Authors: Quinn Loftis,M Bagley Designs
Why do I want to keep a low profile? It’s pretty simple. I don’t have much time for a social life and I definitely don’t have time to listen to people’s judgment on my mother being in a psych facility. I don’t have much patience with people who stereotype on a good day, but when it comes to my mom, my patience is non-existent.
I finally find my classroom and open the door. I walk in and of course, all eyes turn to me. The teacher, a portly man with glasses barely holding on to the tip of his nose, looks over them at me.
“You must be the new student.”
I nod, “I must.” I can tell I’m going to like this guy because he doesn’t take offense to my curt attitude.
“I’m Mr. Styles, of which I have none.” The class chuckles collectively, “Have a seat and enjoy my ability to make calculus the most riveting subject you’ve ever taken.”
My lips quirk in a slight smile. Yeah, definitely going to like him. I look out into the class and find an empty seat towards the back. As soon as I sit down, I see my mistake. The girl in front of me turns in her seat and smiles. She’s your typical, blonde cheerleader type. Based on her smile and the flirtatious gleam in her eyes, she likes new shiny things.
“Hi, I’m Amber.”
She looks at me eagerly and I’m not sure what she expects of me. “I’m Trey.” I tell her and then look right past her to Mr. Styles and his riveting teaching. I see her frown out of the corner of my eye, but she turns back around. I feel eyes on me and turn my head to the right. A guy, who looks to be the closest I’ve seen to my size, gives me a nod, and then looks at Amber and rolls his eyes. I let out a huff of laughter to see that this guy must have been at the receiving end of her wiles at some point. I return the nod and we both look back to the front. Just like that, I know I have at least one ally.
Class passes quickly and with Mr. Styles
’ quick wit and, albeit, ridiculous jokes, it’s not too miserable. As soon as I stand up, the guy from earlier walks over and holds his hand out. I was right about the size. He’s only an inch or two shorter.
“Hey, man, I’m Bobby.” The first thing I notice about Bobby is he doesn’t stare at me like I’m some anomaly or even look at me like I’m any different, though I stand out like an orange among apples.
“Trey,” I tell him as I shake his hand.
He nods over to Amber who is steadily talking to a group of girls. A guy walks in and puts an arm around her. She looks up at him, her eyes vacant of the same adoration, but more like she’s telling him that it took him long enough. She glances back over her shoulder at me and gives me another grin.
“Oh, man, you’re on her radar.” Bobby chuckles as we release hands.
I look back at him, “Let me guess, she’s trouble.”
He nods, “Of the worst kind.”
“No offense, but you look like the type to be with
her
type,” I frown inwardly as I realize I’ve done exactly what I hate. I’ve stereotyped based on what Bobby looks like.
He takes it good-naturedly as he laughs, “I’ve known Amber all of my life and that means I know way too much about her to ever go shaking that peach tree.”
I can’t help but smile. I like Bobby already.
“I’ve got lunch next, what about you?” he asks.
I take my schedule out of my back pocket. “Yeah, I’ve got lunch.”
“Come on, then. I’ll maneuver you through the waters and try to keep you from the piranhas.”
As we’re walking down the halls, I hear a commotion over by the lockers where the couple had been earlier. I notice a crowd has gathered around one locker in particular.
“What’s going on over there?”
Bobby frowns and his eyes narrow, “Assholes doing what they do best, being assholes.”
“That’s pretty obvious by the obnoxious laughter, but what’s so funny?”
“I don’t like to tell other people’s business. Let’s just say that something happened last year and the person it happened to is going to relive it the rest of the year, if it’s up to that bunch.” I can tell that whatever it is, it really bothers him.
“That sucks,” I murmur.
I’m not sure, but as we walk into the crowded cafeteria I think I hear Bobby say, “Especially for someone like her.”
Whoever it is he’s talking about, I already feel sorry for her and I don’t even know her.
“Have you ever been hit so hard that the wind gets knocked out of you? The more you gasp and gasp, the harder it is to get air in, and there is that moment of panic when you really don’t think you will ever breathe again. That feeling sucks. It sucks even worse when it happens and it isn’t because you’ve been hit, at least not physically.” ~Tally
“So far, so good,” I tell Nat as we head towards my locker. Half the day is over and I haven’t heard anything about a hot, tall, yummy, new guy. Yes, that would be my description if I saw him, but I’m pretty sure anyone with a uterus would feel that way, and probably several people without a uterus. And yes, I did just think that.
“It’s not good,” she grumbles.
“Don’t be cranky just because your dream to save me by pushing me into the arms of―,” my words trail off as we come around the corner and my locker comes into view.
“Those pieces of shi-,”
I reach out and grab her arm as I feel my legs start to give. I’m sucking in air, but nothing seems to be getting into my lungs.
“Oh crap, Tally,” she grabs me and helps me stay on my feet.
“Thanks,” I mumble as I stare at the mess that is my locker. As we walk closer, I see that razor blades have been glued to it and something red has been painted on them. A name plate has been made and is stuck to the center that says, “RIP, T.B. when she finally does the job right.” That’s not the worst part. The absolute worst part is a picture of me on the bathroom floor, blood all around me, and the look on my face is that of a dead girl.
“What the hell is wrong with people?” Nat is cussing a blue streak and attempting to pull off the picture and name plate, but they aren’t budging. I just stand there staring, in shock. I knew that there would b
e talk, stares, the usual high school crap, but this―this I did not expect.
“I can’t do this today, Nat,” I tell her as I begin to back away.
“Don’t leave Tally. If you do, then they win.”
I shake my head, “Then today they win because I don’t have the ene
rgy to deal with this.”
She grabs my arm and turns me towards the office, away from the noise of the cafeteria.
“Okay, today you go home, you collect yourself. Think of ways to get even with those sacks of swine. Then tomorrow you walk in here with your chin held high.”
I look at her and try to smile, “You’re kind of the best, you know.”
She grins, “Of course I know.”
“Don’t be humble or anything, Nat.” I roll my eyes.
“Don’t worry. There is no risk of that.”
We walk into the office and Ms. French and her too tight clothes
are sitting behind the counter. She looks up and when she notices that we don’t have more testosterone running through our bodies than estrogen, she looks back down. Nat can’t stand her and doesn’t hide it. Then again, I can’t stand her either. Usually I try to be respectful, but that’s on a day when my locker has been turned into a sick memorial.
“Hi, Ms. French,” I say, and she doesn’t bother to look up, “my locker needs to be cleaned and I need to go home.” She still doesn’t acknowledge me. I feel Natalie getting restless next to me. But I’m not going to let her fight all my battles. That won’t help me get stronger.
I step forward and slam my hand down on the counter and for a minute, my mind flashes back to the day I caught Sheila stealing Xanax and yelled at her. Man, those were good times.
“HEY! I’m talking to you. I realize that because I don’t have the right body parts you think you can ignore me. But if you would stop sniffing nail polish, or guys for that matter, long enough to do your job, we would get along a whole lot better.” I have her attention now. I paste a smile on my face as she stares at me in shock. “Now, I said that I need my locker cleaned off. And I’m going home. Did you get that or do you need to write it down?”
“I got it,” she snaps.
“Good, I’m Tally Baker if you need to know whose locker,”
“Oh, I know who
you
are.” She sneers at me.
I smile and I know it must be one of those wild-eyed smiles because she pushes back from the counter in her chair. “Excellent. Then we won’t have to have another one of these little talks.”
I turn and walk out of the office and my chin is a tad higher. Am I still going home? Heck, yeah, but at least I didn’t totally cower in a corner.
“That was awesome!” Nat grins.
“I learned a few things at MPF.” I tell her just a little smugly.
“You going to be okay?”
We step through the front doors of the school and squint at the midday sun.
“I will be, right now I’m a lot of things other than okay. But I will be. I’m going to head over to see Candy. I don’t feel like going home to an empty house.”
She nods, “I’ll make sure your locker gets taken care of.”
“Could you maybe get my books out of there?”
She tilts her head to the side and raises a brow at me, “Like you have to ask.”
“Thanks, Nat.”
“Text me later,” she yells after me as I descend the stairs and head towards my car.
As soon as the door is closed behind me, I take a deep breath and fight off the tears. I refuse to let anyone make me feel worthless. I was good enough at doing that myself.
“Get a grip, Tal,” I tell myself. I even tell myself to go back in the school and finish the day, which makes me laugh. “Why would I go back in there when I can go see Candy? Good point.” I answer myself. I groan as I start up the car. There I go talking to myself again and it’s getting worse if I’m actually having a full conversation with myself. It could be worse, I think. I could be talking to voices that weren’t my own.
~
“You just couldn’t stay away, could you?” Candy smiles at me as I walk into the
rec room of MPF.
“Nope I was having withdrawals from your constant abuse.”
“That’s good because these nut jobs around here don’t understand that they are supposed to do whatever I tell them.” She stands up from the table where she was playing cards―with no one.
“How dare they?” I smile. I take a deep breath and let it out. Candy watches me closely and I see the moment that she knows something isn’t right.
“This is one of those moments where I need to ask who I need to kill, isn’t it?” She walks over to me and motions for me to follow her. We walk to the back door and slip out to sit on the bench. My stomach aches and I feel a burn in my chest as I think about the last time I sat on this bench and who I sat with.
“Go on and tell me. You will feel better. And if you don’t, we’ll do whatever we need to do to get there.”
My eyes swell up with tears because the one person who truly understands me is a sixty year old woman in a psych hospital and I would rather be with her than anyone else. At least that’s what I tell myself.
I tell her what happened and she sits and listens intently. I even tell her about Ms. French. That gets a good cackle out of her.
“So you’re telling me that these kids, who are obviously taking up precious oxygen from the rest of us, have nothing better to do than try and make you feel like a whacko?” She narrows her eyes at me, “And when I say ‘try’ it’s because only you have the power to let what they do drag you down. Is it going to hurt, well, hell yes, but what you do with it from there is totally up to you.”
“I know,” I lean forward placing my elbows on my knees and rub my face with my hands. “It’s just so irritating because it’s like they think they have to point it out to me, like I don’t know. Hello, I’m the one who spent the summer here and not on some damn vacation.”
“Oh, come on, you know this was way better than any vacation you have ever been on,” she nudges me with her bony shoulder. I look at her, then really look at her, and notice that just in the week and a half that I’ve been gone, she’s lost weight.
“Candy, are you okay?”
“Uh uh, don’t you try and deflect onto me. I’m fine, and we’re talking about you.” She looks away from me and though I notice that she has some fresh scratches on her arms, I don’t bring it up.
We sit in silence, but I know it won’t last long. Candy can’t stand to be still or silent for more than a minute or two.
“You up for a game?” she asks me with mischief dancing across her face.
“Are we going to be vandalizing, jumping into ponds, or making prank calls?”
She looks appalled, but I know it’s not real. “Good grief, Pinky, if that is your idea of a game, I think they let you out a little too early.”
I laugh, “Right.”
“I was just talking about a little game of poke'em.”
“Don’t you mean poker?”
She purses her lips, “No, I mean poke'em, as in poke’em with a fork.”