The plan: Get to school before everyone else and hide out in the library, because I’m not looking forward to Anna today. She’ll give me hell for bailing.
I leave the house while my parents are still asleep. The air is crisp. Each breath in stings a little, but it’s sort of invigorating. A miniscule nice moment in a sea of feeling bad. I try to figure out a way I can hold on to that. I’m holding on to it until Anna’s Benz pulls up beside me, and then my moment goes away.
“Kara totally said you’d try to get there before us,” Anna says, leaning over Kara, who is in the passenger’s side. Marta and Jeanette are in the back. “Get in.”
“I’ll walk.”
“Regina, it’s too early in the morning to threaten you with blackmail. Get in.”
I sigh. Marta gets out of the car and waits for me to crawl in. As soon as we’re all wedged side by side in the back, Anna U-turns. We’re headed away from the school.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“Breakfast. I’m not going in this early.”
I pop an antacid and rest my head against the seat, and they get fast food from the local strip. The car fills with that fatty, greasy smell and I try to tune out the chewing and talking, but it’s impossible. I keep waiting for Anna to bitch me out for failing my duties last night, but it never happens, so I let myself relax a little and watch the road disappear under the space of windshield visible between her and Kara.
“So good,” Jeanette says, popping the last of a greasy breakfast muffin into her mouth. “I’m so fucking hungover. I thought I was going to die last night.”
“I told you to pace yourself.” Anna turns on the radio, settling on a station that will please her and none of us. “That reminds me. Thanks for fucking us over, Regina.”
There it is. “You didn’t really think I’d stay, did you?”
She doesn’t say anything. I reach into my pocket for another antacid. Houses blur past the window. Anna drives aimlessly and turns the car onto a deserted stretch of road. I check the clock. We’re going to be late.
“We’ll be late if you don’t turn around now,” I tell her.
“Who cares? It’s Friday. Besides, I know you can’t stand being around us, so I’m just prolonging your torture,” Anna says. “That’s worth being late for.”
I close my eyes and they start blathering—going over the finer points of the party like they’re worth going over—while I focus on the radio. I don’t even notice the car roll onto the shoulder until the keys jangle out of the ignition and kill the song that’s playing.
We’ve stopped.
All four doors open. I open my eyes. Jeanette and Marta get out of the car first, followed by Kara and Anna. I’m in the backseat totally alone.
Okay.
“Get out.” Kara. “Get out of the car, Regina.”
The words come out honey-slow, oozing off her lips and into my ears. All at once, I understand what’s happening. Drop and ditch. Bruce planted it into Anna’s head when she was brainstorming ways to make Liz miserable, and I somehow managed to convince her it wasn’t “cerebral” enough. She really wanted to do it, though.
And now she can.
I leave the car slowly, all too aware of how cold it is now that I know I’m going to be stuck out here. I gauge the distance. Hallowell is a long walk back.
“I didn’t see this coming,” I admit.
“That was the idea,” Anna replies, standing behind Kara and looking strangely second in command. “Give Kara your shoes.”
Jeanette and Marta stand behind me like stone walls. Kara grins and holds out her hands, looking like she’s got all the time in the world. In the grand scheme of things, this isn’t that bad. It’s not the WHORE spray-painted on my locker or another YourSpace page, and it’s not being locked in a closet with Donnie Henderson. It’s not losing Michael again. It’s a long walk in sock feet when it’s cold outside. It’s a long walk in sock feet when it’s cold outside without them.
So that’s practically a vacation.
I crouch down, fumble with my shoes, take them off, and hand them over. My socks are thin and the ground is colder than the air. My toes curl in. Kara throws my shoes into the back of the car, yanks my book bag out, and tosses it onto the road.
“Okay,” she says.
Marta and Jeanette grab my arms and force them behind my back. I try to jerk away before I really understand it, but they hold tight.
“What—?”
“You really fucked up this time, Regina,” Kara sings.
“Jesus, are you kidding me? Because I decided I didn’t want to drive you guys home?”
“No, it’s more like because you were all over Josh in the den last night,” Anna says. “Kara told me she saw you together.”
My jaw drops. Kara grins, daring me to deny it.
“I don’t get it, Regina. Did you just give up? A final ‘fuck you’? You knew how I felt about—” She crosses her arms. “You knew.”
“Yeah,” I say, resigned. “I knew.”
“Is that all you have to say?”
I nod. Kara nudges Anna, who takes a few uncertain steps forward. Kara nods at her encouragingly and says, “Just don’t forget to tuck your thumb in, okay? In.”
Anna nods and brings her arm back.
Oh, wait.
“Anna, Anna, Anna—Anna, don’t—”
Her fist connects awkwardly with my jaw, because Anna’s never punched anyone before. She doesn’t know how. Still, I’ve been punched. My knees give a little at the shock of it, but Marta and Jeanette keep me upright. It’s dead silence and then—
Anna starts to laugh.
“Shit!” she cries, clutching her hand. An achy warmth spreads across my jaw. No, not warmth. Pain. “Shit, you guys—that kind of hurt! Shit.”
Marta and Jeanette laugh with her. Kara grabs Anna’s hand and runs her thumb over it, smiling. Anna keeps giggling, lost to the thrill of punching me in the face.
“You’re okay,” Kara tells her. “Want to go again?”
Marta and Jeanette tighten their grip on my arms. They want her to. I can feel it. Anna rubs her wrists, chuckling, until she looks at me. My heart stops while she sizes me up. I don’t want her to go again. She can only get better at this.
“No,” she finally says.
“Oh, come on,” Kara says. “We’ve got her. We can fuck her up. You can’t just bring her out this far and punch her once.”
“Fuck off, Kara,” I say.
Kara turns to me. “What did you say?”
“I said ‘Fuck off.’ ”
She walks over. “You know you have your arms held behind your back, right?”
“You know you’ll never have this chance again,” I say.
“Right?” She doesn’t even prep. She draws her arm back and her fist connects with my stomach, and she hits harder than Anna. I can see the hit. It’s in front of me—light, everywhere. If Jeanette and Marta weren’t holding me up, I’m sure I’d be on my ass. The lights fade and the scene comes back. Before I can get a handle on it, Kara drives her fist into my stomach again and I crumple, my eyes watering. Jeanette and Marta drop me, because even they aren’t expecting that second hit.
I can’t breathe. I put my hand to the pavement. Get up. Kara’s foot connects with my abdomen. My insides explode, and then it happens again: She kicks me again. I gag. Anna makes noise somewhere nearby. Jeanette and Marta move away. Kara’s foot goes for my shoulder, and my brain sends frantic messages to my body saying Get up, move, so I roll onto my side and cover my head, leaving my back exposed, which is exactly where she gets me next. Hard. I roll onto my back, gasping, drowning. Kara kneels over me and covers my face with her hand, presses her palm over my mouth, my nose.
Our eyes meet.
There’s nothing between us.
Nothing.
I claw at her arms, digging my nails into the bits of flesh her sweater doesn’t cover. She winces and her hand is off my mouth. The air is razor sharp. I’ve barely tasted it when she grabs me by the shoulders and forces me into the ground. My head hits the road. The ocean is in my ears.
My hands drop.
Kara straightens and gets one last kick in. My side. I go in on myself and the adrenaline leaves me again and again and again, leaves me with this unbearable clarity where I know my feet are cold and my body is screaming and I can’t move.
“You were just going to waste it,” Kara yells at Anna. “You were just going to fucking waste it! That’s what we came out here for!”
“Jesus, Kara,” Jeanette breathes. “Have you lost your mind?”
“No, I’m good.” She shakes her hand, glaring at me. “I’m good now.”
I listen to the gravel-crunch of footsteps making their way back to the car, car doors opening and closing shut, and then quiet, and I’m alone.
I’m not alone.
“Regina, get up.” No. Anna’s breathing heavily, charged from the electricity of this. “Regina, get up.”
I don’t say anything.
“I just want to know why,” she says.
I roll onto my back and lick my lips. Dirty gray clouds move across the sky, white sunlight filtering in through the breaks. And the sky looks so great from here, I start to laugh. It hurts, but I do it anyway.
I laugh so hard I cry.
“Kara got you again.”
“She didn’t.”
“She did,” I say, laughing. “She totally did. She got you again—”
“She didn’t—”
“Yes—” “Kara’s not that smart.”
It comes out of her mouth so vehemently, but so sincerely, I finally understand why I never, ever had a chance.
“You’re so stupid, Anna.”
She moves her foot like she’s going to kick me like Kara’s kicked me, and the laughter dies instantly. I raise my hands and cover my face. Nothing happens. She savors this victory in quiet, until the car starts up and the horn blares.
“Well, it’s been really interesting, but I’ve got to go,” she says. “You know. Get destroying your boyfriend underway. Monday’s going to be great. Have a nice walk.”
Michael. She gets in the car and they head down the road. Michael. I curl into the ground until I can feel it’s cold everywhere and I know I have to move. I push myself up on my elbows, my knees. Stand. Stand, Regina. It’s easy. Stand.
You do it every day.
I walk the entire way back to Hallowell on feet so cold I don’t even notice when they step through broken glass, until my sock starts sticking to my heel and gravel starts sticking to my sock and I look down and there’s blood. I don’t know how long it takes me to get into town, but every second settles into my screaming bones. My stomach aches. My back aches. My jaw aches. My feet are numb.
All I can think is Michael.
Michael. Michael. Michael. The thought of him drags me to Hallowell, drags me down the back streets, past my empty house, and all the way to the school, because I have to tell him. He has to know what’s coming.
I limp across the parking lot and yank the front doors open. I step inside. The place is quiet. Distant class noises float down the hall—the illusion of another ordinary day. The warm air levels me, makes me feel instantly stupid-headed and dull.
My stomach lurches.
I’m going to be sick.
I fumble down the hall, keeping one hand against the wall and the other over my mouth, trying to make my way unobtrusively to the girls’ room. I know I can’t be seen.
After forever, the pale blue door reveals itself. I pull it open and stumble in.
Charie Andrews is standing at the mirrors, fussing with her hair. She stops when she sees me. Her eyes go wide as saucers. I lean against the door and close my eyes for a minute.
When I open them, she’s looking at my feet. I breathe in and walk stiffly over to the sink. I tell myself there’s nothing here to look at. The smell of the soap makes me even more nauseous, and she’s barely stepped away from me when I throw up—nothing.
“Jesus,” she mutters. I spit and then I rest my palms on the sink and try to get my bearings. I end up with my forehead against the mirror, staring down the drain, vaguely realizing this is not acting like there’s nothing to look at.
Get it together, Regina.
I take one deep breath and then another. On the walk back, I could do this. I could see myself doing this, but now I think maybe I need to sit down.
I sit on the floor, my back against the wall, and close my eyes, waiting for every broken part of me to piece itself together enough to tell Michael what’s coming, and I feel Charie’s eyes on me that whole time, and I don’t even have the energy to tell her to go to hell. And then the washroom door swings shut and she’s gone.
My toes are thawing, prickling uncomfortably. I open my eyes. I need to wedge the garbage can under the door so no one can come and see me like this. No one else. I press my palms against the floor and try to get to my feet and—
I can’t.
I move and every kicked part of me protests, so I wrap my arms around myself and listen to the slow, steady sound of the faucet dripping water into the sink, and it goes deep. For a second, I’m in my bed again. This morning hasn’t started.
Everything is . . . fine.
The washroom door flies open. My heart stops and my head jerks up. When my eyes focus on the halo of blond hair set around a pale face, I just—Liz. Always here. No matter what I do, she’s always going to be here. This suicide blonde, haunting me for the rest of my life, following me from one awful moment to the next.
“Oh, my God,” she says. “Charie said you—”
She stops. We stare at each other, but I can’t hold her gaze, and I feel her looking at me long after I look away. I lean my head against the wall and close my eyes.
“Regina,” Liz says sharply, like I’m dying right in front of her. I open my eyes and laugh a little at that thought. I realize I’m not cold anymore, I’m warm. Hot. My shirt is clinging to every bit of skin there is to cling to. My hair is stuck to my neck and my face.
“Go away,” I say. Wait. No. I need her. Take it back. “Get Michael for me. I need to tell him something—”
“He doesn’t want to talk to you,” she says.
“Liz, please—”
“No.”
Frustrated tears spring to my eyes. “Fuck you, Liz. You don’t even know—”
“You got your ass kicked,” she says, “finally, and you want Michael to come pick up the pieces. I know what they did to you. I was in that stall—” She points. “And Anna and Jeanette came in here giggling about it. I knew you were out on that road.”
I stare at the floor. Tears spill out onto my cheeks. I wipe my eyes.
“God, Regina, I don’t understand you. This is the only thing that could have happened. You think you’re making easy choices, and every single time you have a good thing, you ruin it. Because you’re a coward. Don’t expect me to feel sorry for you.”
“It’s not like you wanted me to have it,” I snap. She snorts. I grab the edges of the counter and try to get myself up but I can’t. And I can feel how pathetic it is and I know how pathetic it looks. I can’t get up and she’s just standing there. I slam my palm against the floor. “Why are you even here if you’re not going to help?”
Her mouth drops open. She looks away from me, ashamed. I’ve never seen that on her face before, and I don’t even know how I managed it, until she says, “I wanted to see it.”
It’s such a bitch thing to say.
“Okay,” I mumble. I don’t care anymore. I grab the counter a second time and finally manage to get to my feet. I lean on it. My mouth is dry, parched. I run the water cold and dab it on my face. It makes me painfully, painfully awake. “If you feel like it, tell Michael not to—tell him not to come to school on Monday.”
“What? Why?”
“You tell me. You know everything.”
I take a hard step on my right foot, the one with the cut, and wince. I just want to get past Liz, out of the washroom, go home, and die. She grabs my arm.
“I’m not telling him anything if you don’t tell me why.”
I bite my lip. This is not about me and Liz. Michael.
“They have his journal,” I tell her.
“What? Michael has his journal. I’ve seen it.”
I shake my head. “They stole it. Anna made photocopies and returned it before he knew it was missing. She’s going to plaster it over school.”
She stares at me. “He has his journal, Regina.”
“I saw the pages.” My voice cracks. “I’m not telling you what they said. But there was something in there that could get him expelled—”
“I don’t believe you.”
“I don’t care if you believe me.”
“You could be lying just to—just to get me to feel sorry for—”
“He wrote that he wanted to kill everyone in school,” I blurt out. Liz’s eyes widen. “They’re going to give it to Holt and say it’s a death threat. Do you know what that could do to him? I don’t lose anything if you don’t tell him.”
I push past her bony frame. The space between the stalls and the sinks is too narrow, and the corner of the counter rams into my kicked side. I make a dying-kitten kind of sound and curl in, one hand on my side, the other on the counter.
“Regina—”
“Just look.” I manage. “You wanted to see it.” I leave the washroom and make my way down the empty hall. The bell rings at the exact same time I push back through the front door. My toes cringe at the reintroduction to the cold pavement. But this is nothing.
Nothing.
I climb the stairs to my bedroom and study my reflection in the full-length mirror mounted on my closet. My jaw is tender to touch, but I think it’s going to be okay, because Anna can’t hit. But Kara can. I lift my shirt so I can see the damage. There are already bruises forming, abstract works of art across my abdomen and what I can glimpse of my back.
I raid the mirrored cabinet over the sink in the bathroom. My fingers travel over antacids and prescriptions until I find the Tylenol with Codeine and I take three of those, and then I crawl into bed.