I’m shaking, but I don’t say anything to her, not right now. What good would it do to cause a scene? Instead, I look forward and pretend I don’t notice Tristan making his way over to sit behind me.
Okay, so, I’ve been assigned to choir. Fine. That doesn’t mean I can’t try out for the academy orchestra. Without skipping a beat, I click the link to the sign-up form and start to fill it out when a hand clasps onto my shoulder. Glancing back, I see that it’s Harper again.
“Don’t you dare,” she hisses, but I jerk from her grip and continue what I’m doing. “You try out for the orchestra, and I’ll kill you myself.” This time I do turn around, meeting the harsh blue of her glare. Tristan sits stoically beside her, his face locked into a mask of arrogance that seems impossible to break. But I saw it, during Parents’ Week, his perfect façade shattering into anger.
“Instead of threatening me, maybe you should ask why you’re so afraid of me?” I raise both brows, and then hit the submit button. Harper’s pink painted lips curl up in a snarl, but she doesn’t say anything, choosing instead to ingratiate herself to Tristan.
On the plus side, as class continues, and Becky plays her first piece, I realize it right away: I’m a lot better than her.
Good for me. I’ll have to be if I want to win that seat.
After classes are done for the day, I spend a few minutes looking for Miranda, and then give up, heading to The Mess without her. As soon as I walk in, I know something’s wrong.
Creed is lounging on top of a table like a lazy prince, all coiffed elegance, one leg straight out in front of him, the other bent at the knee. He’s resting on his left elbow, and in his right hand, he’s holding a stack of paper. His icy blue eyes lift to mine as soon as I walk in the door.
“There wasn’t a moment in middle school that I didn’t feel like I was under attack. The siege came from all sides: an alcoholic father at home, a mother who didn’t want me, and classmates who’d made it their personal mission to destroy me.” He pauses, the edge of his mouth curling up in a smile. His captive audience turns to look at me, a knowing gleam in their collective gazes.
Without realizing it, I drop my bookbag to the floor. My knees feel weak, and my head swims. No, this isn’t happening. This can’t be happening.
Creed clears his throat again, and peers back down at his phone.
“For the longest time, I couldn’t figure out why they hated me so much. When I did, it nearly broke me. One day, when I was at my lowest, I sat down on the floor of the girls’ bathroom and I swallowed a bottle of prescription pills I’d stolen from my mother’s purse. Ironically, the first and only time she’d visited me in years was going to be the last time she’d see me: that was my plan. Use her pills, end it all, let the pain fade away.”
My heart is thundering so fast, I can barely hear Creed reading my scholarship essay aloud to the room. Blood pounds in my ears, as loud as the ocean waves against the rocks outside. As Miranda said, I put my heart and soul into that essay. It was everything to me, the whole story of my life, and my ticket out of poverty, into Burberry Prep, into a future that didn’t involve train cars converted to houses or relying on my dad’s on-again, off-again welding work for food and clothing.
I felt like I’d been gutted, like pieces of me were lying on the floor at the feet of the Idols and their wicked Inner Circle.
Memories flickered in my head, memories of Zack bursting into the room and kneeling beside me, putting his fingers down my throat, making me throw up. If he hadn’t gone in there after me, I might very well be dead. And yet, he was one of the instigators, one of my worst critics. I’d never understood that, how he changed after that moment.
“Stop,” I choke out, but Creed just smiles bigger, Zayd grinning from ear to ear on one side, Tristan standing stoic and silent on the other. “Just stop.”
“Bullying nearly broke me, so much so that I tried again, just two months later. I tried to slit my wrists, and I failed at that, too.” Creed pauses as Zayd roars with laughter and Tristan crosses his arms over his chest. Game set and match, his face tells me. I can barely see Harper, Becky, and Gena standing beside him. They’re getting blurry. The whole room is swimming.
The door opens beside me and Andrew and Miranda walk in. Andrew catches me right before I fall, and I hear Miranda screaming at her brother. The last thing I see before Andrew scoops me up in his arms and carries me out is Miranda yanking the papers from Creed’s hand.
The others boo at her and throw napkins, but we’re already out the door, and Andrew is carrying me straight to my room.
“I can’t believe Creed would go that far!” Miranda chokes out, her face flushed as she paces in front of my bed. Andrew lays me down and gets me a cold rag, and a glass of water, sitting beside me and putting his hand on my leg. I cover his fingers with my own and squeeze. There’s no spark there, I think absently as I try not to throw up. What a random thought to have at such a horrible moment. Maybe I’m in some form of emotional shock?
“How did he get access to that?” Andrew asks, his voice quiet and dark. He glances back at Miranda, and she shakes her head.
“I have no idea. My mom, probably. But how he got that from her, I don’t know. She’s fiercely protective of those essays.”
Leaning back into my pillows, I cover my face with my hands.
From sixth grade through the first half of eighth, I was bullied so badly that I wanted to die. So badly that I tried to end it not once but twice. After that, things got better. People let up, and I realized I had to embrace the positive or the negative would drown me. When I came to Burberry Prep, I came with that idea in mind: embrace my new life, make a fresh start.
And now I’m drowning in it.
“I think I’m going to be sick,” I whisper, shoving up from the bed. I just barely make it into the bathroom before what little I had for lunch makes its way back up. Miranda moves into the bathroom and helps me hold my hair back, stroking my forehead for comfort. “I’ll never be able to go to class again.”
“Don’t let them win, Marnye,” she whispers, voice warbly, like maybe she might cry, too. “Creed is … he’s the worst kind of bully there is. Him, and Zayd, Tristan and Harper and Becky. Don’t give into them.”
Without meaning to, I end up crying and hating myself for it. I can take a lot of crap, but that essay was my soul on a page. Now the Idols have everything they need to make my life a living hell. They know all about my father’s alcoholism, his struggle to make ends meet, the things my mother did to me.
After I finish throwing up, I kick Miranda out and climb in the shower, letting the water scald away my humiliation. It’s just never-ending with these people. And all because I’m poor. That’s it. I thought the reasons for my bullying at Lower Banks were bullshit. This is even more arbitrary.
Climbing out of the shower, I find that Miranda’s snuck a stack of pjs into the room, so I change into them and head back out to find that Andrew’s already left.
“I had to beg him not to beat Creed up,” she says, wringing her hands. I raise an eyebrow, but I’m too tired to ask why Andrew would even bother. We’re friends, sure, but just barely. I can’t imagine him beating up an Idol for me. “Do you want me to stay with you for a while?”
I shake my head.
“No, I just … I want to be alone for tonight.”
“Yeah, okay,” she says, giving me a hug before she lets herself out.
Sitting down on the edge of the bed, I seriously consider walking to the principal’s office and asking to go home. If I left, maybe I could breathe again. It feels like I haven’t taken a single breath since I got here.
All I want is to study and graduate, that’s it. Why does that have to be so hard?
Lying back on the bed, I close my eyes, and within minutes I’m asleep.
Navigating the school without running into the Idols or their cronies is impossible. They’re everywhere, and they’ve amped up their game. Even homeroom with Ms. Felton isn’t safe. When her back is turned, I get pills thrown at me. Most everyone’s drawn on their wrists with red Sharpie, lifting up the sleeves of their academy jackets and flashing me in the halls.
The only person who doesn’t seem thrilled by my destruction is Tristan. He’s always moody and frowning, and just barely makes it to class. The Thursday before Halloween, I slip out of third period to go to the bathroom.
As soon as I step inside, I hear the moans.
Tristan has a girl bent over the sink, and he’s fucking her.
He glances over at me when I come in, but he doesn’t stop. His eyes narrow, glittering with some unreadable motion.
Me, I just stand there gaping, completely and utterly shocked by the sight in front of me.
“You gonna stand there and watch?” he snaps at me after a minute. Backing away, I turn and run from the bathroom, turning the corner and leaning my back against the stone wall. I’d thought Tristan was dating Miranda behind the scenes, but … that most definitely wasn’t Miranda. Pretty sure that was Kiara Xiao, another first-year student.
For some reason, my body feels hot with frustration, and I want to punch something. Mostly I want to punch Tristan. He doesn’t care about that girl. He doesn’t care about anyone.
When I tell Miranda about it later, she chokes on her iced tea and raises huge eyes to me.
“Right there in the girls’ bathroom?” she asks, blinking rapidly. “He’s usually more discreet about it.”
“More discreet?” I whisper back, face flaming. All those times he touched me or got close to me and I felt sparks … make me sick. What a creep. “So … all the girls know he’ll sleep with whoever he can get his hands on, and they don’t care?”
Miranda shrugs her shoulders and takes a sip of her drink. We’re the only ones in The Mess, taking advantage of the early dinner service. I’ve tried to come in here while everyone else is eating, but it’s just too much. I’ve been relegated to slinking around the halls. Believe it or not, for someone who tried to hurt themselves, the constant flashes of red-lined wrists, and the bottles of pills are pretty triggering.