by Olivia Grey
Jemma
There was something up with Frances. Monday mornings, like every other morning in school, she’d meet me at the entrance to the girl’s locker room. Imagine my surprise when I get there five minutes late, only to find that Frances was even later. I waited impatiently, trying to figure out how the hell to deal with this. Frances was fragile, push too hard and she’d certainly break. Being used to an incognito life meant that she wouldn’t be afraid to crawl back into her hole of solitude. I didn’t want that. I needed Frances around. But I also needed her obedience.
The first bell sounded and still no Frances. The second bell sounded. Still no Frances. I balled my hand into a fist and let out a bit of frustration on the locker closest to me. And that’s when it hit me. Everything Frances did was calculated- not by her, but by someone else. I was the idiot who’d allowed her to drive home with Axel. Why the hell did I think anything good could come of it? All of a sudden, he’d taken interest in that gang of nerds and couldn’t shut up about how I was taking advantage of Frances. Like she wasn’t benefiting from every goddamn thing I was doing. Frances loved the limelight. But of course, Axel didn’t see it that way. I guess in another life, he’d have fit right in with them. But not in this life. In this life, he was mine.
I marched past the biology room where I should have been seated amongst the rest of my classmates. There were a few students standing around. The closer I drew to them, the more they withered deeper into their insecurities- shoulders slumped, head down, conversations halted. Just how I liked it. I gave them a once over, then rolled my eyes and continued up the hallway to Mr. Mark’s Math class.
I peeped through the glass. There he was, sitting with his hands folded in front of him and his head pointed to Mr. Marks. I shoved the door open. The handle slammed against the wall and everyone jumped as though a bomb had just gone off.
“Jemma Meyers.” Mr. Marks looked at me wide-eyed.
I waved my hand in the air, dismissing the words he hadn’t yet spoken. “I’m taking Axel and yes, I’ll return him in a minute or two.” I threw him one of my trademark smiles. “Promise,” I said, throwing the word over my shoulder.
I took Axel by the wrist, pulled him out of the chair and marched him into the hallway.
He pulled the classroom door shut behind us before pulling his wrist from my grasp.
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
“What the hell did you say to Frances,” I barked.
“I haven’t even see, Frances today.”
“Not today, Axel,” I got right into his face. So close that each breath he took was one I’d taken a second before. “When you took her home, you said something to her. Now, I’m only going to ask you one more time. What. Did. You. Say. To. Frances?”
“Oh Jemma,” he jeered, “Maybe you need to remember that I’m not on the same leash of fear that you have strangling Frances. Now, get the fuck out of my face.”
He brushed his long curly locks back and sneered at me.
“Let me remind you, Axel, that scholarship you’re banking on in order to pay your way through college, I can have it vanish…just…like…that.”
“And let me remind you, Jemma, that secret you’re hiding from the world, I can have it revealed just…like…that.’
“Fuck you,” I barked, yanking my hand away from him.
I would ruin the bastard. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But I would ruin him.
7
Frances
After what happened with Axel on Friday night, I just couldn’t bear the thought of looking Jemma in the face. Pretending to myself that nothing had happened was already hard enough. I got panic attacks when I thought about Axel. But when I added Jemma to the equation, those panic attacks turned into something a lot more intense; a lot more terrifying. I’d stood in front of the mirror for an hour before I went to school, practicing what I would say and how I would say it. But even in the safety of my own home, I saw Jemma reading right through my words and I saw everything… absolutely everything going up in flames.
Rather than heading to the girl’s locker room, like I did every morning since Jemma and I had become friends, I stayed in my car- windows up and seat reclined. I’d seen Jemma roll up in her BMW, top down and music booming. I thought about just confessing to her and running back to my car before she could rip my head from my body. It was a stupid idea, but perhaps the safest one. There was no way I would have been able to keep this fucking beast of a secret from her. She could read me like a damn pop-up book. And like Axel said, she’d eat me alive in a heartbeat.
My heart shuddered with each minute that went by. I- Frances Hilltower- was making Jemma wait. No, I wasn’t just making her wait, I was standing her up. I couldn’t tell what was worse, smooching her boyfriend or not showing up at all. But even if I had wanted to, my feet wouldn’t have allowed it.
I’d given Jemma about twenty minutes to get to class before I thought about entering the building. There was a chance that she’d be doing some walking around and searching for me. So, I waited until long after the second bell. Just as I was about to push through the front door, there she was. A perfectly manicured finger shaking in Axel’s face and looking just as ticked off as I imagined she’d look when talking to me. Axel was different with Jemma, though. He didn’t shrivel up into a ball of nothingness when she unleashed her anger on him. Instead, he handled her with a toughness that no one else dared to try. And when he reached out, grabbed her and pulled her into him, my heart stopped. Never, had I seen Jemma so vulnerable. It made me think back to my conversation with Axel and how he claimed to have ‘dirt’ on Jemma. Whatever it was, it definitely was big enough for Jemma to have been at least slightly humbled by him. She looked decidedly upset when she stormed away from Axel. And though she might have had the last word- what looked like a harsh ‘fuck you’- Axel was the one to leave the more lasting burn.
I could have faced her then. If I wasn’t me, but someone else, I could have strapped on a pair of balls, swallowed a pound of bravery and walked right up to her. But not like that. Her nostrils flared as she charged through the hall and she did this clenching thing with her hand like it hurt not to hit something. She often did that, hit things. Lockers, tables… people. I ducked my head below the glass section of the door and waited for Jemma to take the left turn to her first period, Biology. I could hear her heels trip tapping faster and harder and then, finally, they stopped. But the pounding in my chest had already turned into an agonizing thump. The air in my lungs expanded, threatening to choke humiliation, dread and terror into me.
“Jemma,” I gulped, looking up, but not making a move to raise myself from the ground.
She was so tall, so gigantic. It would take a lot for her to bend over and fight me, wouldn’t it? I already knew that I looked like a dumbass. Squatting behind the now closed door, staring up at Jemma, unable to think of an appropriate move to make. Rather than saying something, Jemma too, seemed at a loss for words. But, of course, she wasn’t the one who looked like a dog trying to take a leak. No… that was me.
“You just got in or you hiding from me?” Jemma grunted, thrusting a hand in my direction.
Hesitantly, I took it, pulling myself up without the need for her strength. “Um… I… uh…”
“You’re hiding.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m not having a very good morning Frances, so I suggest you cut the bullshit and tell me what the fuck is going on. What did Axel say to you?”
I shook my head. “Nothing…”
The words just wouldn’t come. Or maybe it was the thoughts. First we’ve got to think and then speak, right? That’s the way it works. Except I couldn’t determine whether or not conjuring up some implausible lie would be better than just laying it all out on the table. If Jemma did choose to embarrass the ever living fuck out of me, at least there’d be no one around to watch her.
“Frances,” she snapped her fingers at me. “Answer me.”
“Axel didn’t say anyt
hing to me.”
“What did Axel say to you,” upping her voice an octave.
“Jemma, he really didn’t say anything.” I was going to hell on the fast train.
“Then tell me,” Jemma said, inspecting her nails. The motion was a practiced one, as were many things when it came to Jemma, “why did you leave me waiting, why are you hiding, and, most importantly, why the hell is Axel acting just as sketch as you are?”
Her focus left her nails and redirected to me, handing over the baton of speech. I didn’t want it.
“I don’t have all day, Frances.”
“Okay,” I said, looking behind me and halfway planning my escape. I could run. Not fast. But I could run. Her heels were high and my sneakers were fit for jogging. One breath. Two breaths. Three breaths. “I kissed Axel,” I finally blurted out.
Jemma chuckled, not a forced chuckle, but a real one. It was one of the few ‘real’ moments Jemma had. Like I said, her reactions to a lot of things were practiced. Then, she was full on laughing, covering her mouth, holding her stomach, laughing harder than I’d ever heard her laugh. I watched, wide-eyed as she found humor in something that I, by no means, found comical. But of course, being Jemma meant that she could change her mind within the blink of an eye and so, before the undoubtable terror threatened to reign over me, I apologized.
“I’m so sorry Jemma.” I said it simple as that. If she needed more, she’d get more. But for right now, I felt like I was walking between needles. One wrong move and I was done for.
Jemma raised her hand and placed it delicately on my shoulder, sucked up the remaining laughter and said, “you’re getting your panties in a bunch before they’re even bunched up. A fucking kiss is not something to call home about, Frances.”
Still, I waited for the anger. There was no doubt in my mind that it would come. I just needed to make sure I was solid enough to take it.
8
Jemma
There I was, that Frances actually had a reason to avoid me. God knows, if Axel had opened his stupid mouth, I’d have rammed my foot right inside of it. I had a lot to lose in this race called life. Some people think that what happens in high school doesn’t matter. Sort of like the whole ‘if you fuck a duck in Vegas, the damn duck needs to stay in Vegas’ philosophy. Bullshit. Complete and utter bullshit. Who you were in high school would dictate who you’d be in the future. You don’t just go from zero to everything the minute the real world takes you under her wing. So, yeah, I needed to keep Axel silent. Better yet, Axel needed to remember that he needed to keep himself silent.
And so what if Frances sucked face with him. A peck on the lips was nothing in comparison for what Frances had ahead of her. But while she was constricted with guilt, I felt like it was the perfect opportunity to get back to that one favor I’d asked of her. Surely, there’d be no saying ‘no’- not when she thought she owed me.
“So,” I squeezed my hand into her shoulder, “are you ready for Saturday?”
She stretched her lips into a smile, “I still haven’t decided yet, to be honest.”
“Seriously,” I shook my head. “Obviously you’ve got the hots for Axel or you wouldn’t have been smooching all over him the way you did.”
“No,” she replied shakily, “I don’t. I mean, I didn’t initiate anything. It just kinda happened. Axel kissed me. I promise you though, Jemma, I pushed him away. As soon as he kissed me, I pushed him away.”
“Ah, Frances, look at you, getting all red in the face. Do you really expect me to believe that he was the one to make the first move?”
“He did,” Frances replied. “I swear…” Ugh. Pathetic as a peach, honestly.
“Women are the ones who set the pace. Even if Axel was the one to you know, execute the action? You started it.”
“I didn’t start anything,” Frances’ eyes glossed over, like she was getting ready to cry.
Guilt was a powerful thing; a thing that the strong used to their advantage; a thing that the weak felt and the strong fed off of.
“So,” I went back to my original interest, “you’re ready for Saturday.”
“Yes,” Frances replied, her voice not much more than a whisper.
That was all I needed. A ‘yes’ was worlds better than an ‘I’ll think about it,’ or a ‘maybe’- and Frances said yes. ‘Yes’ wasn’t an answer that I’d allow Frances to back down from, not that I’d permit her to leave me hanging. I was going to get what I wanted.
I flashed a weak looking Frances a smile, pushed the front door open and headed to class.
“Look what the cat dragged in,” Mr. Jones paused his lecture to address me.
I ignored him, pushed my chair back and attempted to get comfortable. There were only fifteen minutes left in first period and I found myself wondering why I didn’t just skip it all-together.
“What’s your excuse this time?” Mr. Jones continued.
I should have known better than to think he’d drop it. If there was one person in the world who loved my attention more than his occupation, it would be this over-sized, undereducated Biology degree holder.
“I dunno,” I smirked, “you’re the one who has a degree in Biology. Tell me, what could cause me to show up to class late, grumpy and one hundred percent uncomfortable?”
“You seem to have your ‘time of the month’ at least three times a month,” he shot back. Were teacher supposed to do this shit. What ever happened to sending the rebel to the Principal’s office and moving on with life.
“Which would mean I need to see a doctor,” I answered without a hitch “you should feel like an ass for making fun of someone’s ailments.”
“That’s not appropriate language for my class, Jemma,” he said, his lip twitching like he was about to lose his place. ‘”It’s almost as inappropriate as that skirt you have riding up your…”
“Excuse me,” I sneered at him, “if I wasn’t mistaken I’d think you’re hitting on me. Now, who’s the one to talk about inappropriate?”
The entire classroom filled with stifled snickering and students who couldn’t bear to look at either Mr. Jones or me. But being the ‘shit-starter’ that I was, and hating the fact that Mr. Jones thought he had the right to try to embarrass me, I decided to give him a fight that would teach him that he ought to learn to keep his mouth shut more often than he has it open.
“Lola, that’s your name right?” I pointed to the girl beside me.
I’d never spoken to her before, and one might think that would be enough of a reason for her to not have my back. However, when it came to high school, it was better to be on my best side than the teachers’.
“Erica,” the girl replied, adjusting her glasses on her broad nose.
“Tell me Erica, do you think Mr. Jones should be commenting on my skirt? Or would you agree that a teacher who’s analyzing what a student wears is… you know… a bit inappropriate.”
Erica looked to a now embarrassed Mr. Jones and then to me. “No, I don’t think it’s particularly appropriate,” she whispered.
“See, Mr. Jones. The other students in this class think what you’re doing could be considered sexual harassment.”
“Sexual harassment,” he huffed. “Now Jemma, I know that you get your way with half the population of this school, but don’t try me. I’m really not the type to fall for the little conniving games you play. Your skirt is too short and that’s a fact that I’ll take up with your guidance counselor. There are rules in this school. Rules that even you have to abide by.”
Gosh, he was irritating. One of those self-righteous bastards who think teachers actually have some kind of authority. “You do that.” I rolled my eyes. “Go to the guidance counselor and tell her that I need to wear different clothes because my skirt makes you think naughty things.”
Anger. The sweet taste of anger. I waited and waited, daring him to say something that I could latch on to. “Get out of my class, Jemma.” Boring.
“You know, that’s a really good ide
a. I think I should be the one to go to the guidance counselor. I’m sure she’d love to relay the information to the Dean about how much of a wonderful teacher you are.”
He was getting madder by the minute. “Jemma, you are completely out of line.”
“Mr. Jones, if you can’t handle the heat,” I pointed to Erica.
She glanced at me, red as all hell in the face. “then get out of the kitchen?”
“Exactly,” I clapped my hands together. “You hear that Mr. Jones? Erica says you need to get the hell out the kitchen.”
“Saved by the bell,” someone sitting behind me cheered as the ringing toned throughout the classroom.
“I need to speak with you,” Mr. Jones said over the chattering.
I raised myself out of my chair and walked up to him. A couple students glanced behind them, smiling cheekily but too afraid to comment.
“Don’t worry, I won’t report you,” I said, hopping on his desk and parting my legs wide enough for him to catch a glimpse of my underwear.
He shook his head and cleared his throat. “Whatever it is you’re going through, talk to someone about it.”
“So you do want me to tell?” I chuckled.
Another headshake. Mr. Bobblehead was getting impatient. “Jemma, people like you… kids like you, who rebel the way you do…”
“There aren’t many kids like me, Mr. Jones,” I said, trailing my fingers across his chest.
He pushed my hand away. Hard. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about Jemma. Talk to someone. You’re graduating next year and this behavior won’t fly in the real world.” So much talk about the real world. What the hell did he know about maneuvering it? By the looks of his cheap cardigan and worn out messenger bag, I’d say the real world chewed the hell out of him before spitting him onto the pavement of our fucked up little high school.
“Maybe we can have this conversation when you’ve paid off your student loans because now, you’re not exactly in the position to give life advice.” I allowed my skirt to ride up my thigh as I slid off his desk.
