Warning: bullying

Charlie's P.O.V

"Loving America?"

"Pardon me?"

"Loving America so far?" Sydney mutters, her gaze glued ahead.

"This is not my first time," I say. She rolls her eyes, revving out of the airport parking lot.

After learning about what happened with Silver, I just couldn't bring myself to have any verbal interaction with my grandparents, and instead of finally talking to me about it, what did they do? They flew me to the US on short notice, and now, here I am in this back-arching, knee-hugging resting position in the potholed leathery backseat of the family Hundi.

"Sit straight," Sydney mumbles, her eyes meeting mine from her rearview mirror. "You can sleep when we get home." I oblige, though reluctant.

We arrive at her three-bedroom house by 5:41 pm. Taking out my suitcases, I can't help but frown at her neighbourhood. Faded white paint taints all homes, bleeding into my view without merit. Cars are parked out front where trees would have swayed. No woods. No lake, either.

It's all vapid. Why am I surprised? This is not my first time being here. Sil's excitement must have blinded me then. Having created my worldview from the confines of school walls, I was never the type to like new environments. Silver, however, loved it. She felt lightweight from inhaling the scent of strangers' cooking and their cars' fumes.

An eternity has lapsed since.

A couple walks by. Low murmurs permeate the chilly air. I hurry inside, hugging myself.

My room is bare, besides the white sheets that match the walls and an archaic mahogany table for a study desk next to the mini-bookshelf. True to her word, Sydney lets me sleep till the next day. I don't know how long my rest is, but by the time she wakes me up, she's already dressed and prancing around, looking for stilettos.

"Check the hall," I say, rubbing drowsiness from my eyes. She replies, "Thanks, dear, but you better hurry up. I'm not going to be late for mass because of you."

Yet, somehow I manage to finish dressing before her. On the way to the chapel, she turns the radio on and acts super intrigued by the political commentary playing. I take one of her five sunglasses, but she doesn't even spare me a glance. The urge to keep the shades on until she talks to me dies when she nonchalantly wears one herself. I give up. Shutting my eyes, I imagine myself in bed again.

"Krypton?" She beckons. My vision recovers in foggy slits. Her focus is still on the road, but her lips start moving fast.

"Your Grandma said you need therapy. We need to figure that out, especially since she'll only want you back once you are of sound mind. Now I only ask that you don't make my money go to waste. If you need help to get better, ask for it. If you must tell some old lady a sob story, give her something juicy to work with. "

"Juicy like what?"

"I don't know. Be imaginative."

"So you are saying I should lie?"

"Ok, Saint Krypton!" Her palms clap the steering wheel. I wince.

"Sorry," she says upon seeing my reaction. "You know, this is precisely why you need to get better. We don't have to wind up in these awkward conversations. "

She pauses for me to respond, but I am already looking out the window.

"How did your old lady think it was a good idea to bring you to me anyway?"

"She didn't think it was a good idea." I turn back to her, to which she chuckles, "Of course," and- that is when it strikes me.

She doesn't know.

"Know what?"

"Pardon?" I am caught off guard.

"I don't know what?" Her grip on the wheel tightens as she reads my mind without a blink. She pulls over by the road, and I avoid her gaze. I observe her watching the back of my head from our reflection in the window, her mind cracking something.

"Krypton, why are you here?" She cracks her knuckles. The sound resonates through her terrifying silence and into my ears, causing me to sit up and stutter,

"Granny..ur..she-she said..she said you were like-not urr, hmm, not doing...well. We...should get going."

I even point at the timer on her dashboard so that she sees we are getting late and starts the engine, but not a single muscle of hers moves. Her eyes are on me, but they have a distant glow as if she is reading my thoughts and memories.

"Why. Are. You. Here?"

I take a deep breath.

"Sil," I whisper, " She attempted suicide."

*

I don't know what is worse, being under her pressure to say it or witnessing colour drain from her face after I have said it. She restarts the engine and speeds to the chapel. Not a single word is uttered for the rest of the ride. To endure the acrid tension in the car, I concentrate on the dizzying views of vehicles, buildings, and people in muddy shades and tints of blue, red, black...

When she stops the car again, we are at our destination. Tears well up in Sydney's eyes. I want to clean them. Her breathing slows. With each inhale and exhale, her shoulders rise and fall, like a wave crushing the long hands of her silk dress. On her 23rd breath, she whispers,

"From now on, you are going to start a new life. We will never talk about this or anything of the past again. It's all in the past. I'll get you new clothes, and you'll have a new school, new life and new friends. You'll be normal. You'll be my normal, pretty boy."

Mia's P.O.V

Today, I am hoping things won't go downhill like at work. So far, so good, except I can hear Aunt Lisa's giggles to an unfamiliar male voice pouring out love confessions.

As if his sleeping over is insufficient, I lose interest in making a healthy breakfast because of his stinky shoes in the hallway.

"Of course, my dear," he quirks, coming out of her room. On his third step down the stairs, he sees me and halts. I give him a tight-lipped smile, and he smiles back. Our lack of words creates an awkward silence.

"We are dating, " he suddenly announces, "your mother and I."

MOTHER?!!

I mask my shock with a graceful lift of both brows.

He takes that as approval to blurt, "I just really like her, and I am pretty sure that, since we have that in common, we can get along. Plus, I have a daughter a little above your age, too. You two will definitely get along well-"

"-Oswald!" My 'mother' yells from the top of the stairs, eyes the size of saucers. I gnaw two Oreos to hide my amusement. This poor father doesn't realise what kind of relationship he's gotten into.

"I told you not to be weird."

"But I am not being weird," he contends, "am I being weird?"

"No," I say. To that, they both steal a glance at me. "See, she doesn't find me weird," he concurs with vitriol.

Aunt Lisa rolls her eyes.

"You'll be late for school," she chides me before grumbling back into her room, "and babe, learn to shut the fuck up."

*

Spencer High isn't a stone's throw from home, but I prefer not getting caught up in traffic. Today, however, the sun has chosen to reset my mindset by burning my back when I walk out of the house.

My exhaustion is palpable as I chain my bicycle on the bike rack. As usual, everywhere is a ruckus. A car engine revs nearby, and someone hollers, "yo, Harry, cool ride!!! "

Don't turn Mia, don't turn.

"They have another Lamborghini?!!" Another gasps in jealousy.

For the love of cars and not because I give a damn about this guy, I turn.

In school, everyone wears this boring uniform to show equality: a white shirt, a red tie with grey pants for boys. Girls get to choose between skirts and straight dresses, so most people use material wealth like their vehicles to boost their status, which is hazardous because they seem to have learnt their driving skills from video games. This Harry guy is no exception.

As if rehearsed, Josh catches my eye from the passenger seat and gives me a sympathetic grin. I flip him off when the next worst thing happens.

"Hey, Mia!" the other horrible being suddenly waves at me.

I gasp. Why does he know my name? What else is Josh telling him about me? Do they think it's funny? Are they making fun of me?

Harry smirks.

Josh just jumps out like he wants to catch up with me.

Everyone else is minding their own business, rolling their eyes or sparing a quick second to trace his line of sight to someone. Whatever the case, no one realises it is the girl who drops her middle finger and walks on because no one cares that much.

I dare not turn back again until my head is in my locker, putting the finishing touches on my homework.

Speaking of homework, where's the literature one? I have this very subject for the first period.

If I don't find it in five minutes -

The bell rings.

Scratch that. It's too late.

Everyone's rushing to class now. Conceding, I join them.

When entering Mrs Peters's classroom, there are three types of students, the Anna-s (those who greet her enthusiastically. I call them Anna-s because she's the most outstanding and eloquent in class.)

The Noah-s (those who don't greet, despise some teachers for who knows what reason, don't do their homework, yet make the class enjoyable through unnecessary interruptions. I call them Noah-s because he's cunning enough never to get deep in hot water for such a misdemeanour.)

Then there are the rest of us, who just want to get this "go to school" chore over and done with in peace.

Today I am all three. I greet Mrs Peters as I walk in but don't submit my work on her table. She does not notice.
Then I sit quietly, watching the clock as more people troop into the class.

As for our sitting positions, according to school tradition, nerds sit at the back because they don't need attention. Average and busy students (cheerleaders, jocks, competition participants, etc.) sit in the middle.
I envy them; they can leave class unannounced, sometimes.

In front are the weak students. Most of them are Noah-s, but their leader himself is not among them. In fact, unfortunately, for Mrs Peters, he is as intelligent as Anna, if not more, so he gets to make all the noise he wants to at the back.

I'm an average student, but then again, nobody cares. I sit right beside Noah at the extreme left corner - and cackle as he makes Mrs Peters implode and explode and implode over and over again.

"Ok, class, I hope you've been studying over the weekend as today we're delving deeper into the beauty of Emily Brontë's book..." Mrs Peters begins class joyfully just as the war starts.

Noah-s against Mrs Peters,
Anna-s against Noah-s,
The rest of us against Mrs Peters' questions, weak students against sleep and.... everything is ok until she picks up the pile of homework books.

" Please, who hasn't submitted their homework?"

I shrink in my seat, hoping that someone will lift their hand. At least one accomplice, that's all I need.

"Anyone? "

Everyone, including those whose school reports beg to differ, dare to blatantly give her the of course I did my homework stare back.

"Anyyyyy...one?" Her eyes start to linger on each, and everyone faces as though they're lie detectors. I try to stay calm. I really try. But when they reach Noah and I just --

"Screw it."

- lift my hand. Everyone looks at me. The class goes radio silent. My heavy breathing is the only sound I hear.
Beside me, Noah murmurs," Damn girl, you can't lie?"

Oh, great! Another thing to add to the list of things Mia can't do.

"Aha?" She gives no one, in particular, a victorious smile.

I gulp. Why did I even raise my hand? Think fast and get out of this!

"Ma'am, please, it's not about the home
-work." I lie.

"Oh." Her grin drops. She quickly masks it with a serene façade. Heads tilt back to Mrs Peters, waiting for more than an "oh."

I seize this opportunity to walk up front and stand beside her. And as amusing as her face looks when she's trying to keep her calm, I compose myself, subtly groaning,
"May I be excused? I really need to visit the restroom,"

She gives me a concerned gaze," period issues?" I nod.

She smiles and allows me.

In the washroom, I pop some of Aunt Lisa's Advil when the door creaks open. Four girls troop in, one with strawberry blonde hair, one is a raven-haired Asian, and another has brown verdurous skin and so much afro that I can't even see her face.

The apparent ringleader sweeps her lavender braids past her tanned neck. Add more height, and she can be a dream girl, per Josh's standards- it's a shame he is the only male friend I had.

Three stroll over to the sink to retouch their make-up while the afro-haired one heads straight for the stall, oblivious to my existence. Minding my business, too, I wash the pills down.

"Can you believe that egoistic jerk has such a tiny dick? It's like this small," the strawberry blonde-haired girl bends her fingers to form a tiny "o", and the raven-haired one fake gags, grunting,

"Ugh, Rexha, no one wants to know that. "

" Ah, but it's the truth-"

"Girls, shut up! You're making Mia uncomfortable."

Huh?
My head snaps up at the sound of my name to meet the trio's gazes trained on me. The one who spoke last smirks as if she's a lioness who has caught her prey.

While I am thinking,

How do you know me? I don't even know any of you.

"Told you she's the one," Rexha, I believe from eavesdropping, gives almost dream girl a smug smile which she ignores, only bending down to my level to seethe," Well, you're not what I expected as Harry's side chick-"

That's when it clicks.

"Ooh, that pervert is your boyfriend?! My condolences."

"Me too," Her smug look turns ghastly, then austere so fast. It sends shivers down my spine. Warning bells ring in my head.

I've got to get out of here before things get nasty.

"Please excuse me, I don't want to miss my science period -"

She blocks my way. She's quite shorter than me, but that doesn't alter how diabolic she looks, pointing her finger at me,

"You know, you've really got a lot of nerves to steal my boyfriend and behave like you're Holy Mary, you two-faced ugly whore."

Then, she slaps me.

It's the kind of smack that sets your checks stinging aflame and head throbbing so fast you forget that you're in school and you promised your dad that you'd never fight in school.

Without a doubt, if not for her friends instantly grabbing my arms, I would have done more than slap her back.

She steps back, eyes glazed with scary nothingness and touches her reddening cheek before yanking out her phone.

Her accomplices take this as their cue to grab my head and smack it into the wall. I gasp. This time the throbbing is acute and dizzying. I am held from falling to the ground by their tight grips but not for long. They start tugging at my uniform as I slip in agony. I can't see. There's a loud ringing in my ears. I think I am convulsing.

"Stop, stop!" I wail, but she records what they are doing, laughing diabolically. "Oh honey, stop fighting and smile for the camera."

"The fuck?! LET ME GO!"

I am losing buttons when the Asian lifts the shirt off me. I can't believe this is happening. Flashes of hot rage cuddle with a shooting pain in my abdomen. My head spins. I stop pleading as it knocks out the broken intakes of air I can muster. The other girl is twisting my hand to keep her grip. My elbow takes advantage of her loose hold by hitting her chest, but she pulls my hair sharply.

"That's enough." Harry's girlfriend grins. "I think she gets the message now."

"Since when do you show mercy?" she replies, only to be ignored. Harry's girlfriend bends over me and laces her finger under my tube strap.

"I'm so sorry," she gasps, faking innocence, "surely we can avoid such hostile encounters in the future, right?"

I am too angry to speak.

"That's what I thought," she chirps.

*

The rest of the day is me dragging my feet through classes. With every movement, my body shoots up with pain. I don't know what to do about what happened. I can't even look at Noah when he asks if I have cramps. Per his advice, I ditch school after break.

Even as I'm bicycling home, my mind is whirling around it.

Should I report to someone? Who? I don't want to do anything that will put my invisibility cloak in jeopardy. I don't want any drama. I already have to think of what to do for money until I can get back to work. And then there's the suitcase, hidden in my closet. That mysterious suitcase. I haven't told anyone about it. It keeps me up at night, but I can't pressure myself to give it to the police without figuring out what the pills meant to him first.

Where do I start my investigation, though?

Finally at home, instead of getting to enjoy relief over not bumping into those bullies, I'm welcomed with the sight of another man in the house, washing dishes. His white tank top clings to his sweaty body like a second skin as he scrubs, eyes so focused on the stains that he doesn't see me open the door.

I gulp when he turns.

He has a considerable scorpion tattoo on his torso and several piercings - a stark contrast to the man from this morning.

"Must be Lisa's niece, right?" His voice fills the entire room. I nod stiffly.

"Andrés," Aunt Lisa beckons, "I thought I asked you to call me when she's arrived."

We turn to meet her figure stationed by the kitchen door.

"It doesn't matter. Andrés, meet my niece, Mia. Mia, meet your new boss, Andrés."

"My new boss?" I question bluntly.

"Yes, I got you a new job, missie."

"But I have a job," I rebut. She scowls at me."This one pays better, right, babe?"

"Ya, you'll love it." He licks his lips.
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