Bullies like Me Page 4

  My bravado is all an act, one I don’t know how long I’ll be able to continue. Each time I do something—even just meeting her gaze—I think I’m going to dissolve in a pool of terror, or heave. Still, I won’t lie and say it’s completely unenjoyable to watch her try to comprehend what’s going on. No one purposely gets on her bad side. No one until me.

  I look around the entryway as I wait for Nick to appear. We talked on the phone the last two nights. Neither time was for long, but hearing his voice was enough. He talked about a new book he’s reading, and I mentioned a funny movie I watched. He told me about a song he liked and asked if I knew it. I said I did. I brought up the Loch Ness monster, and said I’d like to go to Scotland just to look for it. He said he’d go with me, and then it got quiet and awkward, until we both laughed.

  Inconsequential details and musings that seemed monumental, because of who they were shared with. I’m not sure what I feel for Nick—I only know he consumes my thoughts, and when I think of him, my stomach tumbles, and my pulse goes crazy. The thought of seeing him makes me feel sick, and the thought of not seeing him makes me feel sicker. It’s weird, and I like it—which is also weird.

  It’s six after eight, and with each passing minute I don’t see him, my anxiety rises. I’ve waited days to see him, and it seems like it’s been forever. I want to tell him everything that’s transpired over the past week during school, but I can’t. I can’t tell anyone, not yet. Maybe never.

  I realize that is a sign that maybe I shouldn’t be doing what I’m doing, and I make a face. I’m the only one who can stick up for me, and I’m doing it, even if it is late. I’ll do this, and then, I’ll move on. Simple.

  I clench my hands to keep my fingernails out of my mouth—a bad habit I’m trying to break—and instead shift from foot to foot. Come on, Nick. Where are you?

  With it being as early as it is, and a Saturday, it’s quiet in here. Gladys, the middle-aged woman who sits at the desk and runs the main phone line and schedules visitations and other such things, eyes me like she wants to tell me to move out of her personal space. I step back from the desk and force my legs to a chair, even though I’m restless. I sit down, and my legs immediately bounce. I want to track down Nick, but I no longer belong here. I’m not allowed to roam the halls. Time that we could be together is being wasted while I wait.

  “I’m sure he’ll be down any minute,” Gladys assures me before turning her attention back to the computer screen.

  I nod to myself, since she isn’t even looking at me.

  Because of his work as a mechanical engineer in a fast-growing company opening factories in multiple states, my dad moved us to this town in August of last year. I was nervous and sad about leaving my friends in Iowa. I was worried about starting a new school my junior year. But I never, ever thought I had to worry about being bullied.

  Maybe I should have been mad; maybe I should have fought back, but really, I was stunned—unable to accept that others could be that horrible to another human being, even as I was proof that kind of stuff really does exist. It was happening—to me—someone never popular, but not unpopular either. I was liked by most in my old school, hated by few, and never once a victim of that kind of spite. I was unable to cope with it. Mostly, I just wanted it to stop, however it needed to happen.

  I would lie in bed at night, staring at a ceiling I couldn’t see. I dreaded the next day, because, without fail, it always came.

  Old you, I remind myself. You’re fighting back now.

  With a small stack of files in her arms, Dr. Larson comes around the corner, smiling when she notices me. I know she has regular hours, and I know she is here way beyond them. This place is her life. I wonder how often she sees her husband. Her brown hair is up in a ponytail and she has on black yoga pants and a pink long-sleeved top. She looks like a college student more than a doctor in her thirties.

  “Hello, Dr. Larson.” A smile stretches my mouth.

  “Good morning, Lexie. Nick told me you were spending the day together.”

  “Yeah.” I shift my gaze behind her, looking for a boy who isn’t there, and sigh as I settle back in my chair. “If he ever shows up.”

  She pauses before taking the seat on the other side of the end table from me. Setting the files on her lap, Dr. Larson turns to me. “This is a big step for him. He hasn’t left the center since he was brought here.”

  A feeling of significance washes over me, warm and dangerous. Thinking I’m special to Nick could have negative repercussions, I know, but I feel it anyway. Nick is doing something for me that he hasn’t for anyone else. My impatience evaporates. He’s probably terrified. I almost want to find him and tell him to forget about it, that he doesn’t have to do this. But I’m selfish, and I want him all to myself for the day without the eyes and ears of Live nearby.

  “I like him a lot,” I admit in a whisper.

  Her smile, although kind, has a touch of sorrow in it. “He likes you a lot too.”

  As I look at my therapist, I realize she knows Nick and me better than we know each other. She knows his hidden truths; she knows mine. I wonder what she thinks of us as individuals, and together. I wonder if that’s why she looks sad. And then I don’t wonder about anything, because Nick is standing before me.

  He got his hair cut since I last saw him. The sides and back are short, with the top left long. The blond is still there, intermeshed with the brown. His marine eyes stand out, searing me with their intensity. With a racing pulse and a plunging stomach, I tear my eyes from his to take in the faded jeans, black tee shirt, and red Converses. A navy blue hooded sweatshirt is tucked under one arm. He looks like every other teenage boy, and nothing like anyone I’ve ever known.

  I carefully stand, much too pleased with his appearance. It’s just jeans. He’s just a boy. Just a boy who makes my world spin. He doesn’t smile when I bring my eyes back to his. I don’t smile either. I am acutely aware of his warmth, his scent. His life. It feels like something’s changed between us, and I’m not sure when it happened.

  “Well, you two have a good day.” Humor hangs from her words that are able to sever whatever spell we’re under. Dr. Larson gets to her feet. “Don’t forget to sign out, Nick.”

  He nods, looking ill.

  We say goodbye to Dr. Larson and Nick signs himself out, his motions slow, like his limbs weigh more than he can bear. I want to help him, but there’s nothing for me to do. I wait by the door, watching the struggling boy. Hoping he’ll choose me instead of what’s safe. He runs a hand through his hair as he faces me, and with grim determination lining his features, Nick walks to me.

  “You look really happy about hanging out with me,” I grumble, only somewhat kidding.

  Nick grimaces and pushes open the door. Once we’re outside, standing under the sunny sky, he takes a deep breath, grabs my shoulders, and levels his eyes on me. “Let’s try this again, okay?”

  Startled by the heat of his hands on me, burning me where they rest, I nod. “Okay.”

  “Okay.” He nods to himself and drops his hands. Inhaling again, he doesn’t speak until he’s let go of the breath. He locks me in place with a single look. “I’m happy to be hanging out with you today. If I could, I would hang out with you every day, all day.”

  A grin grabs hold of my lips, and I swipe a chunk of bangs from his eyes. “I like the haircut—and the jeans.”

  Laughing, he looks around. “Are we walking?”

  “No. I drove my dad’s second car.” I cringe as I lead the way to the boat pretending to be a car. “It’s unofficially mine.”

  The closer we get to it, I become rattled. It’s a rose-colored beast that has low miles and cream leather interior. To another generation, the Oldsmobile would be classy. To mine, it’s a laughable means of transportation. I was mocked for driving it, made fun of for the kind of car I drove. Any little thing they could find about me to ridicule, they did. The memory hits me hard, taking my breath and any joy I feel, with it.


  I make it through the first half of the day without any incidents, and I think, maybe, finally, I’m simply an outcast, someone too unimportant to bother with, and not a target for scorn. Clint Burns quickly rectifies that misconception. I am in the hallway sitting in front of my locker, pretending to read, and actually counting the minutes until lunchtime is over, when he appears with Casey Reed.

  “Hey, Lexie.” Clint smiles, stopping by my shoes.

  My face instantly burns as I glance up, sliding my legs up and back from him.

  “Hi,” I say softly, wondering why he is talking to me. My gaze moves to where Casey is standing behind him, biting her lip to keep from smiling.

  Clint hasn’t said more than a few sentences to me since school started in September and it is now close to the end of October. His presence is odd, and fills me with unease. He crouches down beside me and I want to shrink away, not liking how close he is or how nervous I am.

  I instinctively fear whatever is about to unfold.

  “So, your car? The pink one out front—that's yours, right?”

  My eyes flicker in the direction of my dad's parked car outside the school and disquiet goes through me, like a twisting snake. Did something happen to his car? He’ll be pissed if it did, and will probably make me ride the bus, or walk, for the remainder of the school year. If something happened to it, I will cry. I will more than cry, but before anything else, I will cry.

  “Yeah. It's my dad's.” I focus on him. “What about it?”

  He puts a hand over his mouth to hide a grin. “What kind of car is it anyway?”

  “Clint, stop,” Casey says, but a faint smile hovers over her lips.

  Casey is one of those people who isn't exactly mean, but she isn't exactly nice either. She's a follower more than anything, going along with the crowd, falling into place with the majority. I think people like her are worse than the bullies, because they're the ones who might realize that what someone is doing isn't right, and still, they remain silent.

  I glance at her, but she is already looking elsewhere, tapping her foot impatiently. I look at Clint. “It's an Oldsmobile. Why?”

  “Oldsmobile. Really?” He looks thoughtfully surprised. “I didn’t know they still made those.”

  I just shrug, not sure what is the point of all this.

  “It's awesome, a really cool car.”

  For a second I think he is trying to be nice, and I open my mouth to say thanks, but then he ruins it by laughing. He gets to his feet and walks away, Casey slapping him on the shoulder as they go. As they round the corner, she says, “That wasn’t nice.”

  I stare after them for a long time, wondering what it is about me that makes it so fun for them to put me down. I hate this school. I hate the kids in it. I hate this town. I hate my life. I hate it all.

  “Where did you just go?”

  I rub my eyes with hands that shake, counting to ten before I look at Nick. Concern bleeds from his eyes, and his expression is pinched with worry. Anger and pain echo through me, and I push them both away. “I just…bad memory.”

  He doesn’t let me look from him, his magnetic eyes holding me captive. “I get those a lot. Want to talk about it?”

  Thinking about the past does no good. Talking about it does the same. I’m already doing what I have to do. If anything, I wish I could forget the months at Enid High School that sucked the life from me. I’m tempted to ask him if he wants to talk about the bad memories that haunt him as well. Instead, I shake my head and point to the car, steeling myself against whatever reaction Nick is going to have. He’s different from my classmates, I know he is, but it doesn’t make the apprehension dissipate.

  “This is your dad’s car?” Nick blinks, and a slow smile takes over his face. He runs a hand along the driver’s side door.

  “Yeah. It’s a real beauty, I know.”

  “It is,” he agrees, awe in his voice.

  I tilt my head. “What?”

  Nick drops his hand and straightens. “What year is it?”

  “I don’t know. ’87 or something.”

  His eyes shine. “I like it. This is a solid car.”

  Feeling unusually uplifted by his response, I unlock the doors and get in on the driver’s side, but not before telling him, “You’re so weird.”

  MY DAD IS GONE FOR the day visiting a friend who is in town on business, which makes the idea of being at my house fun instead of nerve-wracking. I can just imagine how my dad would react to a boy he doesn’t know being at our house. Actually, if he reacted at all, that would be something. I didn’t tell him about Nick coming over, figuring by the time he got home, Nick would be back at the center. It’s not like he asked what my plans were anyway.

  I show Nick around the grayish blue and faux rock-sided house that looks like a cottage. The purple door is my favorite part of the exterior, and probably my dad’s least. I don’t know that Nick cares all that much about what my house looks like, but I want to share everything I am with him, even my home. Even the sad. Even the bad, in time.

  But I think Nick gets it. His eyes shine whenever they meet mine, seeming to say: Thank you for showing me pieces of you. I want to know them.

  In my cream-colored bedroom with various vintage framed photographs and paintings on the walls, he picks up Rosie from the bed, the pink one-eyed teddy bear, and smiles. “How long have you had this?”

  “Since I was five.” I’m blushing. I can feel the heat as it erupts in my face. “My mom gave it to me. She’s gone now,” I hurry to add, for whatever reason.

  Nick’s eyes darken and he slowly lowers the stuffed animal back to the turquoise bedding. “I’m sorry.”

  “Oh, it’s okay. She didn’t…she didn’t die.” I can’t look at him. The only people in Enid who know what I’m about to confess are me, Dr. Larson, and my dad. And now Nick.

  If she hadn’t left, if my dad hadn’t moved us here, if I hadn’t gone to this school.

  If, and if, and if.

  If I hadn’t met Nick…

  I pick at the hem of my shirt, focusing on the necklaces displayed on hooks on a wall across the room. Gold and silver and glittering, they are artwork without the prison of a frame. “She just…left. Three years ago. It kind of, I don’t know, messed up my dad. Things have been different since then.”

  Fingers touch my cheek, gently lifting my chin until I can’t escape Nick’s pretty eyes. Not that I want to. “I’m sorry.”

  I shrug, but inside, my heart aches.

  “My parents are still together.”

  “Wow.” I step back from Nick, needing space to put my emotions back in order. “You know how to make a girl feel better.”

  “But they shouldn’t be,” he finishes.

  “Why?” I whisper, hearing something in his voice that makes me want to wrap my arms around him. Instead, I cross my arms.

  “They don’t talk, unless they’re fighting. My dad has his life, and my mom has hers, and neither seem to involve their kids.” His chest lifts as he takes in air, keeping his head turned from me. “But I do have an aunt, and she looks out for me.”

  With burning eyes, I grab Rosie and press her against Nick’s chest.

  Brows furrowed, he looks at me.

  “Hug Rosie. You’ll feel better.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  I lift my eyebrows.

  Sighing, Nick wraps his arms around the teddy bear. He looks resigned, and then, after a moment, he softens, shooting me an embarrassed look before rubbing his cheek against the fake fur. He looks adorable, and sweet, and I want to hug him like he’s hugging the bear.

  “You feel better, don’t you?”

  “No,” he mumbles, but there is a smile pressing against his lips, ready to push forth.

  “Take her,” I encourage. I don’t know if he wants my raggedy bear; I don’t know why I want to give it to him. But I feel like he needs her more than me, at least right now anyway.

  “You’re so weird,” he gently mocks, re
peating my earlier words to him.

  “And fabulous. Don’t forget that part.”

  “Weird and fabulous.” He nods. “That sounds like you.”

  Nick takes the bear with him as we leave the bedroom.

  When we get to the kitchen, I grab the backpack already packed with food and water. “There’s a bike trail that goes through the woods along the edge of town. It starts a few blocks from here. Do you feel up to walking it?”

  Nick tells me yes, but his tone is less than convincing, and he won’t look at me. I want to ask him what’s his problem, but I don’t. The insecure part of me tells me it’s because he doesn’t want to be seen with me, and that he doesn’t really want to hang out with me, but I don’t want to believe that. I convince myself that he’s just used to having walls or a fence around him all the time. I lock the door behind us, pocket the key, and head toward the bike path.

  It’s perfect weather, cool enough for jeans and a sweatshirt, but warm enough to chuck the sweatshirt once you get moving. I focus on the trees as the wind rustles their leaf-filled limbs, but my senses are all on Nick. I feel each time he looks at me. I hear his breaths as he draws air into his lungs. I even smell him when the wind blows just right. I also know he’s uncomfortable, even though I don’t know what is causing it. His eyes constantly dart around us, and his gait is tense. His shoulders are stiff. It’s like he’s making sure there isn’t anyone around us, but if someone appears, he’s ready to bolt. It doesn’t exactly give me a boost of confidence.

  “I have an older sister,” I tell him to fill the edgy silence.

  “I have an older brother, and a younger one,” he replies.

  “What are their names?”

  “Brett. He’s twenty-one. And Derek. He’s thirteen. Brett’s in college, and Derek, well, he’s a pain more than anything. What about your sister?”