Page 4 of Spite

Go figure. My mere presence here upset him. Too bad, because he was in for a world of hurt. The prince of the school would pay for what he did to me.

“Let’s break off into your groups,” Apple spoke, and the class started moving desks and forming squares. Everyone except one girl, who sat in the back corner by herself. Apple moved to her side, and I followed her, flicking my gaze to Christian every once in a while. He was surrounded by three other guys, trying to hide his scowl.

The prince was not happy I was here. Too damn bad.

The girl we approached watched us with a silent kind of curiosity. She wore mostly black, her lips a nude color. Her hair was a pretty copper red, her pale skin speckled with dozens of freckles.

“Georgia,” Apple said, gesturing to me. “I know you wanted to work alone, but seeing as how everyone else already has four to a group, why don’t you let Elle join you? Maybe lend her your notes from the class?”

Georgia nodded, not saying anything. It was enough for Apple, apparently, for she only grinned and returned to her desk. I grabbed an empty desk near Georgia, but I didn’t drag it across the floor to link the flat tops like everyone else had.

“We’re doing presentations on our favorite American writers,” Georgia spoke with a shrug. She was shorter than me, and probably weighed less than me. She had hardly any curves and her chest was near nonexistent. Her eyes were a vibrant green. “I chose Edgar Allen Poe.”

In the past, I’d never been much a fan of the guy, mostly because stories involving murder and death weren’t my thing, but now—now they should be. Maybe they could give me some ideas as to what I could do. What was the one where the guy built a stone wall and trapped someone inside?

I nodded. “That’s fine.”

The class was full of chatter, and it was so loud I couldn’t tell whether or not anyone was talking about me. How far had gossip of me spread? Did every other sixth grade class know what I did? Was Christian filling them in on my past? Either way, it didn’t matter, mostly because I wasn’t the same broken girl I was back then.

“If you want my notes, you can take them,” Georgia went on, her voice nearly drowning in the cacophony of noise around us.

I met her eyes. She seemed nice, and I didn’t recognize her, meaning she either came from another sixth grade class or had transferred here sometime after I’d left. Maybe the latter, given how ostracized she was from the rest of the class.

Hmm. Maybe this could work. The quiet ones might’ve been quiet, but they were able to notice things other people didn’t, because they didn’t waste all their time chitchatting. She could be my girl on the inside, the one who told me everything I needed to know. First, though, I’d have to get her to like me.

“Thank you,” I said, even though I didn’t really want her notes. She seemed like the get down to business sort, so I crossed my ankles and asked, “Where are you with this project? What do you need me to do?”

From what she explained to me, there were three parts to this project. It was due in a few weeks, and every Monday until then was set aside so we could work on it. The first part was a written paper that had to be at least five pages long. The second was a presentation in front of the class. The third and final part was some kind of visual aid that we had to use for the presentation. Beyond that, there were no more rules we had to follow. Everything was based on our creativity, apparently.

Georgia shared what she had already with me. She wanted to do the paper portion first, and then focus on the other two, as the paper was worth more than the presentation and the visual aid combined. Made sense. She had a rough draft written down, and as I scanned through it, I came to one conclusion—Georgia was not a writer. The words didn’t flow, didn’t read right. I’d have to change that.

As the class period went on, I felt eyes on me, and when I glanced up, I found Christian watching me with a pensive frown on his handsome face. I couldn’t help but wonder if he’d changed, or if he’d try to start something with me again.

Let him. Let him try. I wasn’t the same girl that I was six years ago. He wasn’t the same boy, either—more like a man now, but still. Boys in high school always had a weakness. Usually those weaknesses were girls. Sex. Something. But he was also a jock, meaning he had to keep decent grades to be on the team.

Sabotaging grades seemed a little extreme, something that could affect his future—but what did it matter? What he and his friends did to me all those years ago…that could’ve ended my future. I could not afford to be weak when it came to these guys.

The class period was almost over, and I was opening my mouth to ask Georgia a question, try to navigate the conversation to Christian to see if he was dating anyone—didn’t matter either way, though it would affect my plan a little—but another student knocked on the door. Apple went to open it, and the student in the hall handed her a slip of paper.

Apple came up to Georgia and me, handing me the slip. “Principal Smith wants to see you,” she spoke quietly.

Ugh, that damned principal.

I took the note, gathered my things and left. Since it was before the bell, the hallways were empty. So empty it was eerie. A chill crept up my spine, and I fought off the memories. The last time I was in the principal’s office was…

Well, it wasn’t fun.

I wanted to curl into myself and disappear. My feet barely touched the floor as I sat in the cushioned chair on the other side of the principal’s desk. The principal and my mom were talking just outside, getting into an argument about me.

“This is not the first time she’s been found hiding in the bathroom,” the principal’s voice was harsh, and it seemed to echo in the room, bouncing on the walls and making me wish I was smaller. “Elle cannot keep missing her classes—”

“You are putting this all on my daughter,” Mom’s voice was just as snide, just as harsh as the principal’s. “Sounds like the only reason she was in the bathroom in the first place was to hide from the other kids! Do you know what those kids have said to her? Do you know how many times she’s come home crying because she doesn’t want to come back here?”

“That is—”

“That is bullying, plain and simple, and it sounds like your zero-tolerance policy is in effect for everyone but Elle,” Mom cut in, and I winced at the sound of her voice. “If you try to punish my daughter for what the other kids have done, I swear to God, I will drag your ass to court.” Taking people to court had become one of her favorite threats; she was there all the time anyway with Dad, so why not add a few more people into the mix?

As they went back and forth, I looked to the windows behind the principal’s desk. They were open. I could crawl out, kick the screen, and run. I could run away and no one would miss me. Everyone would have less to deal with, fewer problems. I’d probably run…and no one would even notice I was gone.

I felt my eyes tearing up. My normal state of being. I was always crying; that, or trying to hide the tears, trying to fight them and deny them their appearance. But I never won out, and I was growing so tired. So tired of all of this.

I was twelve years old. Was this how life was going to be? I couldn’t imagine living until I was eighty or ninety. I…I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to feel like this forever. Unimportant, useless, a waste of space. I hated everyone making fun of me; I wanted to be invisible.

The only way to be invisible, I realized, was to not be here in the first place.

They’d said it; they’d all said it and laughed. Well, the joke would be on them, wouldn’t it? The day I didn’t come back to school, when the teacher told them what had happened to me, the joke would finally be on them and not me.

I was going to kill myself.

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