. "What're you talking about?"
Walsh leans away from me and blinks. "Listen, Grayson, things are changing."
"The fuck is changing?" I slam my fist on his desk.
Walsh leaps backwards, pulling out his phone as if he's going to call nine-one-one or something. I just stare at him, confused as hell. This isn't the principal I knew. He always acted tough in front of the others, but for us at the top, he's a nobody. When did he pretend to grow half a spine?
"Grayson." Cin calls my name softly. "Stop being an ass. Just sit. Please."
I look back at Cin. Her eyes are tear-stained. She looks exhausted.
"Fine," I mutter. I return to my seat and motion for Eric to do the same.
"Bullshit," Eric says, but he sits down beside me.
Walsh hesitates, then returns to his desk as before. "As I was saying, things are different." He smiles, but it's an ugly thing. "Because of your antics, we didn't even finish the first act. You know, there were a lot of families in attendance."
Walsh looks into my eyes, then Eric's. "Important families," he says. "And most of them—all of them—are rather upset at how things turned out."
I don't believe it at first. All the little shits are cowards. They wouldn't have the nerve to turn on us, not overtly, anyways. But I see Walsh in front of me right now, and he's a changed man. Not in a good way.
Is this Damian's doing? Or the result of the constant bullshit that Writing on the Wall's been pouring out? Dad doesn't tell me all the details, but I know that his company's suffered attacks as well. If he's been steadily losing support in the business sector, it'd be no surprised that the same disrespect would leak over into the school.
"Just hurry up, Walsh," I say. "Get this shit over with."
Walsh folds his hands on top his desk. "Gladly. Listen, Grayson. Eric." He bluntly ignores looking at Cin. "We just have to make it look like we're dealing with you appropriately. Pacify the upset parents. You know how it is?"
"Whatever."
I look over to Cin, but she's all closed up, her arms wrapped around her. I want to reach out and hold her tightly, but I know that look on her face. She'd probably just push me away.
Walsh sees me looking at Cin. "First, Cinnamon," he says. "As the one responsible for triggering the entire fiasco—"
"She didn't do anything," I say.
Eric laughs. "Yeah, even I know that."
Walsh frowns. "Cinnamon's video was rather inappropriate, don't you think?"
I can't tell if he's joking or if he's that stupid. "Yeah," I say. "That's the whole reason she was pissed."
"That's not what we believe," Walsh says.
I have no idea who this we is, but I just stare at the principal as he continues.
"Clearly, Miss Reeves sought to draw attention by playing her inappropriate video—"
"Cin," I say, ignoring Walsh. "Do you hear that shit? They think you did this on purpose." I laugh. "A fucking joke."
Cin just looks ahead blankly, not responding.
"Cin?" I ask. "Cin, say something."
She shrugs. "It doesn't matter what I say."
I stand up again, but Cin reaches up to pull on my right arm. She looks at me with sad eyes and shakes her head. I want to pound some sense into Walsh, but...I don't want to drag this out. Not when she's like this. Eric silently watches.
I sit back down. "You think Cin would humiliate herself on purpose?" I ask Walsh.
"We do," Walsh says.
"That's bullshit, and you know it."
"Listen, Grayson, I know that you might not be seeing things clearly, but Miss Reeves has a rather different background from the other girls—"
I stand, grab my metal chair, and hurl it at Walsh. He's surprisingly spry for a fifty-something. He dodges the chair, which crashes into the window behind him. I don't think the window breaks, despite the loud noise.
"Damn!" Eric makes an appreciative whistling sound.
Cin's going to say something, but I hold up my hand. "Just that once. No more. I promise."
I think I see a smirk on her face, but she lowers her head, hiding her face under her hair. I remain standing.
"Go on, Walsh," I say.
Now that things have calmed down, Walsh's face turns red. "You, Grayson, and your reckless temper, are a danger to this school. You know we have a zero-tolerance policy for violence? Yet, you're the one that instigated this mess. Not to mention breaking an expensive piece of school equipment."
I stare blankly at him for a second.
Eric chimes in. "The project, man. Remember?" He chuckles. “You threw that, too.”
"You wouldn't dare touch us," I say to Walsh. All his talk of zero-tolerance is a bluff. It has to be. Hell, he'd have to throw out half the school if that were true.
Walsh ignores me and turns to Eric. "As for you, Eric. You, unfortunately, are responsible for putting another student in the hospital. Ordinarily, that would be a matter between your family's lawyers, but seeing as that happened on school grounds, I'm forced to be involved as well."
"Yeah, come and bring it, fucker," Eric snarls.
Walsh just shakes his head. "There's no special treatment here. Everyone involved in the fight is going to receive a week of suspension."
I knew it. He was bluffing. The suspensions are bullshit, kindergarten punishments. Covering his ass, or making a deal with the parents. Hell, he could be sued for harboring a violent school environment.
"Miss Reeves will have in-school suspension due to her family’s home situation," Walsh says.
Because she lives in a dump, in other words.
He gives her a fake smile. "We're an understanding lot. You'll be assigned to one week of janitorial duties at the arts and fitness buildings as part o
f your volunteer service during the course of your suspension."
Despite the situation, I give Cin a small grin. "You're cleaning the gym, Cin. Looking forward to seeing you there."
"Oh, you will," Walsh says. "Grayson, you'll be receiving the same punishment. One-week of in-school suspension and assignment to janitorial service. Due to your unique family home situation as well, of course."
Which means that he doesn't dare do anything worse to me. It's ridiculous. Him handing out these stupid, made-up punishments, but I decide to keep my mouth shut so that we can all get the hell out of here.
"And as for you, Eric," Walsh says.
Eric's eyes light up eagerly, like he's looking forward to the punishment. "Gym cleaning duty with them?" he asks with a wide grin.
"Two weeks of suspension," Walsh says.
"What?" Eric roars. "Bullshit! One week for everyone else. Light gym duty for those two. And you give me two weeks?"
"The fuck is this, Walsh?" I ask.
"You put Jay Winters in the hospital," Walsh says. "Be grateful we don't cut all ties with you. If not for your parents—"
Eric looks to me, his face twisted in anger. "The fuck?"
"Don't be a prick, Walsh," I say.
"Look, as of this moment, all of you are walking a fine line," Walsh says. "Yes, even you, Grayson. This is a slap on the wrist for your sakes. Don't make it any worse than it already is."
"Bullshit!" Eric says again, standing up and kicking Walsh's metal desk hard enough to leave a dent on the front. "Just because Jay is a pansy-assed lightweight? The fuck is it my fault that skinny bitch breaks so easily?"
"Eric!" Walsh shouts.
Eric flicks him off and storms out of his office. I glance from Eric to Cin. She's still quiet, hardly reacting to what's going on around her.
"I suppose you two can leave, then," Walsh says.
I hold out a hand to Cin. "Come on. Let's get out of here."
