
BULLIED
Christopher Smith
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This book is for anyone who has ever been bullied.
You're better than anything they ever said about you or did to you.
And you're certainly better than them.
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"Bullied: Book One in the Bullied Series"
By Christopher Smith
Published by Christopher Smith at Smashwords.
Copyright 2011 by Christopher Smith
Smashwords Edition License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.
All rights reserved worldwide.
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http://www.christophersmithbooks.com
For their help with this book, the author is particularly grateful to Erich Kaiser, Margaret Nagle, Ross Smith, Ann Smith, Jon McCann and Brandi Doane, Caroline and Tim Moore. The author also would like to thank the Bangor Daily News. In an odd way, the author is grateful for remembering what it was like to be bullied himself when he was growing up. Unfortunately, many of the bullying scenes in THE BULLIED SERIES are not fiction. They come straight from the author's own life.
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Bullied
When I was seventeen and starting my senior year in high school, my father's friend, creepy Jim, gave me a gift that was surprising for two reasons.
First, like my drunk father, Jim wasn't exactly the generous sort. He was tight. What little money he had was spent on cigarettes, his daily 12-pack of Bud, the occasional bag of weed he bought from my cousin, Maury, and whatever bills he needed to pay in order to keep the mortgage current on his shithole of a trailer, which was overrun by cats.
Jim gave them shelter and water. Since his trailer was tucked deep in the Maine woods, he let the cats fend for themselves when it came to catching their own dinner. He said he wished he had enough money to give them proper food, but he didn't. Least he could do was give them a home. Jim felt good about that. He thought he was a great man for having such a big heart.
Thing is, if you saw the rotten, stinking condition of that trailer, you'd wonder if Jim's act of kindness was actually a form of unintended cruelty. Nobody should be allowed to live in that rectangular firebox from hell that he called home. Not Jim, who's actually not a bad guy. Not the cats. Not a rodent. Not even me.
The second surprise was the gift itself. It was a necklace, of sorts--a string of rawhide looped through a curving piece of bone that was the remnants of someone's skull, which looked to be the case, though what the hell do I know? Could have been a thin, smooth piece of rock. Whatever. He said it was an amulet, which kind of shocked me because I didn't know creepy Jim's vocabulary went beyond the white-trash dictionary he and my parents favored. Still, calling it an amulet made it kind of cool. It also wasn't often I received a gift, so I was happy to take it.
He told me it was old--like, really old. He said it was "ancient." He told me soon I'd understand why he gave it to me. He told me never to lose it because one day "it will help you." He said it helped him when he was a kid growing up, but now that he didn't need it, he was passing it on to me because he'd seen in one of those weird little visions he had that I was going to need it more than he ever had.
When I asked him what he meant by that, creepy Jim told me that I wasn't going to have an easy life, which pretty much already was about as obvious as a slap across the face. No shit, Jim. Congratulations for being coherent enough to pay attention to the fact that my life pretty much is a barrel of suck.
I was about eight when I figured out that my life was going to be a smashed house of cards. My parents were alcoholics. We didn't have much money. They lived off the state because they managed to convince some idiot doctor in Bangor that they were disabled, though with exactly what was in question. Laziness? I'd bet my life on that.
And then there was me. I'm not your average-looking kid. I'm tall and skinny. I don't have good clothes. I've never had the latest "thing." I've got a face full of zits, my hair is dark and wiry, and I'm missing a tooth thanks to good ol' dad, who sometimes loves to use the back of his hand.
People call me a loner, but they don't understand why. I'm not a loner by choice--I'd give anything to have a friend. I'd give anything to have somebody I could hang out with and confide in. But that's not how it worked out for me. Instead, I'm a loner by default. When people see me, all they see is poverty and awkwardness and the fact that I'm shy. I'm never up to their standards. And worse, they don't see me as a friend. Instead, they see me as something of a gift.
Apparently, I was put on this earth to make them feel good about themselves and to be their target. So, yeah. I won life's lottery.
It's been this way since I can remember and it's only gotten worse. When creepy Jim isn't half in the bag, he used to tell me that I needed to fight back. "Don't take it from them," he'd say. "Hit them back. Hit them as hard as you can and then hit them harder than you dare. They'll stop."
What he didn't understand is that I wasn't being targeted by just a few people. I was being targeted by most everyone in school. Rise up against one, be pummeled by twenty. I'd tried to fight back before, but that turned out to be a losing proposition, and so for me, the best defense was to retreat. Do anything not to be seen. Make every effort to disappear.
During lunch, I'd slip into my locker, close the door and hide in there until the bell rang because going into the lunch line was as random as it got. You never knew who you were going to fall next to in line. Usually, it was one of the kids who hated me and so they bullied me. They pushed me. They called me "faggot." They told me they were going to kill me after school. They let everyone know that my parents were a couple of drunks. They said my father spent the better part of his day at Judy's, which was a bar in town that sold cheap breakfasts throughout the day, though that was just a front for the bums who sat their fat asses in there.
Those people, like my father, came for the beer. The only thing sunnyside up in their lives was the fact that people kept making beer. The kids who bullied me said all of this just loudly enough so everyone could hear. They humiliated me and, in a way, they kind of killed off a part of me--that belief that people could be as kind as Jim's cats, which I fed on my own, though I never let him know it. I'd been through so much, I found it hard to believe that there were good people in the world.
At least, not around me, there weren't.
The teachers were no better than the students who targeted me. They watched what happened to me in those lunch lines, in their classes and after school, but they did nothing to intervene because the teachers also can't stand the sight of me.
I was unacceptable to them. They knew I came from rage, alcohol and filth. Teachers are supposed to be here to guide you, and while a few do, my experience is that most are just there for the paycheck and the popularity. They're there for the validation. Have a popular class? Get on well with the right students? You're good as gold. Popular with the wrong students? You might want to check that and fix it quick. I'd learned long ago not to go to them for help, because I knew they'd look the other way.
One time, years ago, someone punched me in the face on the playground and I was stupid enough to think that one of the teachers on duty would do something about it. She didn't. Instead, the old bitch looked down at me and my bloody nose, and told me I probably deserved it. She actually said this to me. She was surrounded by her favorite gaggle of ass-kissing girls and she said I deserved it. I kept it to myself, but I never forgot that moment. And I've never forgotten her.
My name is Seth Moore. I'm one year away from the end of my personal high school hell, but I know now that the end won't come without me spilling a little blood.
Over the past few months, I've done things that would appall most people, but everything I've done was necessary to survive. I'm about to tell you things I've never told anyone. And I'm glad I can finally tell someone, especially my new best friend. That would be you, journal, which people can find and read if I don't survive.
This is my story.
This is how I fought back.
And this is what happened when I fought back.
And let's just say that creepy Jim was right. Turns out that amulet is gold. Turns out, there's something about it that gives me an edge, though sometimes I go too far with it, and that's a problem. A big one.
But we'll get to that.
A war is building now and I need to prepare for it.
People are coming for me. And there's one person who knows exactly how to take me out. If he's smarter than me, he might just do it, too.
But I'm getting ahead of myself.
Before I'm gone, here's how I got to where I am now.
~~~~
SEPTEMBER
I don't know how he got there, but my father was passed out on the floor next to his overstuffed chair when I came downstairs to the living room.
It was the first day of a new school year--otherwise known as what very well could be the worst day of my life--and I had to step over him to get to the kitchen, which was a filthy wreck, just as it always was.
I went to the refrigerator, opened the door and saw what I usually saw--plenty of drink, but nothing for me to drink other than the carton of old orange juice that had been sweating in there for a solid month. I wanted to throw it out, but if I did, I'd catch hell for it. And so I gave up on the idea of having breakfast, moved quietly to my mother's handbag on the kitchen island, and took a few dollars for lunch.
My father was the perfect distraction. His snoring was so loud, it was almost obscene given the noises he made. I went to the doorway and looked at him. Not even forty and already looking past fifty. He was a gem of a man. What a catch my mother landed when she agreed to marry Bill Moore. She found herself a true winner who had gone on to become husband and father of the year. Pick a year. Any year. Didn't matter the year.
I did what I could.
He was too heavy for me to lift without his help, so a gently shook him awake, and when I did, there were those mean eyes of his snapping open and boring into mine.
"What?"
"Want me to help you get into the chair?"
"Fine here."
"The chair would be better."
"For who?"
"You've got a bad back."
"What I've got are my fists."
He was wasted. I could light a flame next to his mouth and be rid of him if I wanted to. And, really, that wasn't such a bad idea. Still, since there was no use dealing with him, I stepped over him and went to the door.
"Where you going?"
"School."
"Gonna get your ass whipped again this year?"
"Is that even a question?"
"Watch your mouth, pussy."
"I'll see you later."
"That a threat?"
God, I hated him.
I left the house and looked around.
It was fall, the air was just this side of crisp and in spite of the trash lying in the yard, if I looked up into the trees, it actually was pretty because some of them were beginning to turn. Not too many--there was still plenty of green. But touches of color were transforming the landscape in ways that were fresh and interesting. Summer was my favorite time of the year--it meant no school and I could hide away from my parents and everyone else in town by staying in my room--but fall was a close second, if only because the trees offered a distraction by reaching their full potential in explosions of color.
I could hear the bus approaching before I reached the end of my street. Other kids were there, but they were too self-involved with their new clothes, smart shoes and summertime stories to pay attention to me. They'd turn to me later. I hung back and watched the great yellow beast stop beside them. Before entering, I looked up at the row of windows and in every one of them, I saw a smiling face of evil looking down at me.
I got on the bus and in a stroke of luck, I saw near the rear of it that there was an empty seat. As I walked toward it, I kept my eyes focused and looking straight ahead, even when one of the kids--Mike Hastings, who had made my life a living hell since first grade--made a loud hocking sound as I passed him. When he spit, I braced myself for the inevitable, but he missed me and instead his great glob of snot struck Sara Fielding square in the face.
Sara was one of the popular girls in school--cheerleader, pretty, blonde, not as dumb as she looked, the making of a great life ahead of her. For most of my life, I'd been spit on but this apparently was a first for her, and man, was she determined to let people know about it. At the top of her lungs, she shrieked, which made the bus driver look in his mirror and then pull to off to the right side of the road, where he stopped.
I took my seat near the rear of the bus and watched him stand. Now, Sara was standing. Her hands were in front of her face and she was still screaming, which amused me because she and Hastings once were an item. They'd obviously had their tongues down their throats before, so at some point she must have had his spit in her mouth. Why scream now?
For the attention.
Eyes shut, Hasting's spittle leaching down her face in thick rivers of rottenness, she managed to reach into her bag and pull out a tissue, which she wiped across her face, smearing her make-up.
I looked at Hastings, who was looking straight ahead while everyone else was looking at Sara, who continued to bleat like a sheep.
"What's the problem here?" the bus driver asked.
Sara finished cleaning the spit off her face and glared at the man. Her father was one of the wealthiest doctors in town and she knew it. She was just days from seventeen and when she reached it, there was no question in my mind that Daddy would buy her a car and she'd be one of the coveted few at school who had one.
"What do you think is the problem?" she said. "I was spit on. Somebody spit on me. They. Spit. On. Me. I want you to take me home. I'm not going to school like this. I need to shower, I need to change, I need to--"
"Tell me who spit on you," the man said. "That's what you need to do. You need to tell me who spit on you." He looked around the bus. "Which one of you did it?"
And Mike Hastings, true to form, looked up at the man and pointed down the aisle at me. "It was Moore," he said. "He spit on her."
"Who's Moore?"
This guy had been my bus driver for at least ten years and he still had no idea who I was. Story of my life.
Hastings turned in his seat and pointed at me. "Him," he said. "The faggot in the blue jacket. In the back. Sitting alone."
With no real conviction, the bus driver told him not to call me a faggot. As he walked toward me, Sara ripped her internal motor into overdrive and started squealing like a stuck pig again, saying something about how something had just dripped into her eye. Apparently, she was going to work this moment for all it was worth.
"You spit on her?" he said to me.
I shook my head.
"Then why is he saying you did?"
If I lied, I'd get beat up. If I told the truth, I'd get beat up. And so at the very least, I should earn that fist in my face. "Because he hates me," I said. "Because he's always hated me. And because he did it. I stepped on the bus, he tried to spit on me like he always does and this time, he missed. This time, it went into her face, not mine."
"You're a liar."
It was Hastings. He was up and out of his seat now, his athletic body more lean and muscular than it had been when I last saw him--at the end of school last June. I looked at him and wondered how everything had come together genetically for him. Already, he was over six feet tall. His dark hair was thick and groomed and seemingly never out of place. He wore the right clothes. He had a clean complexion and teeth that had been molded and brightened to create a perfect smile. He was a jock and, if you asked most people in school, he was a swell guy with a great sense of humor. Everyone loved him.
"Well," the bus driver said. "One of you is lying." He turned to the other students on the bus. "Who saw it happen? Which one spit on her?"
It doesn't take a genius to figure out that the majority of the people pointed their fingers at me. But what was surprising is that one person didn't.
I'd never seen him before, so I figured he was new in town. He was sitting alone in the middle of the bus, his arm draped casually over the seat. He had tousled brown hair, looked to be around eighteen and he rivaled Hastings in looks and physique. But he had something that Hastings didn't have--a presence. There was something about him that went beyond mere confidence. He had that element you couldn't put your finger on, but which was so powerful, you wished you had it yourself.
"He didn't do it," he said, looking at me. He nodded over at Hastings. "It was him. He did it. I saw it go down."
Hastings had one of two things he could do--lose face and back down in front of everyone, or he could fight. Naturally, he chose the latter and came after the new kid, who immediately stood and showed us all for the first time just how big he was.
He wasn't fat--there wasn't an ounce of chunk on him. He was just big. Well over six feet. Big shoulders. Big arms. He was wearing a white polo shirt that barely could restrain his chest, which pressed against the fabric and made it stretch. "Think twice," he said to Hastings, who'd stopped in the aisle when the new kid stood. "You take a swing at me, I protect myself. And I'm telling you now, in front of everyone here, that I will protect myself. Worse, you'll lose."
They were only a couple feet apart. Sara had stopped her squealing and now was staring at the new kid, who turned to look at her. "You know who did it," he said to her with disappointment. "Why are you being silent? Why not take a stand and tell the driver the truth?"
Her eyes flicked to Hastings, then to the driver, then back to the new kid.
"Nobody likes a liar," the new kid said. "Especially me. I won't have anyone near me who lies. Tell the truth. Tell the man who did it."
She pulled her blonde hair away from her face and twisted it behind her head, forming a knot. You could actually sense her weighing her options--screw over her popular former boyfriend or side with this new guy, who obviously was going to dwarf Hastings' standings in school. She took in every ounce of him and, unless you were blind or dead, you'd be a fool not to see the attraction she was trying to conceal.
"It was Mike," she said to the driver. "He tried to spit on Moore, but he missed and spit on me, instead."
"Who's Moore," the new kid said.
She screwed up her face at him. "Moore," she said, pointing at me. "Him."
"You say 'him' like you just realized you've got a piece of dog shit stuck on the bottom of your shoe. Why not show him some respect and address him by his first name?"
"I don't even know his first name."
That was a lie. We've been going to school since kindergarten. We've known each other since we were kids. I just looked at her and shook my head.
The new kid looked at me and, if I wasn't mistaken, there was a hint of a smile on his lips. "I'm Alex," he said. "Just moved here from Manhattan, which I'm happy to be out of. At least, I think, I am. I thought I was getting away from all this. What's your name?"
"Seth," I said.
"Good to meet you, Seth. How about having lunch with me later? I'm new here and could use a friend to show me around."
He looked at Sara. "See how easy that was? I think I might have just made a new friend. His name is Seth Moore, the one who didn't spit on you. The one who didn't call out the guy who did spit on you when every finger was pointed at him. I'd say that's someone worth knowing. I'd say that's someone I want to be friends with. What's your name?"
She lowered her eyes. She was trying to play it cool, but it was clear she was shaken by being pressed. He was breaking every rule. This isn't how their caste system worked.
"I'm Sara."
"Perfect," Alex said. "So, let me introduce you two, even though I'm pretty sure you already know each other. Seth, this is Sara. Sara, this is Seth. And that guy who spit on you? Until he apologizes to Seth and to you, he isn't worth being introduced."
But Hastings didn't apologize. Instead, armed with his pissed-off face and his set mouth, he looked down the length of the bus and glared at me.
It was at the moment I knew I was in for it--he'd come for me. He'd get a group of his friends and he'd get me. He'd find that pocket of time when no one was looking and they'd corner me--God knows, it had happened before. As I sat there looking back at him, I wished the day was over now even though it was just beginning.
First day of school and already, I was facing what might be the worst day of my life.
~~~~
When I stepped off the bus, Alex came alongside me and slapped me on the back. "So, that was intense," he said, while Hastings walked ahead of us. "That happen often?"
"It's never not happened."
"Sorry to hear that."
"I've learned to live with it."
"You've learned to live with it?"
"I guess so."
"Nobody should learn to live with that. My older brother did for awhile and I hated it. I couldn't stand what people did to him. But then he put an end to it. You can, too."
"What was his secret?"
He smiled. "At first, it was me. I've always been the tall one in the family. But then he found his confidence and decided enough was enough."
He looked ahead at the school. Crowds were moving past us and I was aware of some people looking back, wondering why I was walking with this guy. Sara was one of them. She turned her freshly cleaned face around, tried for a smile, but because I also was there, all she could manage was a face filled with smiling confusion.
"So, lunch later?" he said. "I need to go to the office and sign some papers."
"Sure," I said.
"And listen to me," he said. "Don't take their crap."
"Easier said than done."
"We'll work on that."
Behind me, I could hear my name being called. I turned and saw creepy Jim off to the right. What was he doing here? He was sitting on the hood of his beat-up Buick and sipping something tucked in a paper bag. Pure class. He nodded at me and waved me over.
"You know him?"
"Only by association."
"He looks like a character," he said. "Let's catch up later. What grade are you?"
"Senior."
"Same here. I'll ask for the same homeroom."
"That would be cool. See you at lunch."
I watched him walk away and couldn't help wondering why he'd been so nice. Was it just because his brother was bullied? Could be. Who knows? Best not to question it. It isn't often that I was treated with any sort of kindness and if I was honest, I have to admit that I felt uncomfortable with it. Was there an ulterior motive? I thought about it and decided it didn't make sense. He was new in school. He didn't know me.
Maybe he really was looking for a friend.
I walked over to creepy Jim, who looked like a skeleton hiding behind a gray beard. He looked like hell but truth be told, I felt more comfortable around him than I did with Alex. This is where I belonged. It's where I'd always belonged. I didn't belong with the good-looking, affluent crowd. I belonged tight with the likes of creepy Jim and everyone else like him.
"What's up?" I said as I came near him. "What are you doing here?"
"Got something for you."
Rabies? A staph infection? Tuberculosis? "What's that?"
"Just something I've been meaning to give you for awhile, but haven't."
Was he shit faced? Was he messing with me? The only thing creepy Jim had ever given me were the creeps.
"Who were you walking with?"
"I don't know," I said. "He's new here. Name's Alex or something."
"Why was he walking with you? Nobody walks with you."
"Thanks."
"You know what I mean. I ain't here to bust your balls, Seth. Just something off about it."
He was right. It didn't make sense to me either. I shrugged at him.
"There's something I want to give you."
"You've already said that. Look, I need to get inside. The bell is going to ring soon. If I walk in late and there's no seat for me, do you have any idea how that's going to go down?"
"That's sort of what this is all about," he said, reaching into his pants pocket. He pulled out a blue velvet bag and kept it cupped in one hand. With his free hand, he took a swig from whatever was in the brown bag. He coughed and there it was--a rush of whiskey. Six feet separated us and I could smell it from here. "You know," he said. "I know you have a tough time of it. Not just at home, but everywhere."
I really didn't want to hear this, especially from a drunk. I had enough of those in my life.
"But this will help you." He lifted the velvet bag. "I wanted to give it to you years ago, but you were too young for it. My daddy gave it to me when I was your age and going through the same shit."
"What are you talking about? Jim, I gotta go."
"Not yet, you don't. I want you to watch something." He dipped into the bag and pulled out a necklace. He lowered his head, put it on and then I could see what was dangling from the end of it. It either was a flat piece of rock or a piece of bone. It was tough to tell, but Jim was thumbing it. "Been a long time since I wore this. Maybe twenty years. Gives you a little rush. I'd forgotten that."
What was this? Voodoo? What was Jim going to do next--skin squirrels? I didn't have time for it. He saw I was about to speak and held up a finger. Then, he turned that finger so it pointed at students leaving the buses and walking toward the school. "Tell me which one picks on you the most."
"We'd be here all day, Jim."
"Just pick one."
I wanted out of there. I turned and looked over the crowd. Coming off one of the buses was Jake Tyler, who was right up there with Mike Hastings in treating me like a piece of shit ever since I'd first met him in grade school. "Him," I said. "The one getting off that bus over there. His name is Jake. He's been after me since I can remember."
"If anything could happen to him right now--something that would humiliate him--what would you choose?"
Jake was now walking with a handful of friends, all of whom had joined him in turning me into the person I was today. A nothing. A nobody. The last person you wanted to be seen with. The first person whose ass you wanted to kick. Just watching him laugh and walk with that swagger of his was enough to make my cheeks flush. Like Hastings, he'd won life's lottery. Nothing touched him.
Without even knowing it, I said, "I'd like to see him break his nose."
"You sure about that?"
"Why not? He's done enough to me and others over the years to deserve it. I know he's even dished out a few broken noses of his own. I'd like to see him trip over his feet, smash his face on the pavement and come up crying like a baby while his broken nose bleeds all over his new clothes."
Jim slid off the hood of the car. He reached out and touched my forearm, and I noticed how warm his hand was. "He pick on you a lot?"
"He picks on me."
"Wonder what he'd look like with a broken nose?"
"Probably still better than me without a broken nose."
"Only one way to find out."
His hand was growing warmer--and then it got hot. I looked at him and he appeared to be somewhere else. His eyes weren't right--they were shiny, glossy. And though it was daylight, there was something else about him--he was slightly glowing.
"Watch," he said. He parted his lips and blew a rush of air.
I looked over at Tyler, who suddenly tripped over his feet and fell face-first on the pavement. He hit it hard. Those around him stepped back in surprise, then drew closer when he started screaming.
I turned to Jim. "What--?"
"Just watch."
Tyler rolled onto his side and his hands flew to his nose. Blood spilled from between his fingers and dripped down his face, curled over his mouth and chin, and then onto his new clothes.
Jim released his grip from my arm. I pressed my hand over the spot where it had been and found it still hot. Unbelieving, I watched one of the teachers rush out of the school and stop beside Tyler, who was crying like a newborn, just as I'd imagined it. His eyes were squinted tight and he was blubbering uncontrollably.
Suddenly, creepy Jim was all business. He took off the necklace and gave it to me. "Put it on."
"What did you just do?"
"Something I shouldn't have done, but given what you said, he probably deserved it." He shot me a sidelong glance. "And you wanted it--don't forget that. If you ask this necklace for anything, you'd better want it. There's no turning back." He nodded at the necklace just as the bell rang. "Put it on."
"I don't want it."
"You got a long year ahead of you, boy. Why not make it tolerable. Think twice about it. Put it on."
"What is it?"
"It's an amulet. It can help you just as it helped me."
"How?"
"That's the thing," he said. "It's different with everyone. Might not even work for you. But if it does, you'll need to figure out how it can help just like me and everyone else before me did. There's no training manual. There's no directions. You work it with your heart and with your head. You'll figure it out. But don't misuse it. Don't give in to all of it. Most times there's no need for violence--you can handle a situation another way. A positive way. Sometimes, you can't and that's that. Sometimes, you need to go to war. But that's rare." He reached out and took my chin in his hand. "You hear me? That's rare. Respect this and you'll have a friend in it. Put it on."
I put it around my neck and couldn't help but feel a jolt of energy when I did. Jim reached forward, pulled out the neck of my shirt and dropped it inside so no one could see it. "Wear it like that. No one ever should see this on you."
"What's at the end of it?"
"Bone."
"From who?"
"Hell, boy, I don't know. It's a piece of someone's skull. Native American. That's all I know. That and the fact that it will help you. Just don't go crazy with it. Don't show your hand. Use it only when you need to. Once you get how to use it, understand that it could be used for good or for evil. Use it for good. The other will call for you--it'll come hard for you--but ignore it. Use it for good."
I looked over at Tyler, who was still crying, still bleeding and now being helped up the school's steps by a teacher and the school nurse. "Use it for good?" I said. "Like we just did by breaking his nose?"
The second bell rang, indicating that students had five minutes to get to their homerooms. "You wanted it," Jim said. "That's the key. And it can get a whole lot crazier than that. But you're a good kid. I didn't give this to you without thinking hard about it. You'll find out a way to use it that will keep them off you without violence. Just because you have it doesn't mean you also will become a bully. In fact, it means just the opposite. Experiment with it all you want, but do so with kindness. Only go for violence when there's no other option."
"And if there is no other option?"
The hardness in Jim's face surprised me. "Then give it all you got and give it hard."
~~~~
When I walked into my homeroom, there was no teacher and everyone was talking about Jake Tyler's broken nose.
The room was buzzing with it, so alive with it that I actually was able to take my seat without anyone noticing me or giving me a hard time. Chalk up a victory for me, because that's never how it went. I listened to the cacophony of voices surrounding me and was surprised by what I heard.
"Bitch bit it big time."
"See him cry? What the hell was that? He sounded like a girl."
"What's weird is that he dropped like a stone. I was behind him. He just went down hard. It was kind of funny. I've seen him on the field getting tackled from behind and go down harder than that, and yet each time, he just gets up as if it was nothing."
"That's because he was wearing padding and hit grass, idiot. Pavement is a little different."
"I still think it's funny. Did you hear him? It was like, 'Boo, hoo, hoo! I bwoke my nose! Call me a waaaambulance!'"
"Jake's a good guy. I think you should tell him that yourself, loser, and see how he reacts."
That silenced everyone. The person who said it was Sara Fielding, who now, after taking a load of snot and spit in her face, was apparently one of God's children. She was above it all. She was the voice of reason. After facing an act of cruelty, all cruelty had left her. She was a shining example of someone rising from the ashes.
She was the worst kind of hypocrite.
She sat stick straight in her chair, her aggressive blonde ponytail the perkiest thing in the room, which was saying plenty given her perky boobs. Her books were on the left of her desk. On top of them were her iPad and iPhone. Everything was neat, neat, neat. Watching her, I thought how much I disliked her. I thought given her new stature in life, there should be some sort of shining aura around her. She had transformed herself into an angel, so why shouldn't she look like one? She obviously considered herself one. She should be lit from within.
And then she was.
It didn't last long, but everyone saw it. Suddenly, Sara had light shining out of her eyes and nostrils, her private parts, her ears and her mouth, the latter of which became blazingly apparent when she opened her trap and started screaming again.
As she turned her head, it was as if a spotlight was fanning the room, with some of the students taking the blinding light straight in the face.
It was surreal. All around her was light. She literally was a feast of light. It came off her in waves. She stood and turned in horror for help--but no one was coming for help. Everyone reared back. They were terrified of her.
Some held up their hands to shield their eyes when she turned to look at them. What was more bizarre is that she was getting brighter. What was once a series of powerful lights now was a fierce show of light. Her head was so bright, you could see through her cheeks. In the electrical stimulus that consumed her, her hair started to fan out and the tips of each strand lit the room in thousands of tiny laser-like beams.
As I looked at her, she reminded me of something Lady Gaga might try for her next video. And then Sara's hair started to singe at the tips. Smoke curled and wafted into the air, filling the room with a rancid stink.
And then Sara started to spin.
"What's wrong with me!" she shouted.
Nobody knew, but they were captivated. In her cute little brand new pair of pastel pants, light was shining from places no light should shine. Light was shining from her hoo-hoo. Light was beaming out of her backside. It was as if every orifice of her body was a conduit of light.
"I'm burning up! Hot! Hot! Burning! Do something!"
But no one moved. They were transfixed. Sara twirled, swirled and whirled, and all anyone did was slowly recede from their seats and press themselves against the back wall.
As I watched her spin like a top, her head literally started to smoke as her hair continued to shrink in the searing heat. It was obvious that the light might consume her. And then things took a turn for the worse--the light was changing. It was becoming orange, the color of fire, which was reflected in her skin tone. She was burning up inside--and that was it for me. I shook my head at the sight of it, snapped out of my reverie--and just like that, it was lights out for Sara, who immediately returned to normal.
Silence struck the classroom.
Sara stopped spinning and just stood there. Her ponytail had released itself from its knot and what was left of her hair now hung in her face. What had been a shoulder-length haircut was now a mere bob.
"Dude, what the hell?" someone said.
She didn't move.
"You alright?"
She looked down at her hands and feet. She patted her head and ran her fingers along the crisp tips of her hair, most of which broke off in her hands like pieces of fried straw. She held out her arm and asked one of her girlfriends if it had stopped. But her friend, Carrie Williams, didn't reply. Her face had gone pale with what she'd just seen and she said nothing. She couldn't speak.
Since nothing surprised me when it came to the depths of human cruelty, I wasn't surprised when someone went for it and asked Sara if the spit Hastings globbed onto her face was toxic. Maybe even nuclear. That turned out to be enough for Sara, who shoved a finger at the offender and told him to shut it.
"Shut it?" he said. "Sara, you light up like a Christmas tree and you tell me to shut it? You've got some explaining to do. What are you, some kind of witch? What the hell was that?"
But she wouldn't answer because she didn't know. Rattled and on the brink of tears, she swept up her books and other belongings, and bolted for the door just as Alex came through it. He stepped aside so she could press past him and then he spotted me as the room burst into a frenzy of conversation. He took the seat just ahead of mine and lifted an eyebrow. "What's going on?"
"Sara just found her inner light."
He looked confused. "What does that mean?"
"It means she literally just turned into a funnel of light. Her eyes were like spotlights. Her head turned into a disco ball. Her hair started to burn--take a whiff and you can smell it now. She had light coming out of her ass and light coming out of her other parts."
"Oh, come on."
"I not joking. Just listen. They all saw it and they're all talking about it."
While he listened to the group, which was confirming everything I said, I realized that I had created this. Somehow, I caused Sara to light up as if someone had shoved the mother of all roman candles up her butt, lit the fuse and then stepped away to watch the inevitable happen. I eased back in my seat and ran it all through my head, trying to figure out how it happened.
I'd slipped into thought. I'd imagined her shining like the Virgin Mary. I'd said to myself that she should be lit from within. And then she was.
I pressed my hand to my shirt and could feel the amulet's warmth. I didn't understand it, but I couldn't deny it. I was me. I was responsible. I caused this even though I hadn't intended to. And there was something else I couldn't deny. The light she emitted only had grown in strength. If I hadn't shaken myself out of that moment, something terrible would have happened to her. She could have combusted.
And here's the dirty truth--whether I liked it or not, knowing I was the catalyst for what just happened made me feel something I'd never felt in my life. Power. For the first time ever, I felt invincible and I liked it almost as much as I was scared of it.
With the exception of her new shorter hair, Sara hadn't been physically injured. Maybe emotionally scarred for the rest of her life, but there are counselors for that. Still, I'd been able to shut it off. I'd shaken myself out of whatever haze I was in and it stopped. That was something I'd need to remember--how to turn it off.
Alex looked at me. "This is nuts." And then he really looked at me. "Are you alright?"
I shrugged. Yes and no. Mostly no.
What the hell had creepy Jim given me?
~~~~
When the bell rang, it marked the beginning of a new school year, but what did that year hold for me now? Certainly not what I was thinking earlier this morning--pending death. Certain destruction. A fist to the gut.
But what now?
Without being conscious of it, I'd just turned someone into a spinning sphere of light. Until I learned exactly how to use this thing, I'd need to monitor all my thoughts, which was scary because doing so was next to impossible when most of the school had it in for me.
What if someone came up behind me and punched me and I had one of my usual thoughts--die! Would they? Was this thing that powerful? Could I kill someone with it? The whole thing made me uneasy and, frankly, kind of scared. What were its limits? Did it have limits?
Did I have limits?
I needed to speak to creepy Jim now--not later--but since I didn't own a cell, there was no way to reach him, so I'd need to suck it up and try to keep things under control until later, when I could speak to him.
That is, if he'd talk to me. I was told to figure this thing out on my own. Somehow, I'd need to do that. But how? Would today's Sara and Jake incidents create enough attention to move the target off me for the next several hours? As I moved toward the door, people were still talking about them, so I was able to slip under the radar as we all shuffled into the hall. I caught a few looks shot my way, but none of them lingered--the interest was elsewhere. For once, I wasn't the focus.
But I was curious.
English was first and I had a few minutes to get there. Ahead of me was the boy's bathroom. I stepped inside, saw no one there. I went to one of the mirrors and looked at myself. Face covered with acne. Hair a thick, wiry mess. Tooth missing thanks to one of Dad's drunken benders.
Could I change it?
I stood there, staring at my face. How would I even begin to change it? Could I change it? When I turned Sara into a menorah, I'd been in my head, thinking that she should have an aura of light about her since she was so goddamned perfect.
And so that's the tactic I took now. I looked at myself and thought that my acne should disappear and never come back, that my tooth should return, that my hair should have smooth, natural waves. Minutes passed. I studied my face and thought long and hard, willing it to happen--but nothing happened. Nothing changed. I was still the tall, skinny kid with a face made for a horror movie.
Why couldn't I change it? Was it beyond the amulet's limits?
I looked around the room. Across from me was a light. Certainly, I could shatter it. I thought about the light and in my mind's eye, I imagined it exploding. But it didn't. As much as I tried, I couldn't make it happen. I held out my hand in front of me like some powerful being from a horror movie, I thought "shatter," and then I tossed an imaginary ball of energy toward the light.
Zip.
What had I done to make Sara light up like that? I hadn't been scared of her--that wasn't it. I hadn't felt threatened. So, what was it? Was there a limit on how often you could use this thing per day? Because if there was, I was screwed.
I was just leaving the bathroom when I remembered what creepy Jim said to me. It's different with everyone. Might not even work for you. But if it does, you'll need to figure out how it can help you just like me and everyone else before me. There's no training manual. There's no directions. You work it with your heart and with your head.
And there it was.
With my face and with the light I tried to shatter, I'd only been using my head, not my heart. I wasn't fully vested. I went back to the mirror and looked at myself, hating what I saw. My parents were too poor to buy me anything to control the acne, and so it had taken over my face and parts of my neck, turning it red with its craters and swollen bumps.
I was ashamed to look like this and I spooled down into that feeling, tapping into in a way that I hadn't before. You work it with your heart and with your head. My face should be free of acne. It should be smooth and I should have a normal complexion--the best complexion--just like the rich kids.
And then I did.
~~~~
When I walked into my English class, it was the usual parade of chatter, with everyone either catching up on what they'd done that summer, or talking about what had happened to Tyler and Sara.
My teacher, Mrs. Branson, was writing something on the chalkboard as I passed her. She was an ice bitch who had never liked me. And she was shady. I could see her looking at me out of the corner of her eye. And then she stopped writing all together.
"Seth Moore?"
The last thing I wanted was attention. I pretended I didn't hear her and kept walking to my seat.
"Seth," she said, her voice more commanding. "I'm talking to you."
I turned to her. "Yes, Mrs. Branson?"
It was as if she'd never seen me before. She was an older woman in her late fifties who, probably in her prime, was something to look at. Now, she still was, only age was eating away at her, putting on pounds where she hadn't had them before. Her tough luck.
She studied my face and hair.
"Is there a problem, Mrs. Branson?"
She composed herself. "No," she said. "Did you have a good summer?"
"I've never had a good summer. My parents are drunks. Over the years, everyone in this room has gone out of their way to make certain that's a known fact. It was a lousy summer. It was no different from any summer I've ever had. It sucked."
She didn't know what to do with that. "I'm sorry," she said. "It's nice to have you back. At least it looks like the summer treated you well."
Make her squirm. "What does that mean?"
"It means that you look...healthy."
"How did I look before."
Her face flushed. She was digging herself deeper. I was more than happy to let her do so. "Your skin has cleared up," she said.
"I didn't know you had an interest in my skin."
"I don't. But you have to admit it's a change."
"Really?" I said. I was aware that the room had gone quiet. People were listening. "A change from what? What did I look like before?"
Somebody behind me said, "A freak."
It was Mike Hastings--I'd know his voice anywhere. I turned to him and when I did, the expressions of surprise that shifted across every face in that room were priceless. Everyone was rooted to my face, which was indeed smooth and actually had a hint of color to it. I looked better. Some might even consider me handsome. Many were staring at my hair, which had a kind of hip, curly vibe to it. I saw Alex in the back of the room, and his brows were knitted together, trying to figure me out.
"You think I'm a freak, Hastings?"
"Any guy who wears that amount of makeup to cover his zits is a freak, buddy. You didn't look like that this morning. You looked like you always look--a frigging volcano ready to erupt. Who'd you get the makeup from? Your momma while she was passed out?"
"You're a class act, Mike."
"And you're a friggin' drag queen."
"If you think it's makeup, come wipe it off me."
"Why?" he said. "So you can get close enough to kiss me?"
Save for Alex and a few others, most in the room laughed.
"Why don't you leave him alone?" Alex said.
But Hastings was having none of him this time. More interesting is that Mrs. Branson was allowing all of this to unfold.
"Why don't you shut up? This doesn't concern you."
"Actually, he's right," I said. I turned to Mrs. Branson, who had a look on her face that suggested she was enjoying this. Her eyes were bright. She was biting her lower lip.
She didn't know what was coming next.
"Isn't it your job to make sure none of this goes on?" I asked her. "Isn't it your job to keep order? Make peace? Keep us in line so we can do our work and do it well? Isn't it your job to make sure people like me aren't bullied? I've had you for a teacher for years and you never interfered when they pulled this crap on me or anyone else. Can you explain that to me?"
She was flustered, embarrassed.
"Explain it to me?"
"I owe you no explanation."
"You owe me every explanation."
"For what?"
"For standing there and doing nothing. For getting off on watching them take their repressed self-hatred out on me."
She pointed toward the door. "Go to the principal's office. Now."
"For what?"
"Insolence."
"That's an impressive word, but I haven't been insolent. I was just called a freak by one of the worst, most morally corrupt people in this school. You heard it and did nothing about it. So, I'll go and see the principal and here's why--I'm going to question your teaching, your lack of morals and ethics. I'm finally going to let them know exactly how you've behaved in these situations since I've been coming to your classes." I snapped my fingers. "Time for the curtain to go up on your teaching career, Mrs. Branson." I snapped my fingers again. "And then, when I'm finished, time for it to go down on it."
"Holy shit," someone behind me said.
Branson came around her desk. "Get out."
"You've got it."
I started to walk past her and when I did, she grabbed my arm. "No one in this class heard or saw anything you're claiming." Her eyes swept the room. "Am I right, class?"
Immediately, the majority either nodded or said, "yes."
But when I looked over at Alex, he was out of his seat, gathering his books and coming to the front of the class, where he towered above Branson. "If he goes, I go. I saw what happened here. I'm backing him with the truth. To stop us, you can do this: Send Hastings to the principal, apologize to Seth and set the record straight."
"Two against twenty is a losing proposition," she said.
I started to walk out the door. "We'll see about that."
Alex followed me and as he did, I was aware of someone else standing. It was Jennifer Sanford, one of the few people who never had picked on me and one of the few girls I'd had a crush on for years because of her kindness and let's face it, because she was hot.
As always, she was seated in front. She never had been popular or unpopular, the former of which was surprising because she was one of the most attractive girls in school. Still, probably because she wasn't a cheerleader and didn't participate in sports, she was one of the in-betweens--a person who was allowed to exist without interference.
Plus, a lot of the guys wanted to screw her.
"And where are you going, Jennifer?" Branson asked.
"With them."
"You better think twice about that."
"Actually, you better think twice about this." In her hand was her iPhone. She pressed a button, held it in front of Branson and turned up the sound.
She recorded everything on video.
In horror, Branson looked at herself on the screen. She heard Hastings call me a freak. She heard herself say, "No one in this class saw or heard anything. Am I right, class?" And she heard herself say to Alex, "Two against twenty is a losing proposition."
Now, her face was the color of the chalk staining her finger tips.
"We'll be in the principal's office," I said as I walked out of the room. "Thanks for sending me there. It's time to get a few things off my chest."
~~~~
The three of us walked down the long hallway in silence, which was odd for a few reasons. First, I can't remember a time when I walked with anyone in this school. It just didn't happen. People weren't seen with me.
This was about as strange as it got, but in a good way, especially since I found myself walking with Jennifer, who I'd always wanted to talk to but never really dared. As nice as she was, what would someone like her see in someone like me?
Second was the school itself--while classes were in session, it was weirdly quiet. For the new school year, the floors were freshly waxed and, from the block of windows at the far end of the hall, the sun caught the gleam and tossed back.
Jennifer was at my left. She reached out a hand to me, which I shook. "I'm Jennifer Sanford," she said. "It's nice to meet you, Seth."
I felt a rush. I could feel my face turning red. I returned the greeting. "Thanks for video taping that."
"I can't stand her. When I saw that you were finally going to stick up for yourself--and how you were going about it, which was genius because you never lost your cool--I knew it wouldn't go well. I just snapped on my phone, put it on the end of my desk and pointed it at her."
"Isn't your mother a lawyer?"
"She is."
"Then you've got it in your blood. That was nothing but instinct."
Alex was at my right. I looked up at him and saw that he was pissed. "You were great in there," he said.
"I'll catch it from Hastings and his cronies later, but it had to be said."
"That's what I meant about my brother," he said. "Once he stood up to them, they backed down. You're on the right track."
I smiled at him but sank into myself. I'm on the right track not because of any newfound courage on my part, but because I've got some freaky amulet around my neck that apparently can do a whole host of shit. Like get rid of the wiry kinks from my bush hair and swipe the acne off my face, revealing it for the first time in years. It also gave me back the tooth my father smashed out of my head. I felt like a fraud standing next to them. They thought I'd been brave, when really, I was only falling back on something powerful that I still didn't fully understand.
I didn't exactly know how the amulet worked, but I was beginning to have a feeling for it. When the day ended, I planned on practicing somewhere private to see if I could get it down.
We were halfway down the hallway when there was the sound of a door opening behind us. I knew it was Branson before I turned.
"Seth," she said. "Alex. Jennifer."
We kept walking.
"Let me explain."
We stopped and turned. She was leaning against the door like a sack of potatoes shoe-horned into a yellow dress. Defeat was on her face. No sound came from the room beyond.
"I've changed my mind. I don't want you to go to the principal. We can work this out ourselves."
Jennifer lifted her iPhone again. She pointed it down the hall and started to record her. Branson eyed the machine, hating it.
"No, we can't," I said. "You made your choice. You chose me over Hastings, and I'm going to the principal."
"That can be changed." With the camera on her, she chose her words carefully. Her voice became light. "This is the new year," she said. "Some things were said. I agree that I was wrong. Mike should be punished. Let's start off fresh."
It happened so quickly, I wasn't aware of it happening.
Just looking at her standing there, pleading with us, knowing she was in the wrong and was about to beg for us to conceal what she'd done, was too much for me to swallow.
Anger bloomed within me. I imagined the door she was sagging against slamming shut--hard. So hard that it would send her flying across the room. So hard that she'd skid across the floor and smash her head against her desk. So hard that it would make a final statement--don't fuck with me, lady. Leave me alone. Let me be.
And that's exactly what happened.
In a split second, the door swung shut with a bang, but because it was so quiet in the hall, you could hear Branson striking something inside. There was a scrambling. I could hear some of the students asking her if she was alright. I looked at Jennifer and saw that she was still filming. I tapped her on the arm, she clicked off the phone and the three of us walked to the principal's office, but not before Alex intervened."
"Um, what was that?"
"What was what?"
"That door closed by itself."
"It looked that way."
"Do you know how?"
"No idea."
"Something you want to tell us?"
"Like what? I wrinkled my nose and magically made it happen?" I gave him a look that suggested the idea was ridiculous. "Actually, for effect, I think she closed it on her own. She knew Jennifer was filming and she did something that would look off." I shook my head. "I don't know. I also don't really care. I just want to get to the principal's office and finally take a stand for myself."
I looked at each of them and knew they were trying to process what had happened to poor old lady Branson and also why my complexion and hair looked like something out of an Abercrombie & Fitch poster. They wouldn't know about the tooth. When my father punched me, he knocked me from the side and loosened a wisdom tooth, which became so loose, I pulled it out. Now, it was back. It felt good to have it back.
"I don't know," I said. "It was kind of weird, wasn't it?"
"You think?" Jennifer asked.
I smiled at her. "Maybe it was your phone. Maybe Mac has an app that takes down bullshit teachers."
At least that made them laugh. We kept walking forward.
"If they do," I said, "I probably should look into that."
~~~~
The meeting with Principal Roberts was brief and intense.
I told her why I was there, why Alex and Jennifer joined me, and then we showed Roberts the video of Branson in the classroom. To protect ourselves from whatever she might say later, we also showed her the video of Branson's door suddenly shutting and her being swept inside.
Roberts was a middle-aged woman with a motherly face and I have to give it to her--she handled the situation better than I expected, which gave me some hope that Alex and Jennifer weren't the only decent people left in the world.
"I don't know what to think about the door," she said tentatively. "Any ideas about that?"
We shrugged.
"It just slammed shut," Jennifer said. "You can see on my iPhone that none of us was behind it."
"I see that, but I don't understand why it would shut on its own."
"Maybe Mrs. Branson did it," I said. "She knew she was on camera. After what she pulled on me in that classroom, I don't put anything past her. She could have just yanked it shut to make people question it. But, who knows? I don't understand it myself."
Roberts looked at me and after a moment, her questioning eyes softened a bit. "Mrs. Branson will be spoken to," she said. "So will Mike Hastings. Right after you leave. I don't tolerate bullying of any kind in this school."
"With all due respect, Principal Roberts, I've never not been bullied in this school."
"You've never come to me about it."
"That's true. But when so many teachers watch you go down time and again without stepping in to help, you tend to get jaded. Why would I think that you'd help me when none of your staff has? Nobody has ever stepped in to stop it. And if I can be frank, you must have been aware on some level what I've been going through for the past three years. It's no secret."
When she didn't answer, I knew she knew.
"So, you see?" I asked. "You knew and yet nothing has changed. Today, I met a new friend in Alex. He gave me a little push. He gave me some confidence." I looked at Jennifer and part of me melted when I did. She was beyond pretty. "And I met Jennifer, who saw what was happening and had the presence of mind to get it on tape when I was trying to reason with my teacher to make it stop. What that got me was a trip to your office. Pretty incredible, isn't it, that teachers can be the worst bullies? You know what really scares me?"
She shook her head.
"It's only going to get worse before it gets better--if it gets better. That's how it goes. If they don't tackle me here at school, then it will happen off school property. And there's nothing you can do about that. It will be up to their parents, who also will do nothing because they believe there's no way their precious child would bully anyone. Coming here was like opening Pandora's box. I am so in for it, I can't tell you."
"Then here is what I can tell you," Roberts said. "You go to the police next time someone pulls something. And as much as I hate to say it, I know you're right, Seth--they will come after you. But you do have that option of going to the police."
"What proof would I have if I did? People hate me here. I don't know why they do, but I can guess. Probably because I'm poor and because, yes, my parents are alcoholics. I'm the person who lives in the tin-can trailer. I'm the person who never has fit in. It's like I'm Kryptonite. If somebody saw someone take a swing at me, they'd say nothing because if they did speak up, they'd be targeted. They'd be branded as the person who snitched. That's how it works. With the exception of these two, nobody has ever taken a stand. I'm screwed."
"No, you're not," Alex said. "I've got your back."
"I appreciate that," I said. "But you're not always going to be there. Hastings will have his day with me. I can give you the names of two dozen others who also will have at me."
"Then give me the names," Roberts said. "I'll talk to them."
"And make things worse? I can't do that. There's no way you can shut down all of the people who have made it their life's work to make my life a living hell. And don't think I'm being melodramatic--I'm not."
"You're going to have to trust someone, Seth."
"I do," I said. "After today, I trust these two. After you've talked to Mrs. Branson, I'll know how firm you were with her and then, if she does find some compassion and does change, maybe I can trust you, too."
"I hope that's the case, because I plan to talk to her and Mike Hastings immediately."
In the silence that passed, I felt embarrassed. I'd never opened up like this to anyone. I felt exposed and uncomfortable. I just wanted to leave. "Anyway," I said. "I've probably said too much. I've gotten through years of this crap and I can get through this year. Then I can move out of this town and start a new life somewhere else." I looked at her. "Do you mind if we leave now?"
She shook her head.
"Do I need to go back to her class? There's, like, another forty minutes left. I don't want to go back in there."
"I don't expect you to. Why don't you take the rest of the day for yourself? Go home. Let me talk to Mrs. Branson and Mike Hastings. We also have a teacher's meeting tonight. Believe me when I say that I'll be sending every teacher in that room a warning."
\*
Outside Roberts' office, the three of us stood together. They were trying to be discrete, but I was aware of them looking at my face and my hair, and wondering what the hell I had done to myself to go from what they knew to what they saw now. I 'd gone too far. I should have been more subtle. What was I thinking?
"I appreciate what you both did for me today," I said. "It means a lot."
"Are you walking home?" Alex asked.
"Because you don't need to," Jennifer said. "I've got a car. It's not much, but I saved up for it and it runs. I'll take you home if you don't want to walk. I could ask Principal Roberts. She won't mind."
Alone with her in a car? I'd never spent much time around girls because none wanted to spend time around me. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Alex looking intently at me. Did he want me to take the shot and go with her? Or was he interested in Jennifer, himself? "Thanks," I said. "But actually a walk sounds good."
"You sure?"
I nodded. And truth be told, I needed that walk. I planned on doing something on that walk. I wasn't looking forward to it, but it had to be done, regardless of the death it would cause. "I'll be fine--all of the beasts are rubbing their hands in here. Would you do something for me, Jennifer?"
"Of course."
"Can you get that video you shot off your phone and put it on a thumbdrive for me? I think I might be needing it if Branson tries to screw me."
"I can do that. I'll have it for you tomorrow."
"I'll pay for the drive."
"Don't worry about it," she said. "My brother's a techie. He won't miss it."
~~~~
There are woods behind the school that, if you keep on the main path and walk along several winding miles, will eventually empty out near the neighborhood where I live.
And also where creepy Jim lives.
I needed to see if he was home and have a talk with him, but first there was something I needed to do if I was going to fully understand the amulet's power and the weight of responsibility that came from wearing it.
The day was bright and warm, so warm that I took off my light jacket and exposed my pale arms to the sun. The heat felt good. I ran a hand over my face and for the first time in years, what I felt was smooth, with just a touch of stubble. There were no swollen bumps, no pustules ready to pop--instead, my face wasn't the cratered valley of boulders it had been that morning. Now it was normal.
I ran a hand through my hair and was surprised by how smooth it was. I shook my head and it seemed to fall back naturally in place, which my hair never did because ever since I could remember, it had been a thick, wiry mess with an unruly mind of its own.
I wondered what my parents would think when they saw me, but then I checked myself because I already knew. They wouldn't realize there was a difference. They'd be oblivious to it.
As I walked into the woods and started down the dirt path, I looked down at my thin arms and wondered what the rest of me would look like if I had a body like Alex. Or even Hastings. The temptation to transform myself was great--and I knew I could do it. But not yet, or at least not all at once.
How much was too much? How much was just enough? I was tall and skinny. I tried working out in my bedroom for years, but muscle proved to be no magnet for my body. In fact, it rejected it. With disappointment, I ran my hands down the length of my concave chest and flat abdomen. Nothing was defined--it was all skin and bone. I hated my body, but I knew enough now that transforming it would need to happen gradually.
And it would happen today.
I looked above me on the path. The trees were beautiful, swaying just slightly in the breeze. The sky beyond them was clear blue. The sun was strong and it dappled down to the forest floor. I didn't want to do what was coming next, but I had no choice.
What was the least-destructive route? If I was going to do this, how best to minimize the damage in the life I was about to take?
Ahead of me was a squirrel. It had seen me and already hopped from the forest floor to a pine tree, which it now clung to as it looked at me. It was cute and kind of funny. No way, I thought. But what I saw beneath that squirrel could work. It was a clutch of wild flowers. They were pure white and tall, with a few bees hovering above them. Soon, fall would turn to winter and these flowers would die back. Time was ticking against them.
And that time just ticked a little faster.
I went and looked down at them. You work it with your heart and with your head. I studied them and knew what I had to do to make this work, and so I imagined Mike Hastings' face on all of them.
I imagined the flowers calling me a "freak" and a "faggot," just as Hastings had today. I thought of all the shitty things he'd ever done to me and my anger rose. I thought back to last year, when he came up behind me in the library and shoved me so hard that I passed out when my head hit the floor.
I thought of the day that I fell in line behind him at lunch and had to sit opposite him. Over and over again, he told me what a worthless piece of shit I was while he threw peas at my forehead while the others laughed. He told me I didn't deserve to be sitting across from him. He said I should be dead because he was tired of all the dirty air I created.
And so with all this in mind, I looked at those flowers and said what I always said when he came after me. "Die!"
At first, nothing happened--the flowers were unwavering. They stood tall and were beautiful. But then, starting at the base of their stems, a darkness took hold as the stems started to turn black.
I took a step backward and watched the blackness consume them. It reached upward toward the leaves, which folded in on themselves, and then it fanned out to the flowers, whose petals fell off while their necks drooped. And then the stems themselves collapsed because there was nothing left to hold them up. It was over in a matter of seconds. What was once a stand of wild white flowers brightening this corner of the world was now actively liquefying into a gray puddle of rot at my feet.
I killed them and I had the answer I feared. The amulet was powerful enough to cause death.
I took another step back, where there was a large rock, and I sat on it. I was scared. I had no right to do that, but I had to see the amulet's limits for myself. And death was the absolute limit. If I got angry enough, I very well could kill someone.
I was thinking that I couldn't wear this thing any longer when there was a sound to my left. Well down the path, I heard footsteps crunching on the fallen pine needles. They were coming quickly, aggressively. I turned in their direction and saw the last thing I wanted to see--the pissed-off face of Mike Hastings coming straight at me.
~~~~
The rock I was sitting on was tucked back in a small alcove. Trees and plants offered something of a shield. He hadn't seen me yet. He was about thirty feet away. His eyes were lowered and focused on the path. He looked bigger to me here. He'd also taken off his jacket and now it was apparent just how hard he worked on his body over the summer. He was no Alex, but he was close.
He looked fearless and imposing. He bulldozed up the path.
What was he doing here? Had he followed me? Was he looking for me? I couldn't be sure. I wanted to recede, but I'd only make a noise. Roberts said she was going to talk to him. Did she send him home? Did she expel him? What had happened between them?
He was ten feet away when he saw me, and when he did, the surprise on his face was unmistakable. So was the delight that replaced it. He stopped in the middle of the path and just stood there, looking at me. He cocked his head to the right and smiled. Then he did the last thing I wanted him to do--he looked down the path and around us. He was checking to see if we were alone and we were.
"What's up, faggot?"
My heart was pounding. I glanced over at the dead flowers and knew the threat that stood between us. You work it with your heart and with your head. If that was true, how could I best handle this situation. I didn't want to harm anyone. That's not who I was. Earlier, when I told creepy Jim that I'd like to see Jake Tyler fall and break his nose, I thought nothing of it. How was I supposed to know that Jim could make that happen?
"I asked you a question," Hastings said. "What's up, faggot? Roberts send you home, too?"
I didn't answer. I tried to keep myself calm, but it was impossible. He kept looking around us. I knew he was going to try something. It was payback time and he was going to make it happen and it was going to hurt.
"Roberts told me that you think I've got a problem with you. Now, why would she think that?" He took a step toward me. "Better yet, why did you tell her that?"
"You need to get away from me," I said.
"I need to do what?"
"You need to get away from me. Trust me. You need to step off."
"Or what? You'll run to Roberts? You'll tell her that we were...what? Having a little conversation?"
I could feel the amulet heating up against my chest.
"That I was nice enough to stop by and address you by your God-given name: Faggot? Is that what you'll tell her?"
Again, he looked around him. He knew we were alone. I knew it. He could do whatever he wanted to do to me and it would be his word against mine. I'd lose because I wouldn't have any proof. Unfortunately, I didn't have Jennifer's iPhone, though even if I did, he'd probably smash it.
Think.
I needed to do something that would scare him. I needed to prove to him that he couldn't touch me. I needed to create a diversion or do something else. It needed to freak him out. It needed to be enough of a show that he wouldn't come near me again.
"You know," he said. "I've got a problem with what you said to Roberts. You got me into trouble for nothing. I think you should pay for that. I think you and I need to have a little understanding of how it works around here because apparently you forgot."
He took another step toward me. And another. His mouth was pressed into a tight line of hate. I could see him balling up his right fist. Again, he looked around us. Just a few birds flying above, the wind in the trees. Satisfied, he saw his moment and took it.
In a flash, he came toward me, pulled his right arm back and swung it down hard toward my face. As it came, I quickly held up my pinky finger and pushed all of my hatred of him into it. My finger either was going to break, or it was going to break him.
You work it with your heart and with your head.
It broke him. His fist collided with it and you'd think by the agonized look on his face that he had punched his hand straight through a concrete wall. He yelped and staggered back, toward the center of the path. My pinky was still raised. It was untouched. He stared openly at it and then looked down at his hand, which was smashed. "What the fuck!" he yelled.
I got off the rock.
"I told you to stay away from me," I said. "You don't know who you're dealing with anymore. I will protect myself against you and all of your friends. I've had enough. And here's a warning--I will win every time."
"The hell you will."
He was doubled over, massaging his hand. His head was crooked to the side and he was staring up at me. Now it was my turn to look around--nobody. And so, with my heart still rocking in my chest and my hatred of him still fueling every cell in my body, I decided to give him a show he'd never forget.
I held out my arms at my sides and rose in the air above him.
Frozen, he watched me ascend twenty feet in the air. I turned my eyes into bright spheres of red light and glared down at him like a beast from a nightmare. I made the wind pick up and whip around me. Leaves lifted off the ground and funneled around me like a tornado, turning me into some kind of hornet's nest while he just stood there, paralyzed by what he saw.
And then I saw it. For the first time since we'd known each other, back in first grade when he decided that I'd be his punching bag for life, I saw it--he was afraid of me. He was terrified of me. He backed away from me.
"What the hell are you?"
I looked up at one of the large tree limbs just behind him, waved my arm in its direction and cracked my wrist down. The limb snapped off and fell hard, crashing just feet away from him.
He let out a little squeak and then I lowered my hand down toward him. It was easy--too easy. I lifted him off the ground and let him linger in the air. I waved a finger across his mouth to silence him. His tried to speak, but there was no sound. I drew him near me so we were face-to-face. My ruby-red eyes burned into his. Beneath him, his legs were scissoring. His arms were flailing. And so I paralyzed him and he went still.
I leached myself into his mind.
"This is how it's going to work," I said to him. "You're going to back off me. You're going to ignore me. You're going to remember everything that just happened, but you're going to tell no one about it. I'm forbidding you. Each time you try to tell someone, the words won't come. They'll never come, not even if you try to write them down. You'll never be able to explain what's happening between us now."
The leaves were spinning around us, swiping across our faces, knocking against our bodies before joining the storm of wind that was kicking up our hair. I looked down at his hand and then snapped my eyes back to his. "Looks like you broke it," I said. "I could fix it for you, but I won't. You were going to hit me with that hand. You were going to punch me in the face for no reason. So, it should be broken. But here's how it happened. You fell over a tree root on your way home. You went down hard and broke your hand. If I were you, I'd get home and have someone take you to the hospital. You're going to need a cast."
I lowered us both to the ground. I waved my finger across his mouth and I released his muscles so he was free to move. The wind stopped, the leaves fell around us like over-sized confetti and my eyes returned to normal. "Do you understand me now, Mike?"
He nodded.
"You're going to stay away from me, aren't you?"
He nodded.
"Good," I said. "Because if you ever do come for me again, I can promise you this. Next time won't be so easy. You treat me and others with respect from now on, or I really will hurt you."
"What are you?"
I shrugged. There was only one reply. "I'm not you. And for your sake, that's good news. Because if I was as ugly as you are on the inside, this would have gone differently. You wouldn't be walking out of here. If I had your soul, I would have ripped you apart for every rotten, humiliating thing you've ever done to me. I would have torn off your limbs, severed your head. I would have made your dirt grave and thrown you in it."
This time it was me cocking my head at him. "So, aren't you happy that I'm better than that? That I'm better than you?"
I stepped aside. "Go see a doctor."
He started to walk past me and as he did, I left him with an undercurrent of a threat.
"I'll see you tomorrow, Mike. Either at school or here again in the woods. Doesn't make a difference to me. Choice is yours. I can take you down here or I can take you down there. Now, get the hell home."
~~~~
Before I went home, I needed to see creepy Jim. Since he didn't work, there was a good chance he'd be home. If he wasn't, he probably was downtown at Judy's, likely drinking with my father. And there was no way I was going there.
But Jim was home.
He was sitting outside his trailer in a metal chair on his dirt lawn. All around him were his cats, who were rubbing up against his legs and purring. They loved him. He was kind to them. Watching him like this gave me a different view of him. Was Jim so creepy? I took a long look at his weathered, sunken face and decided that at least on the surface he was.
He looked up at me as I approached and took it all in--my face and my hair. He couldn't see the new tooth, but I'd tell him about it.
"Couldn't even wait an hour, huh?"
I shook my head.
"Well, if you had to do it, at least your face and your hair look better. What else did you do to yourself."
"The tooth Dad knocked out? It's back."
He ran his hand up the length of one of the cat's tails. "Probably smart about the tooth. Not sure about the rest."
"It was stupid," I said. "People noticed. I shouldn't have done it."
"They'll forget."
"No, they won't. I've had that face since puberty."
"Maybe you're no longer in puberty."
I hadn't thought of that, but I still should have been more subtle with the changes.
"Why are you out of school? They kick you out?"
"They didn't." I told him the story. And then I told him what had just happened with Hastings.
"You flew?"
"I kind of hovered."
"Shit. Even I never thought of that. It's a powerful kick, isn't it?"
"Too powerful." I told him about killing the flowers.
"Well, at least you didn't knock off Hastings. That could have been a real mess. The red eyes were a nice touch, though--he won't soon forget that. I like the leaves and the wind, too." He reached down for the beer at his side and finished it. "Want one?"
"I'm seventeen."
"So, what?"
"I'll pass."
"Jesus, you're uptight."
"When the world is coming after you, you think there's an option?"
"Probably not." He eyed me. "But already you're different."
"How so?"
"You're standing up straight. Got some confidence. You don't look like such a pussy."
"Thanks."
"It's a compliment. Take it. With those pimples gone, you're actually not a bad good looking boy. And that's what the amulet is for--provided you don't become one of them."
"What does that mean?"
He lifted one of the cats into his arms. It was a fat, happy cat, probably loaded with fleas and filled with all the mice it could eat. The cat batted at creepy Jim's nose and then it licked it. "You know what I mean. You've got to control that thing. You've got to pick your battles. Not everyone should go down just because you have the power to bring them down. You can use it for good, too, you know?"
"I've thought about that."
"That's the thing," he said. "How you use it is up to you. Some situations call for violence and they'll be necessary. But if you're a thinking person--and I'm pretty sure you're probably one of those--most situations can be dealt with without anyone getting hurt." He scratched beneath the cat's chin and flicked his eyes up to meet mine. "And without you turning into a bully yourself."
"Isn't being a bully going after someone for no reason?"
"I'd agree with that."
"Then I wouldn't do that. It's not me."
"Hope not. You've always been a good kid. It's why I gave it to you--I was tired of seeing you get beat up. But people change, Seth. There's light and darkness in that amulet. The darkness is stronger--it will come for you. And you'll like what it does for you. You'll get a rush out of it. You'll feel invincible. Power is intoxicating. And that's right, power corrupts. You need to be careful with it."
"How?"
"By not giving in to it. By controlling it. You need to decide how to use it best." The cat jumped off his lap and another leaped up to take its place. This one was small and white, with a black mark between its eyes and dainty feet.
"What if I can't? You know how they've been to me. You know what I've been through--at least part of it. I think I've taken care of Hastings, but there are dozens more like him. My biggest fear is that someone is going to jump me and my reflex will be what it's always been. I'll wish they were dead. And it'll happen. How am I supposed to make sure that won't happen?"
"Through training. Over and over in your head, you're going to have to imagine that scenario happening and then figure out your go-to response for it. Needs to be like second nature. You're going to have to train yourself to think of something else when that happens. And you need to start today. You're going to have to train yourself for every situation you can think of--kids spitting on you, someone punching you when you're not expecting it, someone calling you a name. You're going to have to master how you behave within the element of surprise. Does that make sense?"
"I still could kill someone."
He nudged the cat down and leaned back in his chair. He studied me. "The bitch of it all is that you probably will."
"Then I don't want anything to do with this."
"Don't be stupid--you need it."
"I don't need it."
"You won't get through this year without it."
"I've managed so far without it."
"And had what kind of life?"
I didn't say anything.
"Look, Seth. You wouldn't be the first person to accidentally kill someone with that thing. It happened to me when I was your age and it's happened with others. It'll probably happen to you--and then we're just going to have to deal with it. We'll clean up the mess and move on. You'll learn from it."
"You're saying I'll learn from killing someone?"
"I'm saying you'll learn what not to do so it won't happen again. That's why I want you to train. Today, you've had a taste. He'll, you've had a damn meal. Now, you need to find time to train. If you don't, then you're screwed."
"Alright," I said.
"And one other thing. I know how you're tapping into it, but there are other ways. You don't have to get all pissed off for it to work. You can actually be in a good mood and it will work. You need to create a relationship with it so it responds quickly to your needs. Remember, I told you to use it with your heart and with your head. I never said that you need to be ready to chop off someone's head for it to work. When you master it, it will work as an extension of your thoughts."
"How?"
Jim reached down to pick up another cat. "Figure it out."
~~~~
But I didn't want to figure it out that day. I went home, had a quick bite to eat, which in this case meant finishing off the bag of chips I found in my parents' booze-ridden pantry, and then I went to my room and stayed there. As day stretched into night, I could hear my parents pass by my door as if I didn't exist.
Sometime after nightfall, they turned on the television and cranked the volume to the point that it was blaring.
They were watching "Dancing with the Stars," likely at the demand of my mother, who once thought she'd have a career as a dancer even though she couldn't dance to save her ass.
Sometimes, when I was bored and watched the show with them, I'd see on her face a sense of excitement clouded by a kind of sad longing for what never was. My mother once worked at as a bank manager and she was good--fastidious, polite, accurate. But then the recession hit, she lost her job and somehow found a way to claim disability in an effort to keep the money coming in.
I will give her this--there isn't a week that goes by when she doesn't call her old boss at the bank to see if they are hiring again. At least there is a part of her that knows she can't live like this forever. My father? Ever since he lost his job and gave himself over to the lower calling of the bottle, I've never held out much hope for him. Maybe he'd prove me wrong one day, but I doubted it.
I went to my door, locked it and then stood in front of the cheap full-length mirror that hung on the wall next to my closet.
I took off my shirt, my pants, everything but my underwear, and just stood there, looking at my joke of a body.
I was like a piece of thread, only thinner. There was nothing to me. I turned in front of the mirror and hated what I saw. I wondered what I'd look like if I had even a trace of muscle on me. If I had abs, stronger legs, bigger arms. I wore loose-fitting hoodies at school, so no one really knew what I looked like beneath the folds of fabric, though there was no question that I was skinny.
Still, if I was subtle enough over the next several days, I might be able to create a positive change.
In my mind's eye, I pictured what that body might look like. I never wore T-shirts because they really showed how slight I was, but the idea of filling out one like so many of the other guys at school was tempting.
I looked at my chest and remembered what creepy Jim told me. I didn't need to be angry for the amulet to work. I just needed to feel what I wanted, see it and then channel it.
I went to my computer and went to the one website where I knew I'd find somebody who I'd like to resemble--Abercrombie & Fitch. I clicked through the links and found a guy who was tall like me, had the same angular, chiseled face as me, but who was built a hell of a lot better than me. He probably lived his life at the gym, working out for hours each day to get a build I'd never be able to achieve without a little help.
I looked at him and wondered if he was Jennifer's type. Looking at the guy, I had to face it--he was flawless. Strong chest, toned arms, an eight-pack. I couldn't imagine why he wouldn't be her type. He was paid to be perfect. And guess what? He had achieved something close to it.
I stood in front of the mirror and thought hard of what I wanted. When I could picture it in my head and in my heart, I went to work.
\*
Next morning, I did something I'd never done. I pulled out a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. No hoodie. No clothes that would conceal my body.
Now, there was no need to.
I showered and looked at my face in the bathroom mirror. It still was something of a shock. I had no acne and no scars--they were gone.
I ran the palm of my hand over my face and was surprised by how sharp my jaw line was in the absence of the boulders that once consumed my skin. And my complexion was different--my face didn't look raw. It was no longer red but instead reminded me of my father's olive complexion.
When I shaved, I did something different and left a line of stubble from my lower lip to my chin. I stared at it for a moment and decided to make it a bit fuller, like one of the guys did on the Abercrombie site I saw. It worked. It gave me an edge.
I shook my wet hair and watched it fall naturally into place. I dried it with a towel and ran my fingers through it.
When I was finished, I dressed and stood in front of the mirror again. I looked the same but not the same, if that makes sense. The change was just enough. I filled out my clothes but not ridiculously so. I hadn't gone too far. People would notice and they might mention it, but I had a plan for that, and over the next several weeks the changes would continue to be subtle.
I left my bedroom and was met by my father in the kitchen. He was brewing a cup of coffee. His lower back was pressed against the countertop and his eyes were bloodshot. One look at me and they widened. "What the hell happened to you?"
I wasn't staying long. I grabbed my backpack and swung it over my shoulder. "What do you mean?"
"You working out or something?"
"Trying to."
"Huh."
No criticism? No caustic judgment? That was new. I wonder if he knew it was my eighteenth birthday today. I doubted it. "See you tonight," I said.
"I'll probably be out."
Of course, you'll be out. You'll be at Judy's with creepy Jim.
"Time to find work."
And that stopped me.
"What kind of work?"
"Doesn't matter. Just time to find work."
"That's great, Dad."
"Nobody's going to want a washed-up drunk, kid. Don't fool yourself. But I'll give it a shot. I have to. They're cutting off our disability."
"I can get a job."
"You might have to."
"I can flip burgers or something."
"What you need to do is do better in school so you won't have to when you're my age."
I walked outside, surprised by what had just taken place and glad that it was another sunny day. I started walking up the incline that led to the street, where a group of other students were waiting for the bus to arrive. I hoped he could find a job. I hoped they could turn their lives around. I felt that if they could get back into their routine, the drinking would stop and it would be better at home.
As usual, I hung back from the other kids, not wanting to draw their attention, but when a car rounded the corner and stopped beside me, that changed. It was Jennifer and she was smiling. I felt a little rush and couldn't help smiling back.
The passenger-side window was open. "Want a ride?" she asked.
"You're picking me up?"
"Maybe."
"That would be great."
I slipped off my backpack and was aware that she was looking at me.
"No hoodie," she said. "That's a change."
I got in the car, aware of the others watching and likely wondering why this girl of all girls had swung by to give me a ride. "Change is good."
"I don't think I've ever seen you without one." She looked over at me. I could almost feel her eyes on me as I tucked the backpack between my legs. "You should wear a T-shirt more often."
"I had nothing else to wear."
"Let's keep it that way."
Was she flirting with me? What the hell? Nobody ever flirted with me.
She put the car into gear and moved forward to turn around. And then we saw it. She stopped the car and put her hand over her mouth. I stared at it and felt shame, embarrassment and anger.
It was our trailer.
Sometime in the night, somebody had spray-painted the words "A FAGGOT LIVES HERE" in huge black letters that took up almost the entire side of our home. Behind us, the kids at the street corner started to laugh because they knew we had just seen it. I stared at the words and while I knew I could make them disappear, I obviously couldn't do anything about them with Jennifer or the other kids here.
I looked at her and saw genuine concern in her eyes. Behind us, the bus arrived in a rush of squealing brakes.
"Would you mind if I walked to school?" I asked. "I need to take care of that."
"Let me help."
"No," I said. "I appreciate it, but I need to do something now before my parents see it. They'll freak and I don't want you to see that if it happens."
I grabbed my backpack, opened the door and stepped out. "Would you mind telling Principal Roberts that I'll be a little late."
"Of course."
"And don't worry about this," I said as I shut the door. "I'm used to it. I can handle it. I'm stronger than they think I am." I smiled at her. "See you in class."
\*
I watched her drive off and made sure she was well down the street before I turned to look at that the trailer and the words someone had scrawled across it. Would I never get a break? Is this how I always would be seen?
Happy fucking birthday. My chance to have a moment alone with Jennifer, who for some reason had gone out of her way to offer me a lift, was now driving away.
I looked around and wondered how many people in the neighborhood had seen this. No one was around, but still it was humiliating. I looked around me, saw that it was clear, and waved a hand over the side of the trailer. The words disappeared.
Now, the larger question was who did it? Hastings? Would he really come after me after what went down yesterday? If he was sane, it would seem unlikely. But the thing about Hastings is that he is off. Something isn't right with him. There's a craziness about him that's always worried me. You can see it in his eyes.
Yesterday, I gave him one hell of a show. He busted his hand on my pinky, which pretty much was a kick to his balls and to his masculinity. Was he pushing back or was this done by somebody else? Maybe a friend of his? Maybe one of the dozens of others who'd like to see me burn?
I didn't want to be late. There was nothing worse than walking into a classroom when class was in session--all eyes suddenly were on you. I checked my watch and knew I could make it. I hurried to the woods behind my house and, with a little boost from the amulet, I ran faster than I ever had.
~~~~
I made it with a few minutes to spare.
I went to my locker, dropped off the books I didn't need, grabbed a few others I did need, shut the door and spun the combination lock. I turned to leave for my homeroom--and there it was.
Everyone in the hallway was looking at me.
Some were trying to be discrete, but others were flat-out staring at me and there was no question that what I saw on their faces was confusion. I swung my backpack over my shoulder and walked through the crowd, expecting the typical jeers, but they didn't come.
At least not immediately.
I was about to enter my homeroom when Jake Tyler, he of yesterday's broken nose and boo-hoo crying jag, came up beside me and blocked the entrance with an outstretched arm. "How's it going, roid boy?"
I looked at his arm, then up at his swollen nose. "Let's put it this way--things are way better than what's going on with that blob of a schnoz of yours."
There was a flash of genuine surprise on his face. I'd never stood up to him before. "What did you just say to me?"
"Your nose," I said, loudly enough so people could hear me in the room beyond. "It looks like shit. Are they going to try to straighten it, or are you going to be stuck with a hooked nose and be permanently disfigured?" I put my hand on his arm and pushed it down so I could pass. "Excuse me," I said.
Every eye was on me as I entered the room. It was like I was an alien. Or that I had some secret-op doppelganger who had taken my place. I looked quickly for Hastings and saw that he wasn't here. Neither was Jennifer, though Alex was. And then, by the expression on his face, I knew I was in for it even before Jake Tyler lifted his books and slammed them down hard on top of my head.
I went down like a ten pin, my backpack spinning across the floor. I heard laughter, but as I blinked in an effort to pull myself together, I also was aware of feet rushing toward my backpack and a hand reaching down to pick it up. I tried to will the pain away, but I couldn't focus enough to do so. My head was splitting and I saw Alex coming toward me. His hand dipped and he helped me up. "Are you okay?"
I faked it. I tried to shake it off, but it hurt like hell. I felt the top of my head for blood. There wasn't any. "I'm fine," I said.
Alex looked over at Jake, whose face was flushed with anger. He was every bit as big as Alex, but unlike Alex, he felt the need to hold himself in such a way that suggested nothing could touch him.
Was he insecure? I couldn't imagine it--he'd always been popular and he hardly was a disappointment on the football team--but that cocky stance didn't lie. I wondered about him. In some ways, Tyler was worse than Hastings because he was pure stealth. Hastings was more showy--he liked to get in your face and get the crowd going--but Jake looked for opportunities and would only act if he was sure he was in the clear, as he was now. Our homeroom teacher wasn't here yet and so he went for it.
"What's your problem, dude?" Alex said.
"What's it to you, bitch?"
"Keep your hands off him."
"You his boyfriend or something?"
Alex laughed. "Some of you are so backwoods, it's a joke. Have you ever been out of this town? Ever been to a city? Because if you had, I think you'd have a different perspective. For some reason, and I can only guess why, everything is gay to you."
From the back of the room, someone said, "There's a good reason for that. Did you see Moore's trailer this morning? 'A Faggot Lives Here' is written all over it. Doesn't get any gayer than that, buddy."
So, the word was out.
Fine.
My head was clearing. I was able to focus. I turned to look at the room and, struck with an idea, I decided to go with it.
They were all staring at me, their smiling mouths and eager eyes waiting to see what would happen next. Some were taking in every inch of me, wondering about the changes in my body. I was not the Seth they remembered. I was changing and they knew it, but since they didn't fully understand it, their natural inclination was to keep me down. Hammer away and hammer hard. Keep me in my place. Don't let me rise above.
But that wasn't an option anymore.
I cocked my head at them, glanced over at Jake, who looked as if he was about to have an aneurism, and then crossed my arms just as Jennifer entered the room. She looked over at me, tried to process the situation, couldn't. Surprise was on her face. "You're here," she said.
"I am," I said. "And you should have seen my entrance. It was Biblical."
"I just told Principal Roberts you'd be late."
"Thanks for doing that, but I think I'm right on time." I looked around the room and could feel the amulet growing warm against my chest. I leaned forward and as I did, it was interesting to see that a few leaned back. In a mere whisper, I said one word to all of them: "Boo."
And with the exception of Alex and Jennifer, every one of them--including Jake, who was wearing a pair of khakis--literally started to piss their pants.
~~~~
In the chaos that unfolded, our homeroom teacher, Mr. Garland, stepped into the room and then stopped just beyond the door as the wetting of twenty-six pairs of underwear got underway.
I stepped back and watched the circus erupt.
Ginny Gibson, certainly one of the most mean-spirited snots to ever enter the world, was up and dancing while urine ran down her legs and pooled in her shoes and beneath her feet.
She was wearing a bright orange dress that might have been cute if it weren't for the dark stain spreading over her crotch. Watching her, I felt nothing--of all the girls in school, she was one of my chief tormentors and had been since I could remember. Just moments ago, her laugh was among the loudest when Tyler bashed me over the head with his books.
And now she was peeing and dancing and screaming, while some of those around her either did the same or remained rooted to their seats. They were too embarrassed to stand and reveal that their bladders also had let loose.
I looked over at Jake, who was looking down in disbelief at the front of his pants, now soaked and clinging to his skin. When he looked up at me, I looked down at his pants and screwed up my face as if it was the most disgusting site I'd ever seen. He looked up at me and I just shrugged.
Mr. Garland, who was in his early thirties, came forward with raised hands. "Quiet!" he said. He looked over at Alex, who was standing beside me, and it was clear by how he addressed him that Alex already was being looked upon as a student leader. "What's going on here, Alex?"
He shook his head. He pointedly wasn't looking at me. "I don't know what happened. With the exception of a few of us, everyone just started to wet their pants."
"Why?" Garland asked.
"No idea. It just happened."
And then there was Jake. "It didn't just happen." He shoved a finger at me. "It was him. He did it."
I looked at Jake with bemusement. "You're saying I have control over your bladders?"
"That's right."
"Okay, Tyler? I'm just going to point out the obvious. That's just a pocketful of crazy right there."
"The hell it is."
I presented him to the class with a wave of my hand. "Everyone, I'd like you to meet the poster child for disillusionment." I looked at him. "It's obvious you're not well. It's obvious that yesterday's fall and your uncontrollable fit of crying did something to your head, let alone your nose. The fact that you actually think that I have control over everyone's bladder is the funniest thing I've heard in weeks."
Before he could speak, Ginny Gibson suddenly got all righteous. "You said 'boo' to us," she said. "You leaned forward and said, 'boo.' And that's when it happened. You said, 'boo' and now look at us. Look at us!"
I was aware that Garland was looking at me, trying to process the situation but failing. I needed to step in and give him the big picture.
"Actually, Ginny, it really went down like this. I tried to walk into the classroom when Jake blocked my entrance with one of his meaty arms and started in on me, just as he always does." I turned to Garland. "And don't pretend you don't know anything about that. I assume Hastings isn't here today because he came after me yesterday. Is that right?"
He said nothing. Obviously, Principal Roberts had delivered her bullying speech at last night's teachers' meeting.
"Since crazy Jake here wasn't about to move his arm, I pushed it down and walked through the door."
"And when he did," Alex said, nodding toward Jake, "this idiot came after him and smashed his books over his head. Seth went down hard. For a moment, I think he lost consciousness because he wasn't moving. It's a wonder he didn't break his neck in that fall."
Garland looked at Jake. "Is that true?"
Too stupid and too proud to deny it, Tyler went for it. "Yeah, it's true," he said, glaring at me. "And it'll happen again. Bet on it. Soon."
"Not in this school, it won't," Garland said. "And you better watch your mouth about delivering any additional threats, because that one's going to the police. Go to the principal. I'll be down in a minute." He looked at me as Jake left. "You need to see the nurse. Have her check your head. You could have a concussion."
And then he turned to the class. "Seems to me that people got a little nervous when Seth was hit. When you saw that he wasn't moving, that Alex couldn't revive him, then a lot of you got really nervous, which is why I think many of you are in the situation you're in now."
"That's not true!" Ginny shouted.
Garland pointed a finger at her. "Detention. One week."
"What?"
"Do you want me to make that two?"
Her face became so ugly, her lips twisted back in rage.
"Go to the principal. Now."
"Are you joking? Look at me. I'm a mop."
"Not my problem. Go."
In a huff, she grabbed her books, stepped over her little yellow puddle with whatever dignity she had left and swung out of the room with her books held low in front of her. As she passed Jennifer, who hadn't left the doorway, I was aware that she was looking at me. What I saw wasn't so much concern on her face, though it was there, but also what appeared to be her trying to solve some sort of mystery. Me.
Garland stepped to the center of the room. I waited for him to say what I wanted to hear him say--that the school had enacted a strict no-bullying policy--but that's not what he said. In fact, he didn't address the situation at all. He merely told the class to call their parents to come pick them up so they could go home, take a shower and change into fresh clothes.
As the students filed out of the room, he turned to me. "What's going on with you, Seth?"
My answer was immediate. "I'm not taking their shit anymore. If the school board and the teachers won't protect me, then I need to start standing up for myself. I've been going through this for years--and you know it. You've seen it. You've done nothing about it. The same goes for too many other teachers in this school. It's wrong what's happening and yet every teacher in this school knows it's happening to me and to others, but you do nothing about it. Sometimes, I think you're the worst bullies because you choose to look the other way. You let it happen. It's easier to say let it happen. I'm tired of it and I'm not going to back down from the students who hate me, from you or from any other teacher who doesn't act on my behalf. I'm done with it. And I'll go public with it."
"That's your choice," Garland said. "But I wouldn't recommend it."
"I'm sure you wouldn't."
He walked over to his desk and sat down. "Care to know why?"
"Shoot."
"Because you'll only make it worse. We can't prevent anything that happens off school grounds. I think you're setting yourself up for something bad, Seth. I think if you take this too far, it could blow up in your face."
"So, I should just continue to take it? You should just continue to ignore it? What kind of bullshit is that?"
When he didn't say anything, I left to see the nurse.
~~~~
The rest of the day was a wash. People were on edge. The mood was off. Most were talking. I was the conversation.
Jake had been thrown out of school for the rest of the week. Worse, because he threatened me in front of Mr. Garland, the police were now involved. They came by and had a little chat with Jake and Principal Roberts, which didn't go well because Jake's parents got involved--and Jake's father is a member of the school board, which complicates things.
Then there's Ginny, who is Jake's on-and-off girlfriend. Together, they're a force and have so many friends, it's daunting. Now, I was so officially entrenched on their shitlist, it didn't take a genius to know that Mr. Garland was right. Maybe this was all going to blow up in my face.
Of course, what no one knew is what I wore around my neck. If Jake and Ginny organized out of spite, which I had an idea they would, could the amulet help me against a group of people. I didn't know and it worried me.
At lunch, I sat with Alex and Jennifer, but there wasn't much conversation. Alex mentioned that he was joining the football team, which was perfect for him and I was glad for him. Jennifer said something about seeing a movie on Friday night with a few of her girlfriends. As for me? Well, I'd be stuck in my room as always because I had nowhere else to go. I thought about telling them that today was my birthday, but what was the point? Just to seek attention? Not me.
Still, we did agree that at some point on Saturday, we should meet at Starbucks for a coffee and some downtime. And apparently, we all silently agreed to ignore the noise of conversation that surrounded us because it was about us.
We didn't share any classes for the rest of the day, so when the bell rang, we made a date for noon at Starbucks on Saturday and went our separate ways.
Outside, in the hall, I felt more alone than I had in awhile. Glances were shot my way, but nothing more than that, which was a shift from how it usually went down. Usually, I was knocked up against a locker. Somebody would spit on me. Or I'd be punched.
Now, I was considered a threat.
Two days back in school and I had actively called out a few of the most popular bullies. Few knew what to do with it. If I was willing to take them on, surely I'd take on others like them. And so their eyes lifted fleetingly as I passed them. And as I passed them, what I saw on their faces was unmistakable--rage.
\*
Later, at home, I walked around the trailer to make sure nothing additional had been added and was relieved to find that everything was as it should be.
I went into the house prepared for the usual bullshit and was surprised to find my mother at the stove. I looked around the place and saw that she had actually cleaned. And then, on the kitchen table, I saw why--there sat a chocolate cake on a cake stand and a couple of balloons tied to a wrapped present.
She turned to me when I walked in and for the first time since I could remember, it was apparent that she wasn't drunk. She may have had a few, but she wasn't drunk. "Happy birthday," she said. "I'm making your favorite.
I didn't have a favorite. What did she consider my favorite?
I sniffed and looked and saw that she'd made a large pot of tomato sauce with meatballs. And I have to admit, while my mother was no cook, it did smell good. I decided to be cautiously positive. Maybe it'll turn out to be my favorite.
She put down the spoon she was holding and came around to give me a hug. Then she grabbed each of my hands and stood back, looking at me. "You're growing up," she said. "When did you get these muscles?"
"I don't know. I've been working out in my room."
"So, that's what you've been doing in there."
"I'm tired of being skinny."
"Then let's get some food into you."
"Where's Dad?"
She went to the pot and stirred. "He's out."
"Is he coming for dinner?"
"You know how he can be, honey. He gets out there and then he just forgets. I told him we were having a special dinner. I think he'll remember."
He wasn't coming. I knew it but didn't say anything.
"That gift is from both of us. Why don't you open it before we eat?"
"So, he knew it was my birthday?"
"Of course, he did. And he asked me to tell you happy birthday if he didn't see you." She pointed at the gift. "He's the one who picked it out."
It was a large box. I opened it and, with a surprise I couldn't mask, I saw that it was a Playstation 3. I looked at her. "Mom, we can't afford this. We don't have the money for this."
"That's where you're wrong," she said.
"Did Dad get a job?"
"I got a job," she said. "At the bank. Finally, all those phone calls worked. I called again this morning and talked to Sandy, my old boss. Things are picking up there again and she asked if I'd like my old position back."
"Mom, that's terrific."
"I start next week. Full time with full benefits, just like before. Two weeks of vacation plus holidays. And banker's hours, which are the best kind of hours."
She looked happy. I walked over and gave her a hug. I told her that I was proud of her. When we pulled away, her eyes were moist.
"I know I've let you down," she said. "We both have. We're going to try to figure things out. This is a good first step, but it's not the last step. We've got a ways to go. Your Dad is looking for work. When I got the news this morning about the job, we had a talk. We know we need to fix things about ourselves and then we should be on track again."
Behind her, a pot of water started to boil. She put a box of spaghetti in it and gave it a whirl with her spoon. As I watched her, I remembered how it used to be before they each lost their jobs. How it was before each started to drink. It had been like this. Not perfect, but still, I was at least happy to come home.
She was preparing two plates for us when the door opened and my father stepped inside. In a flash, I could tell he'd been drinking, but also that he wasn't wasted--nowhere close to it. He nodded at me. "Like your gift?"
"I can't believe it. Thanks, Dad."
"Think we can shoot some aliens after dinner?"
"That would be cool."
"It came with a game, didn't it?"
"'Killzone 3'."
"Then 'Killzone 3,' it is."
My mother came around the table and asked us to take our seats. When we did, she went to my father and kissed him on the cheek before going to make a plate for him. I couldn't remember the last time the three of us sat down together for a meal. It was foreign to me, but I have to admit it felt good, even if it was kind of weird.
"You're bulking up," Dad said.
"I'm trying. It's hard for me to put on muscle."
"You should try out for football this year. They could use someone like you. You're fast, you're getting a good build. Why not give it a try?"
If only he knew. But with Alex trying out for the team, I thought about it. Maybe getting involved in sports was the game-changer I needed, especially if I played well. Tyler and Hastings were each on the team, so it would be hell at first, but the key was being able to play. If I could convince them that I could, they might back off.
"I can try," I said.
"For me, that would be cool."
My mother put a plate filled with spaghetti and meatballs in front of me and my father. She got her own, turned to the counter behind her and got a basket of French bread. She went to the refrigerator and asked what everyone wanted to drink.
"Just water for me," I said.
My father looked at me. "Same here."
"Three waters, it is."
I dug into the spaghetti and it was good. I had a piece of bread, dipped it into the sauce and it was good. I raised my water glass and gave a toast to my mother for getting her old job back. Then my mother raised her glass and toasted me on my eighteenth birthday. I couldn't leave my father out of this. Quickly, I raised my glass and made another toast. "And here's to kicking your ass on 'Killzone 3'."
He actually laughed at that and it was at that moment that I realized just how hard not having jobs had been on them. It was as if the entire atmosphere had changed in the wake of my mother getting a job, and while I wished my Dad had come home straight, maybe one day he would.
"You're going to kick my ass?" he said, sticking a fork into a meatball and swirling it in the sauce. There was the hint of a smile on his lips when he popped the meatball into his mouth. "I don't know," he said. "I've got moves you don't know about."
"Game on," I said.
"Game on," he agreed.
\*
It was one of the best nights the three of us had together in over a year. And while I was good at the game, my father also was good--like, really good--which surprised me and made the challenge tougher than I expected as we tried to blow each other away while aliens attacked.
We played for hours, the game's graphics were beyond incredible and my father had only one drink the entire time. My mother drank Diet Coke. When he was finished with his Vodka, he asked her if she wouldn't mind pouring him some of her soda, which she did.
This I could deal with. They were making an effort. We were having fun, like we used to do.
But it was getting late and I had school in the morning. I needed to get to bed because I needed to be sharp in case something else happened, which it likely would. When we were at a stopping point, we turned off the game, my father stretched back in his chair and put his hands behind his head. He looked at me with a smirk. "I think we just kicked each other's asses."
I wasn't arguing with that--it was the truth.
I got up to leave for my bedroom, but turned to them before walking inside. "This has been fun. The food was great and the game was beyond. Thanks for a great birthday."
"You deserve it," my mother said.
"I was thinking of working in the yard this weekend," I said. "Those ruts in the driveway would make for a good workout. So would getting the house ready for winter and putting the garden to bed. I'm meeting some friends for a couple of hours on Saturday, but the rest of the weekend I have to myself. I can do it if you want."
"Are you kidding?" my father said. "Have at it, kid. I'll get Jim over here and we'll watch you work."
I smiled at that. "Jim's a good guy," I said.
"I know he is."
"I misjudged him."
My father shrugged. "It happens. Like everyone else, he ain't perfect. He's got a good heart. Just a little rough around the edges. He hasn't had it easy. I think all of us can appreciate that."
\*
For the first time in a long time, I slept well.
What began as a difficult day ended on a high note, something I never saw coming. The kids at school didn't matter to me. Unless I was dealing with a group, which was untested waters for me, I think I had the tools to deal with all of them.
But having my parents back, at least in some capacity--even if it was a fragile capacity--meant a lot to me.
I was thinking about this as I drifted off to sleep. I was thinking that with the amulet, maybe I could help my father find a job.
But would that be fair? Was that the right course to take? My mother found a job on her own. There was no interference by me--and that meant something because I knew she'd done it herself.
I can't interfere with everything. If I do, I could create a false world in which nothing is real, a person's accomplishments mean nothing and all I'm living is an illusion manufactured by my imagination.
\*
It was late when I was awakened by something that sounded like a pop.
My bedroom window was open. I opened my eyes and listened but couldn't hear anything out of the ordinary. Was I dreaming? Maybe. The pop sounded like one of the guns in 'Killzone 3.' It was weird. I also could smell gasoline, but that wasn't unusual because my father's junker of a truck was parked outside my window.
I turned onto my side, closed my eyes and started to drift off, but this time I heard a whoosh and the sound of footsteps hurrying away from the house.
This was no dream.
I sat up in bed and pressed my face against the window screen. I tapped into the amulet and allowed my mind to see through the dark.
I could see shapes backing away from the house and moving toward the road. I focused harder and the shapes revealed themselves to be Jake Tyler, Mike Hastings, Ginny Gibson and at least a dozen others, many from the very football team my father wanted me to join.
All were turning now to take a right onto the street. They started running. Meanwhile, outside, at the far end of the trailer where my parents' bedroom was located, there was a sudden burst of orange light.
It was fire. They'd set the trailer on fire.
I got out of bed quickly.
Too quickly.
I tripped on the sheet wrapped around my leg and smashed my head against the side table, which went down with me.
Dazed, I pushed myself up. I could smell smoke. I could feel heat. I went to my door and opened it to a sudden rush of flames that blew into the room and ate the oxygen within it.
Most of the trailer was on fire. They'd just set it, but because the trailer was so old--or because they'd poured so much gas around it--it was going up fast.
Outside, I could hear neighbors rushing toward us. I looked through the door into the living space and saw an inferno. I shouted for my parents but heard nothing.
I could stop this. I pressed my hand against the amulet and was about to imagine the fire ceasing when the gas main feeding the stove ignited and blew.
The explosion sent me back and I tripped over my shoes. A rolling ball of flame entered my bedroom and curled at the ceiling just long enough to set it on fire. It looked demonic.
Outside, people were screaming. I heard people shouting to call 911. Bits of flame were falling down on me. The trailer was starting to yawn in a great twisting of metal warping in the heat.
And then I heard my father shouting. I got up and ran to the doorway. What I saw stopped me.
My father was trying to throw a bucket of water into the living room.
But when he did, the fire reached out, tasted his clothing and turned him into a twisting funnel of flames.
~~~~
Coming soon is "REVENGE," Book Two of THE BULLIED SERIES.
For updates on when "REVENGE" will be released, join Christopher Smith on Facebook here.
Also join Christopher on his official website, http://www.christophersmithbooks.com.
Other books by Christopher Smith:
REVENGE: Book Two in the Bullied FIFTH AVENUE (adult thriller)
RUNNING OF THE BULLS (an adult thriller coming soon)

