Filed to story: Brace Face Betty Drama Story
He thrusts out his jaw, rubbing a hand over the dark whiskers that are jutting out of his face. “Huh? You don’t like it? Simon and I have a bet. Whoever has the most impressive, manliest beard by the end of the month wins a hundred bucks.”
“I’ll give you a hundred bucks right now if you get in the bathroom and shave that off. I’m serious. Beards are for hot fitness models on Instagram, not middle-aged architects.”
His eyebrows rise in unison. “First, you’d better save your money. That Nova’s gonna need a gearbox eventually and that shit ain’t cheap. Second, beards are for carpenters and rugged naval captains. Everybody knows this. Third, I could be a fitness model on Instagram. I run marathons. I have abs on top of my abs. And last but not least, dearest daughter…middle-aged? How old do you think I am?”
I smirk wickedly. “From the crow’s feet and all that salt and pepper in your hair, I’m gonna say sixty-seven.”
Dad’s face is a mask of mock outrage. “Witch. Get up. Now, before I pay your brother to come in here and fart all over you. And if you’re not up, dressed, fed and out of the door in the next forty-five minutes, I’m gonna start uploading your baby pictures onto your precious Instagram, and I’m gonna tag all of your friends. Sixty fucking seven. Jesus Christ.”
He spins around and leaves, running back down the stairs, heavy footed and making enough noise to wake the dead, so he doesn’t see my expression of abject panic. He wouldn’t dare. He wouldn’t fucking dare upload my embarrassing baby photos. Dad’s reckless, though, and tends to follow through on his threats. Unluckily for me, he’s nowhere near sixty-seven; my parents were practically kids themselves when they had me, and he won’t be celebrating his fortieth birthday for another six months, which means he definitely has his own Insta account and he knows perfectly well how to use it.
Reluctantly, I drag myself out of bed and haul ass into the bathroom. My father could have threatened me with many things, but having him tag my ‘friends’ in embarrassing photos of me online? Yeah, that’s not something I can afford to even joke about.
* * *
Dad really shouldn’t have mentioned anything about the Nova’s transmission. The engine sounds rough and throaty the entire way across town, and I begin to worry that it’s gonna quit on me about a mile from school. Miraculously, it makes it, but I’m still gripping the steering wheel, praying under my breath that it doesn’t stall out in front of the entire Roughnecks cheerleading squad as I drive all the way to the back of the school parking lot.
I ignore the hard, unwelcoming eyes that follow me as I pass by the building’s entrance; I barely even notice them staring anymore, though the girls I used to hang around with, girls I’ve known since I was seven-years-old, don’t seem to care if I respond to their mean-girl act either way.
It’s started to rain as I jump out of the Nova, grab my backpack from the backseat and hurry across the lot, avoiding the puddles of standing water as I go. It’s still fifteen minutes to the bell, which means there are plenty of other students loitering outside, sitting on the trunks of their cars, rough-housing and gossiping with one another. This is the perfect time to arrive-amongst all of the other students hunched against the cold, laughing and shouting, I’m almost invisible. Anonymous. It’s easy enough to slip through the clustered groups of my peers without drawing too much attention.
There’s no avoiding the girls, though.
Melody, Zen, Halliday, and, of course, Kacey. Once upon a time, I knew all of their secrets, and they knew mine. When my world combusted into a fiery ball of shit nine months ago, they were pretty quick to make sure everyone knew every single one of my secrets, while stupidly or otherwise, I clamped my mouth shut and kept theirs. I can’t even count how many hours I’ve spent lying in bed at night, imagining their faces if some of their skeletons were to come to life and leap out of their closets. It’d be so fucking satisfying to watch them scramble, to see them frantically trying to hold the pieces of their lives together after all the pain and suffering they visited on me.
But…
I don’t do it. I like to tell myself those bitches will get what’s coming to them. Karma will show up on their doorsteps one day, and they’ll pay the price for their actions, but honestly, the simple, quiet, sad truth is that I don’t want them to suffer. I miss my friends. The dumb practical jokes we used to play on each other. The sleepovers, and the silly traditions we used to share. I miss the late-night laughter, and swooning over boys, and…fuck. I miss being part of a ride-or-die group of friends who would do anything for each other.
I suppose now, in hindsight, it’s stupid to miss that. As it turns out, I never really had it. I thought I did. I would have bet money on the girls having my back. In the end, they are the ones who betrayed me the hardest, though.
I have to pass them to get into the building. I already have my headphones in, so I crank up my music and make sure to keep my chin high as I stroll past them. I will not hurry. I will not look away. I will not look ashamed. I will not give them the satisfaction.
Zen says something to Halliday, obviously about me. Her mouth is turned down, her nostrils flared, and I remember that same look being on her face the day she found that her dad had been cheating on her mom for a year-the fury and the disgust had poured off her like heat from a flame. I’d been the one to soothe her pain that night, and many nights after, too. I’d brought over gallon tubs of Ben & Jerry’s, and watched lame teen dramas, and listened to her while she’d ranted. The other girls had come by too, but I was there every night. I was a constant source of comfort to her when it felt like her life was ending, and the tear in her heart would never heal. And now she’s looking at me, the same way she looked at her father.
Halliday-silly, sweet, strawberry blonde Halliday-giggles, furtive eyes cast in my direction, and I recognize malice and spite there, where before there was only ever empathy and kindness. I don’t know what’s wrought this drastic change in her, but I’m brimming over with sadness as I take the first step up the stairs that lead into Ravenshire High.
Billy Joel sings into my ears about rainy nights in Paris and the sitting by the Seine in the European rain, and out of nowhere I feel something hit my arm-light, barely a contact at all. I almost ignore it, but out of the corner of my eye, I see whatever hit me fall to the ground…and it’s a cigarette butt. Still lit, though smoked down to the filter. The cherry glows, flaring red, before the rainwater on the ground soaks along the paper, putting it out.
What the fuck?
I look back at the girls. I can’t help myself. My gaze meets Kacey’s, and my ribcage squeezes like a vice as a curl of smoke slips out of her mouth. Melody titters, elbowing Kace, and my ex-best friend fucking winks at me. Her green eyes are blazing with defiance, and I’m reminded very clearly that Kacey Winters earned her nickname: if you’re lucky enough to find yourself on the right side of the Ice Queen, life can be a marvelous thing. Find yourself on the other side of the line she’s drawn in the sand, however, and you’ll quickly be suffering from frostbite.
My expression’s appalled, I know it is, but I can’t keep it from my face. Slowly, I stoop down and pick up the cigarette butt. My feet carry me towards the girls, unbidden. I can’t fucking stop them. Billy Joel falls quiet as I remove the earbuds and clear my throat. I address Kacey. “You smoke now? Leon must love that.”
Leon’s been her boyfriend since freshman year. Already on track for a swimming scholarship, Leon’s the clean-cut, extraordinarily focused, wholesome type. No alcohol. No drugs. Definitely no smoking. Since he was fourteen years old, his only vice has been Kacey.
Melody rolls her eyes, inspecting her French polish. “Fuck. She’s so out of touch. It’s a miracle she even knows what day of the week it is.”
“Grow up, Mel,” I snap. “The rest of the world grew out of talking about people and pretending they weren’t there back in middle school.”
She looks stung. Immaculately dressed, thick auburn hair styled in flawless beach waves, Melody has always spent way more time on her appearance than she ever spent developing a mind of her own. She looks to Kacey to see if she should retaliate, but Kacey doesn’t spare her a sideways glance. She’s far too busy lasering holes into my skull.
“Leon and I broke up. I’m with Jacob now. Hope you don’t mind.”
Bile rises in my throat. My reaction hits me hard, too quick to rein it in. I can’t fucking breathe. “You aren’t serious?” The words are little more than a startled gasp.
A cunning, sour smile tugs at Kacey’s mouth. Mom used to call her Snow White when we were little. All that jet-black hair, her rosebud lips, and the permanent pretty red blush to her porcelain-skinned cheeks. If she could see her now, she wouldn’t call her that anymore. Kacey bears more of a resemblance to Cruella de Vil with this nasty sneer plastered across her face. “Why wouldn’t I be? Jacob’s hot. He’s captain of the-“