Page 31 of Enemy Crush
I had finished William’s old bedroom and was ready to start on one of three guest bedrooms. It was clear Jillian only ever skimmed over these rooms as the dust levels were likely dangerous to an asthmatic. If I was uncertain on how best to do something, I’d learned that there was no shortage of cleaning videos online. In fact, for my own amusement, I created a new account and made some of my own short videos. Called Squishycleanz, with only two followers there was no chance of anyone knowing it was me. And besides, I never showed my face, using one of my Squishmallows to demonstrate.
With the weekend looming, I stood at my locker gathering my books quickly, the mission to avoid Miller Trask a habit now. Elise was talking to Sierra, whose hair had changed from purple to blue during the week.
“Hi Quinn,” Elise greeted me chirpily. “I haven’t seen you in the cafeteria.”
“I’ve been pretty busy,” I said with a smile. “How are you? How’s your photography club?”
I was very good at averting questions away from me, friendly but distant as Mom stipulated.
“Oh, it’s going well,” Elise said. “Any plans for the weekend?”
“Actually, I signed up for the Art Club,” I said, “so I’m going to Pine Ridge with Blanche to get some paint supplies.”
“Blanche? That sounds like fun,” Elise said but I detected a hint of disappointment in her tone. “I didn’t think you were into art.”
“Mrs. Burbank was completely desperate for new members,” I said, trying to make a joke. “I really don’t have an artistic bone in my body. I think that’s why they’ve got me painting the backdrops.” I flashed a grimace. “How about you? Any plans?”
“I have a piano recital tomorrow,” Elise said, brightening up again. “We should hang out some time.”
“Yes, we should,” I agreed, “I’m hoping to catch up with my old friends from Brizendine. You know, an old fashioned sleepover.”
“Ahhh, I used to love sleepovers,” Elise said dreamily. “Well, have fun. Some time soon?”
“Definitely,” I said, my chest tightening. “And good luck with your recital.” I raced off for the bus, sad that I was dismissing Elise. The thing was, I think I would have loved to be friends with her, but Mom’s mantra of being an island, of standing alone was more important. As it was, going with Blanche was going to be an act of carefully chosen words. I didn’t want to outright lie to her but I’d stretch the truth if I had to. And the joy of seeing Celeste and Naomi would be worth it.
After the mean girl comments directed at me, I’d learned to block out the rest of the bus by sitting near the front, putting in my earbuds and playing my music. If anyone was talking about me, I didn’t hear it. Ignorance was bliss.
But today, we’d barely driven a few miles when my earbuds died on me. I kept them in though, to make sure nobody bothered me. And only when a book came flying down the aisle did I hear the voices from the boys in the back.
“He’s reading a lovey-dovey book,” a voice sneered, and the bus filled with merciless laughter.
Miller’s little brother scampered down the aisle to retrieve the book, getting a strong reprimand from the bus driver to sit down. A few moments later a pencil tin rolled along the floor.
“Hey, anyone want these markers? I gotta whole set here.”
Several kids called out, “Me!” And “Yep, I’ll take them!”
“These markers are thicker than his arms.”
I resisted the urge to turn around when another book came sliding down the aisle, this one in two pieces.
“Hey, Stick Boy, are these yours?”
“Yeah, Mason Trash,” another voice chimed in.
At the mention of the name calling, I spun around in an instant, that sick feeling resurfacing from being called aPrep School Rejectcreating a fire in my belly. A quick glance revealed the culprits in the back row, boys with messy hair and baggy clothes—kids my mother would refer to as thugs. I teetered on the brink of stepping in or minding my own business. Nobody had come to my aid but Mason was just a kid and didn’t deserve this. Well, nobody did.
The bus stopped and a bunch of kids piled off. Hopefully the bullies would leave and I could remain in my preferred state of anonymity. My body stiffened as I turned back in my seat, silently praying for peace and quiet.
The bus jerked off again and for a moment I thought my prayers had been answered, but then that loud obnoxious kid started up.
“Anyone want a hoodie? It’s toddler size.” Raucous laughter rippled through the bus as the garment was tossed like abasketball. I clenched my fists together, willing the bullies to shut up. I really didn’t want to get involved. I was placid, I was calm, I was unassuming. Ishouldn’tget involved in drama.
“Hey, what’s this? You need this Stick Boy?” Obnoxious Jerk said.
“He doesn’t need it,” another boy scoffed.
“It’s my asthma inhaler,” Mason’s timid voice replied.
