Started With a Lie – Chapter Sixteen

For the next couple of days my phone continuously rang and vibrated with calls and texts from Lee. I ignored every one and deleted all his messages. Every time I would get tempted to answer, I would always chant, He’s not worth it. You’re going to get your heart broken for no reason.

          School resumed today. I’m not really too happy about that. 

          I slam my car door shut as I slip my bag onto my shoulder. The sky is a cloudy gray and there is fast winds whipping by. It looks like it’s going to rain today. Perfect.

          Candy is waiting for me at homeroom where I take a seat with a frown on my face. It’s going to take a large miracle to get me in a good mood. As soon as I get home, I’m just going to watch horror movies so I can just shit my pants and forget about life.

          “Hey!” Candy says. “Cheer up, girl. Who needs Lee? He’s just an ignorant bastard. It’s better you got him out of your life now then later, right?”

          I nod but I’m still frowning. And just to make my mood even better, Karen walks in with that evil presence of hers. I pray she won’t talk to me because I’m really not in a good mood. I will flip shit on her.

          But something’s wrong with Karen.

          Instead of smiling happily because of her perfect life, she walks in with her shoulders hunched over and her mouth in a tight line. Her hair’s not shiny as it usually is and even the clothes she’s wearing are weird: jeans, sweater, and boots.

          It’s strange because first, she never wears jeans or sweaters. And second, she’s the daughter of one of the most famous fashion designers in New York. Karen would never do anything to shame her mother.

          When she passes by me, I ask, “What’s wrong with you today?”

          “Fuck off, Ivory,” is the answer I get before she resumes to take her seat three seats behind me. Even when she’s angry she’s not this down—almost zombie-like.

          I know I shouldn’t be concerned…but I am. Yeah, she’s treated me nothing like crap and backstabbed and all that, but she was my best friend of a long time. You can’t just let something like that fade without any feelings. We both know that.

          Before I can do anything, Mr. Hopkins walks in with is briefcase and silences the class. He takes attendance before we all go to our first class.

          I have AP Chemistry. I think I’m late because most people are already seated but there’s no teacher there, yet. Sadly, my usual seat is taken and I’m forced to sit in the back where all the rowdy, loud gossipers and jocks sit.

          I drop my bag onto the ground and flip through the last pages of Mary’s Pain for AP Literature so I don’t fail the test on it. It’s kind of hard trying to read when everyone’s basically screaming even though we’re all in one room.

          “Did you hear?” a girl with a squeaky voice asks another girl next to her.

          “Hear what?” the other girl replies.

          “Karen and Peter are taking a break! Like relationship-wise.”

          The book falls out of my hands and topples to the floor. I stay frozen for a couple of seconds before I blindly reach for it under the table. My mind is wandering elsewhere. Karen and Peter are having relationship problems? What? This can’t be happening. Last time I saw them, they were happy as people madly in love. There’s no way.

          “Oh my gosh, really?” the girl asks.

          “Yeah. I heard Karen thinks Peter’s cheating on her. In fact, she even saw Peter with an amateur model at the movies over winter break when they were supposed to meet for a date.”

          Peter is cheating on Karen? Now, I’m angry. He has the nerve to cheat on Karen? I didn’t sacrifice my first love just so they could mess it up.

          I stand up, causing everyone to look at me. They start whispering but I just swing my bag on my shoulder before running outside into the hallway. Peter should be in Biology right now. I run to Biology and the teacher hasn’t arrived there either.

          Peter’s sitting in the back with obnoxious boys.

          “Peter!” I call. Everyone stares at me. Peter looks up and his eyes widen. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

          He quickly nods. This is the first contact I’ve made with him for a while. Usually, I can’t stand being near Karen or Peter because they’re both disgustingly sucking their faces off just to piss me off. 

          Peter walks up to the front of the room where I’m standing. People are watching, anticipating our next moves. It must all seem like a movie to them: best friends fighting over one dude and then having more drama. I might as well give them a good show.

          I smile at Peter. “I just wanted to say that I’m very thankful to you.”

          He looks at me weirdly. “For what?”

          “For this,” I smile sweetly. I grab his collar and pull him close to me…so my foot can reach his crotch. Thank to Brent, my older brother who taught me self-defense, I give Peter a real powerful kick in the balls.

          Peter groans as he bends down holding whatever’s left of his man body part.

          “And not to mention this,” I say, curling up my hand in a fist and hitting him right in the jaw. His head moves—almost in slow motion like in the movies—to the side and I can see blood in his mouth. “Oh! And I almost forgot.” I take the opportunity while he’s bending to give him a good old kick in the chest, which send him flying backwards to the ground. I almost enjoy beating him up. It gives me a chance to get my anger and sorrow out—including my disappointment on Lee.

          When I’m done, I smoothen my clothes and make sure there’s no blood on it. I pick up my bag, which probably fell on the ground while I was beating the crap out of Peter. The classroom stares at me with wide eyes and terrified stares.

          I take a bow and smile at them. Hope you enjoyed the show, I think.

          In that moment, I take my leave and head back to Chemistry, hoping Mr. Kingston hasn’t gotten there, yet. Don’t want to be late for class.

*           *             *               *               *             *

“You have to put feelings into your art,” Ms. Parker says, using her hands in mid-air to show us. “Express yourself within your art and it will turn out beautiful.” She has a hint of a Spanish accent whenever she talks.

          Art class is one of the few freelance classes. We don’t have to strictly do something. Ms. Parker gives us choices and just lets us do whatever—as long as it has to do with art—while she goes on her computer and plays opera music.

          “That’s today’s objective,” Ms. Parker says. She claps her hands. “Chop-Chop!”

          Everyone else scrambles to get their materials and I follow shortly behind. When I reach the materials area, everyone takes a step back, like they’re afraid of me—which they are. I accidentally bump into a petite girl with large glasses.

          “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to touch you! I’m sorry!” She hides behind her hair. “I’m really sorry! I didn’t mean to. Don’t hurt me.”

          I glare at her. I was going to say it was okay but when she said, “don’t hurt me,” it ticked me off. It’s not like I’m just going to go up to a stranger and beat them up!

          Rumors had spread like wildfire after the little incident with Peter. Some people said I was part of the mafia, others said Peter beat me up. Some even said that I beat up everyone in his Biology class. Yeah, they were pretty exaggerated and crazy. I wouldn’t even be able to hit another person because my hand was already bruising at the knuckles and it hurt like hell.

          I sigh as the petite girl continues to ramble on with apologies. Walking past her, I grab the materials I need and head back to my table. It usually fits about four people, but I’m the only one there today.

          “Can I go to the bathroom?” I ask Ms. Parker when I can’t take the stares and glares anymore. I need to get away from here. People are burning holes into the back of my head.

          “Sure, honey.” Ms. Parker smiles at me and I nod before taking off.

          In the bathroom, I splash myself with water many times before I dry myself off. I look straight in the mirror of my crazy blonde hair. I didn’t straighten it today. It’s in a bun at the top of my head.

          Do I look…scary?

          I shrug, closing my eyes. I’m letting people get to me. They shouldn’t be able to get to me. I open my eyes again and I see my face staring back at me. But, am I?

          Three girls walk into the bathroom, giggling and chatting as they enter. Suddenly, their eyes land on me and gasp before there’s dead silence. They start whispering things like isn’t she the girl who hit Peter?  and I heard she killed someone. She looks scary.

          I snap. “What?!” I yell. I hit the bathroom stall. “Do I make you feel scared? Do I look scary? Why don’t you all get your facts straight before you accuse things instead of spreading around stupid rumors that will get you nowhere?”

          Their mouths are wide open and they take steps away from me. Great. I just made it worse. I inwardly groan. I walk in front of them. “Move!” They don’t need to be heard a second time because they scatter to the side and I exit the bathroom.

          Hot tears are in my eyes and I give myself a few seconds to just let it all out before I stop myself. If I don’t give myself a limit, I’ll break down.

          I hear crying but it’s not my own. I look around in the cold, eerie hallway. Nobody is around. Everyone is in class. Chills run up my spine. It’s almost scary. The cries continue and I notice it’s from a room to my side. The auditorium.

          Usually, there are people from band and chorus performing in the auditorium but when I walk, there’s no music—only someone crying. It sounds like a girl. Secretly, I wish its Peter because that would be pretty hilarious. But it’s not.

          It’s Karen.

          She is sitting at the edge of the stage, both hands covering her teary face. She doesn’t know I’m there. There’s no way Karen could’ve heard me through her sobs. Her knees are up to her chest and her sobs grow louder.

          I slowly edge closer to her, scared that’s she’ll lash out on me for even being there or for seeing her cry. The auditorium is dark except for a small spotlight that Karen’s sitting next, too. She must’ve gotten access to be in here since she’s in Drama. How ironic is that.

          There must’ve been some kind of noise I made because Karen suddenly jolts up, her red eyes widening at the sight of me. After she sees who I am, a scowl replaces her teary face, making her look even worse than her already ruined face.

          “What’re you doing here, Ivory?” she yells—well, tries to—but it comes off as a scratchy voice, her words barely making it out in sequence.

          I don’t reply. I just sit next to her while she tries to wipe away her tears. It’s kind of hard when there’s mascara basically dripping off her sleeves and now on her sweater. If this isn’t awkward, then I must’ve misunderstood the meaning my entire life.

          When I try to pat Karen’s shoulder, she swats it away, “Don’t touch me!” Her outburst makes more tears well up in her eyes. “And don’t look at me with pity. I don’t need it!” She wipes her face again. “Stop sitting so close to me!”

          I slowly slide myself a little farther. It’s going to be hard comforting her, but if I don’t do it, who will? Yeah, she calls her group of rowdy cheerleaders and jocks her friends, but they’re really not. If any of them had to choose between helping Karen or just getting money or whatever they wanted, they’d pick the former.

          And if they don’t do it, Karen will drown in her tears.

          As much as I hate her for everything’s she’s ever done to me, she’s still human. And I’m still human. It doesn’t mean I have to go low as her and push her to the side. She’s also my ex-best friend. Someone that close to you can’t be just erased.

          I suddenly remember I have tissues in my sweatpants. I had put it in my pocket this morning in case my allergies kicked in. It was the middle of winter, but there still was pollen in certain places. I didn’t want to take any risks this morning.

          Karen won’t accept it if I give it to her. I know that. Nonchalantly, I slide the packet of tissues between the space between her and me.

          Nothing happens at first and all I hear are her sobs continuing. Maybe, she didn’t see them. I glance from the corner of my eye before reverting them back to the dark in the auditorium. I hear the packet crinkling and Karen blowing her nose into a tissue.

          I smile.

          I knew she would break eventually. I know everything about her. I know that right now, she wants nothing more than a hug. That’s what she would have wanted if her stupid-hell-of-a-boyfriend had cheated on her if we were still friends.

          So when I push her to give in to my forceful hug, she does. She sobs into my shoulder—definitely going to ruin my shirt—and lets everything out of her throat. Her cries echo off the empty room.

          And in that moment, I almost miss being her friend. Nah, I think as I grin to myself as Karen continues wailing like a dying cat.

         *           *          *             *           *          *          *

“That’ll be four dollars and fifty-cents,” I say, placing the family size of chips in a paper bag instead of plastic so it doesn’t make me feel guilty about slowly killing the environment.

          The old woman moves her shaking hands and takes the bag and replaces it with the money. She thanks me while she slowly moves as fast she can in her old age to the exit of Sal’s Corner: Best Convenient Store in Town.

          I never got the name. I mean, nobody named Sal even works in the store. The owner is an old, grumpy man who never attends to work but just sleeps upstairs in the attached apartment and lets all his part-time workers do all the work. It at least had decent pay and it kind of chipped in with Mom’s salary to help pay off bills.

          The boss didn’t even realize I was gone when I disappeared for a month. That’s what I like about the job—decent pay and no matter how long you disappear, you never get scolded. I was basically gone for three weeks due to Lee and New York City and school but nobody even noticed.

          The bell above the door jingles and a customer walks in.

          I continue wiping the cashier table with my towel. Molly, the manager, always tells me to make sure the counter is clean because apparently “that’s where all the dirt and bacteria reside because everybody ends up touching it.”

          Molly was in college and had tons of work yet she still managed to appear on time to work and barely sweat. She was a pretty girl and could probably even work for Abercrombie & Fitch as a new model or something. No matter how many times I tried telling her, she’d brush it off.

          “Are you cleaning the table properly?”

          Speak of the devil. Molly appears at the counter, leaning on the wall on her phone. She’s on break. Strings of her bangs fall into her eyes from the tight bun at the top of her light-brown colored hair.

          “Yeah,” I grin, scrubbing the counter. There are only a few people in the store—some in the back and some just wandering around.

          Molly’s hazel eyes lift up to mine. “Where were you?”

          “What do you mean?” I ask as I wipe sweat off my forehead and toss the rag to the side. I pull my frizzy hair into a ponytail and take a seat next to Molly.

          “You know, for the past month?”

          “Oh, just around.” Not a lie. “School’s been eating me and balancing everything is so hectic. But, I’m back now, so don’t worry.”

          “Wait till’ you get to college,” Molly says, tapping away on her phone. She even had a social life with everything going around in her life. I can’t and I’m still in high school. “It’s high school times ten.”

          “You make it look so easy,” I say.

          “Trust me, it isn’t,” Molly says and then smirks at a text before smiling full through-out. “Not this again,” she mutters.

          “What? Is it Patrick, your boyfriend?” I ask. Patrick has been her boyfriend since eighth grade. Rare, I know. In our generation, since when did relationships last that long. But, Molly had her hook deep into that boy. I envy her.

          “Yeah,” Molly says. “He keeps sending me the same old funny pictures again and again. What a goofball.” I had met Patrick a few times when he came over to pick up Molly from work. He was a big, tall guy with chocolate hair and eyes and a jock body. But even then, he was weird. He made funny faces a lot and Molly always said he looked cute.

          They were both odd, but perfect.

          I wish I had some kind of anchor like that.

          “Hey, our shifts are over,” Molly says. “I’ll go tell the remaining customers, you start closing up, okay?” She stuffs her phone back in her pocket and leaves me at the counter.

          “’Kay,” I respond. I lock all the glass cabinets and shut the drapes over the window. It’s dark outside. The streets are almost empty. I can’t wait to get home and just sleep.

          “Can I buy this pack of gum?” a customer says.

          I don’t look up from counting today’s worth of money. “Sorry, sir, we’re closing today. We’ll be open at eight o’clock sharp in the morning tomorrow, though,” I tell the male customer.

          “Ivory, I need this gum, though.”

          “I’m sorry, sir—wait,” I look up, “how’d you know my name?” My eyes widen. “Mark? What’re you doing here?” I’m sure my eyes are wide open.

          “So, this is where you work,” Mark smirks. His dark eyes are staring at me with his matching hair. He’s wearing a striped scarf—reminding me of Harry Potter—and a black coat. He holds up a pack of gum with a grin on his face.

 ________

I know, I know. I promised somewhere around Sunday... but close enough, right?

Sorry I've been off in my chapters. Stress is killing me. Literally. I had to pick classes for next year and I picked all honors in everything. This year I only took two honor classes, so I'm freaking out. This is like a huuuge jump. Wish me luck. c: 

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Oh, and some people recommended this for the Watty's this year. What do you think? :O

Oh, and isn't Mark hot?  (Look to the right.)