Page 5 of Spite

Chapter Three

The last time I’d entered a principal’s office I’d decided on suicide. The option had come to me so easily, effortless, mostly because Christian, Alec, and Xander had suggested it time and time again. They took time out of their lunches to throw me notes and whisper in my ear; toss whatever ball they were playing with during recess at me, and when they came to retrieve it, they’d insult me and tell me to do it more. It wasn’t my idea; it was theirs.

It was theirs, and they were going to pay for it.

I found Mr. Smith, River High’s principal, standing near the windows in his office. He was a tall man, grey hair, the patches that weren’t balding, with a belly that Diane would call a beer gut. He looked like he could’ve been a linebacker way back in the day, but now he was just another old man.

I stopped myself from sitting in the chair, the hall pass crinkling in my fingers as I watched him turn to me. “You wanted to see me?”

“Yes,” Mr. Smith smiled at me, moving around the desk and leaning his backside on its edge. Something that worked better with thinner, younger people. When he did it, it just felt creepy. “I wanted to welcome you to River High, and tell you that you’re safe here.”

“Safe?” I echoed, sounding stupid. Why in all the world would he tell me I was safe here, unless…unless he knew.

“I know what happened, six years ago,” Mr. Smith went on, oblivious to my uncomfortableness. “And I want you to know that here, I tolerate no bullying of any sort. If anyone so much as looks at you wrong, you come straight to me.”

Words that were supposed to be comforting only made me feel like throwing up. “How…” I couldn’t even voice the damned question. Dad wouldn’t have…

“Your mother called yesterday, and we had a long discussion about what would be done if anything like that happens again.”

My mother? My mother was…no, he meant my stepmother. Diane. How lovely. Already digging herself into my life, completely unwelcome. My fingers clenched into fists, and I resisted my urge to storm out of the room and whip out my cell phone to dial Diane and give her a piece of my mind.

All I could do was nod.

“If you ever need anything…” Mr. Smith’s words trailed off, and I nodded again, hightailing it out of his office before he could finish.

Damn it. Now I’d have the principal watching over me like a hawk. It might put a damper on things, make my scheming more difficult, but I would not let Mr. Smith’s eagle eyes stop me from what I set out to do. Christian, Xander, and Alec would pay.

My next few classes were unmemorable. Social studies, economics, speech. Georgia was also in my speech class, so I sat next to her in the back. This day was the day from hell. The never ending day of torture. Since English class, I’d only gotten a few glimpses of Christian in the hallways. I was starting to doubt that Xander Hill and Alec Perry were still in this school.

As the bell rang, signaling the end of speech class, Georgia gathered her stuff. She sounded almost timid as she asked, “If you want, you can sit with me at lunch.” Her green eyes broke away from mine as we left the classroom.

I couldn’t help but wonder if everyone ignored Georgia, or if she purposefully kept herself from them. She seemed nice enough, but quiet. She hardly ever rose her hand in class, preferring to doodle on the edges of her notebooks. She was small, and the way she held herself made her appear even smaller. She almost reminded me of the old me, the me of sixth grade. I could tell there was a sadness nestled somewhere inside of her, a loneliness no one else could truly understand. I did, but only because I’d felt it myself.

“Sure,” I spoke, nodding once. Since speech class came with no textbooks, and I didn’t bring a lunch, I didn’t have to stop at my locker. I followed Georgia to hers, surveying the kids walking by as I waited for her to input her combination. Once she had her brown paper bag in her hands, I followed her to the cafeteria.

On the first floor, the cafeteria was huge. Full of round tables with stackable chairs. I trailed Georgia to a table on the side, right by a garbage can. I had no idea why she’d want to sit there, but then again, most of the other tables were full.

I sat down beside her. “Do you sit alone?” I made sure to position myself so that I could see most of the other tables with a quick glance of my head. If there was ever a time to make sure Alec and Xander still went here, it was now. Everyone had lunch together.

“Usually I read a book,” Georgia said, unrolling her bagged lunch. “I don’t really fit in here, but I figure you can sit here until you find somewhere else to sit.” The way she spoke, like I was just going to desert her, made me frown.

“Why don’t you fit in?” I ignored the last part of her remark, not knowing how to address it. There were tables of jocks, tables of nerds, tables of the choir people and the kids in the band. The emos, the druggies—there was a crowd for everyone in high school.

“I transferred in the middle of sophomore year,” she said, “so I know what it’s like. When they realized I was boring, that they wouldn’t be able to date me or sleep with me, most of them stopped trying to talk to me.” Georgia shrugged. “I don’t care. After high school, none of these people will be friends. I saw it happen when my sister graduated. I know what to expect.”

So cynical. So much like me.

“Why’d you transfer?” I asked, leaning on the table.

“Dad got a fancy new job,” she told me. “Why’d you transfer?”

Why did I transfer? God, it was a fucking long story, one I didn’t want to tell her, mostly because I wasn’t sure if I could trust her or not. Trust, true trust, didn’t come easily. Just because she was an outcast didn’t mean she’d automatically side with me in my fight against Christian and the rest of the Dick Squad.

“I…” I started to tell her that it was too long of a story, but my gaze landed on a table further in the cafeteria.

Christian sat with his arm slung around a girl. A pretty girl, one with curled blonde hair and warm brown eyes. Dimples, too. The old, self-conscious me started to reemerge, but I pushed her back.

First thing was first, I had to break them up. Who would be the weaker link—Christian or his pretty girlfriend?

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