The first post (and posts 3,5,7) uses [JUSTIFY] bbcode, so all the lines line up on the right.
It does seem a bit strange that people would be unable to read it, though, given this is actually the default way paper books are printed, then again perhaps @Foxy Boxes has trouble reading paper books as well (ereaders may have come as a blessing).
It does seem a bit strange that people would be unable to read it, though, given this is actually the default way paper books are printed, then again perhaps @Foxy Boxes has trouble reading paper books as well (ereaders may have come as a blessing).
I really like the first scene, but after that it goes back to justified.
Which is somehow worse than before because now I also really want to read more
I really like the first scene, but after that it goes back to justified.
Which is somehow worse than before because now I also really want to read more
Taylor is really really stupid. Honestly just give the guy a fake number. All you have to do. If she runs into him again all she has to do is say he is going to have to work a bit harder to impress her get her number. Sigh. I really no respect for this Taylor. Definitely one of the dumbest (non-crack) ones I have seen in awhile.
You kidding me? I own a phone, know my number off by heart and still couldn't tell you how many digits a number even has. You expect Taylor, who has never even had a phone, to be able to come up with one on the fly?
You kidding me? I own a phone, know my number off by heart and still couldn't tell you how many digits a number even has. You expect Taylor, who has never even had a phone, to be able to come up with one on the fly?
Point of order. She doesn't have a cellphone. I presume she knows what a phone is, has used house phones/pay phones before just fine. They use the same system for numbers.
Also, you may not be able to keep track of how many numbers a phone number has, but I guarantee you other people do -- it's not that surprising. Admittedly, cell phone with phonebooks where you never see the number of your contacts does tend to make it harder to remember that actual numbers exist at all...
You kidding me? I own a phone, know my number off by heart and still couldn't tell you how many digits a number even has. You expect Taylor, who has never even had a phone, to be able to come up with one on the fly?
Not at all. Using a phone is as easy as rembering a sequence of numbers parrot fashion (or are you saying I also am too stupid to use a phone?).
Creating a realistic sounding sequence of numbers on the fly is a whole different kettle of fish.
Not at all. Using a phone is as easy as rembering a sequence of numbers parrot fashion (or are you saying I also am too stupid to use a phone?).
Creating a realistic sounding sequence of numbers on the fly is a whole different kettle of fish.
Okay everyone, settle down. Taylor just wanted to leave, and has never had to deal with a pushy guy before, so she grabbed the first excuse she had to avoid giving him her number. Since Taylor doesn't actually own a phone, she didn't need to make up a number because she already has a perfectly valid (and true) excuse to use, which she did.
Many thanks to my fantastic betas @eschwartz, Ray the Red and my flatmate Megan for their proof-reading and helping me restructure the chapter when it didn't flow smoothly.
..........
It had taken me a long time to get to sleep last night, still riding the high of going out as a cape. Well, not a cape, but a parahuman nonetheless, and even the thought of returning to Winslow couldn't dampen my spirits.
Stepping off the bus, I looked around, still smiling, and started walking forwards. Careful of how I walked, I left my jacket unzipped, letting the yellow shirt underneath remain visible. It was a far cry from how I used to dress, but I had learned how much appearance built things up, and I wanted to put that into action today.
The bruises from my encounter with the two villains were almost completely faded, and though I was certain that nobody would actually notice them unless they were paying attention, that was exactly the sort of thing the other girls would do, so I had carefully applied a little bit of concealer.
But really, why stop there? Once I had started putting on make-up in preparation for school, it was only logical to continue, and I was happy with the result.
It was funny, I mused as I made my way up the steps to the front door, just what a bit of colour can do to something, whether it's a face, a body or a building.
Even Dad had been surprised at the difference when I had come downstairs after my shower. Looking through my clothing, I realised I had been wearing the same few outfits again and again. Mostly brown, dark green or blue, colours where stains wouldn't show up very easily and I could pretend they didn't matter.
In defiance of that, I had chosen one of my brightest shirts, and then picked a jacket I could open. Let everyone see that I was feeling more colourful. When he made a vague gesture towards my face, I realised that Dad had never seen me wear make-up before. In a way, it seemed fitting.
It was a new year, and in a way I was wearing a new face to meet it, because I honestly felt like a new person. The Taylor of last year was a student trying to avoid attention, while the Taylor of this year was a parahuman ready to face things.
Winslow was drab in comparison, the dull grey of concrete and rust red of old bricks. The graffiti scattered across the walls provided ugly, irregular splashes of colour that only served to highlight the forlorn, rundown nature of the school.
Then I was inside, and instead of the ugly exterior I was now dealing with the even uglier interior: the students.
I felt a flutter of trepidation at the thought, but I remembered what it was like to leave the Empire rally and head home, the heady rush of success leaving me giddy and laughing. I had felt like nothing could ever tear me down, and I wanted to feel that again.
Straighten your back, square your shoulders and move forwards.
Despite feeling faintly silly, like I was a child dressing up as an adult, I kept my chin higher, looking ahead of me instead of down at the ground. My steps were more purposeful, and the further I walked the easier it became.
Maybe I wasn't quite as confident as I wanted to be, but now I had the acting abilities to pretend otherwise, and that would do for now.
I could see some other girls from my year turn and look at me, then start whispering to themselves. I almost missed a step, but caught myself and kept going, ignoring them. They turned to watch me as I walked past, but I pretended that they simply didn't exist. This was a new year for me, and they weren't going to ruin that.
Another group of students I knew, a mixture of boys and girls, turned to look at me as I approached, and this time I knew I wasn't imagining the whispers.
It didn't matter.
If dressing up and looking better was that shocking to them, it just proved that this was the right approach to take.
By the time I reached the corridor my locker was in, the experience was downright surreal.
I wasn't used to receiving this much attention, and any time I had it had always been bad. The only thing that kept me going forward was the fact that I was already moving. I knew that if I stopped then I wouldn't be able to keep going, and I would turn around and try to leave. I knew it was just paranoia speaking, but I felt like I was being followed, that there were more students walking after me than there should be.
Maybe dressing up was a bad idea.
No.
This was the new me, and I was going to stick to it.
Fake it until you make it.
I ignored them as best as I could, and turned into my corridor.
As soon as I did so, the smell hit me. Foul and cloying, the stench seemed to worm its way into my sinuses, rotting and making my eyes water.
My eyes came to rest on the small crowd at the other end of the corridor, and the dread settled into my stomach like an iron dumbbell. I stumbled to a halt, my earlier confidence evaporating.
What have they done?
It didn't matter, did it? Whatever I did out there as a cape, here I was still scrawny little Taylor Hebert, unattractive, with a small paunch and glasses, bottom of the totem pole. Whatever happened, that wouldn't change, and they would still pull stuff like this.
For a moment, despair swamped me, crushing in its weight and sudden intensity.
It didn't matter what I did, they would stay the same. I couldn't steal their cruelty, their desire to torment me, and no matter what I took from them they would still enjoy doing stuff like this.
Was it a dead animal? Some roadkill they'd found and stuffed in my locker? Were they going to try and tell everyone I'd been planning on cooking it, or some other ridiculous rumour that everyone would somehow accept because it was Emma who was telling it?
The sting of the foul smell had reached my eyes, and I had to struggle to make sure they didn't see me cry.
Was this all I had to look forward to, even as a cape?
No!
To hell with all of this! I wasn't going to put up with their petty bullshit any longer! I'd gotten into a fight with villains, and maybe I'd lost, but it was more than any of them had done. I'd infiltrated a rally, stolen skills from members of the Empire 88 and escaped unscathed. Compared to that, this was nothing, and I'd be damned if I let them get to me still.
I kept walking, my strides faster and more deliberate than before and my face locked into an expression of cold disdain. It was one Emma used on someone she didn't like and couldn't manipulate, and I wanted them to know that I was through with all of this.
The stench intensified as I approached my locker, and I could hear the muffled laughter from both ahead and behind, stirring my anger up and making my jaw clench. My hand clutched the strap of my bag as tightly as possible, as if I could squeeze all of my fury out through it.
I reached my locker and had to fight to stop from gagging. Cycling through the combination on the padlock as quickly as quickly as I could, breathing as shallowly as possible, I yanked the door open.
The reek that billowed out struck me like a physical blow, accompanied by the buzzing of the flies that rose as I disturbed the fetid mess when I opened the door. The filth almost filled my locker, and now that it was disturbed it started to slide forwards, a rancid sludge tipping forward and spilling out onto the floor.
Used tampons and pads, packed into my locker and left to fester, stained red and in some cases still glistening.
My gorge rose at the sight of it all, and it was only when the highest parts started toppling over that I snapped out of my shock and jumped to the side, desperately avoiding the bloody mess. A noise more akin to a snarl ripped its way out of my throat, and I glared at the students ahead of me.
They were laughing at what had happened, not even pretending to not have been waiting for it.
Furious, I turned to those who had followed me down the corridor, fists clenched, in time to see Sophia rushing up behind me.
Shock held me immobile for a split second, until I registered that this was part of an attack and my body reacted without my input.
Taking an automatic step backwards, my foot landed on the edge of the filth and I almost slipped, struggling to regain my balance. Then she was upon me, teeth bared in what might almost be described as a smile.
As her hands reached towards me, my own lashed out, catching her around the wrist as I jerked to the side. My left foot slid back and my right pushed forwards, my torso twisting, pulling Sophia forwards at the same time as I desperately tried to get out of the way.
I was only partially successful.
Sophia's momentum was too much for me to completely escape, and the two of us tumbled to the ground, falling into the filth as we each sought to avoid it. I hit the ground hard on the edge of the pile, though not as hard as I could have, while Sophia hit the worst of it, her back hitting the metal lockers with a muffled clang and a squelch and her hands sinking in deep. I don't know which one of us cried out louder, but we were both yelling at that point.
"The fuck is wrong with you?!" I screamed out, struggling to my feet just as Sophia leapt to hers.
"I'll kill you, you fucking bitch!" was the only response, her voice hissing and her eyes wild.
She lunged at me and I fell back, saved only by Sophia slipping on the floor. Her hand still managed to latch on to my jacket, and I vainly tried to beat it off until she turned and threw me sideways, aiming towards my open locker.
Keeping one hand on her wrist and the other grabbing hold of her shoulder, I managed to keep us locked together while my leg shot out and tangled with hers. Deprived of her balance while still moving, I managed to twist Sophia around again, this time more successfully.
She hit the ground with a wet thump and I landed on top of her.
This only seemed to drive her to further heights of fury, and she started clawing at my face, her nails scrabbling for my eyes.
"What is your problem, you psycho?" I snarled, trying not to waste too much breath, but too angry to think straight.
With a feral scream, Sophia threw me off. I rolled, trying to put distance between us even as I felt bits of filth stick to my jacket.
I climbed to my feet once more, but this time Sophia was faster, and she hit me before I was ready. Staggering, I tried to hold her at bay, but she was far fitter and far stronger than I was, and I could feel myself being forced back around and closer to the locker.
I tried to shift sideways, only for Sophia to pull me back on course, so the next time I was pushed back a step I rammed my knee up and into her side. I heard her grunt with the impact, but I lacked the strength to cause any serious pain, and then her knee hit me and in the time it took me to regain my balance I was already back to within a few feet of the locker.
We grappled, and when I shifted my grip to pry her loose, Sophia shifted her own grip in response, constantly pushing in close to me, her eyes glaring into mine.
Sophia wasn't just stronger than me, she knew how to fight.
But now, so did I, and every time she tried to hit me with a jab to the stomach I was able to twist aside, robbing the blow of most of its force. That's not to say that it didn't hurt, but at most I would be getting small bruises, not internal bleeding.
She tried to knee me in the side again, but I felt her shifting and yanked her downwards in response, tipping her off balance and almost dropping her to the floor. I brought my own knee up sharply in response, connecting solidly, but I lacked the muscle to give the move the impact it required, and Sophia merely straightened up and kept fighting.
She got close, she grabbed me, she glared at me, she snarled at me and throughout it all she fought against me, my stolen fighting skills competing against hers.
And with every point of connection between us her nexus blazed brighter, her fighting skills front and centre.
I reached towards her and I pulled on them, feeling them flowing into me.
She lifted her right arm and swung a punch at me, so I lifted my left to block it. Her fist scraped painfully along my upper arm and over my shoulder, but by the time it reached my chin it had been robbed of most of its force.
She tried again, and again, and each time it hurt, but she never got the clean strike she was looking for.
While she focused on that, our feet were twisting and dancing around each other, frantically trying to keep balance.
Sophia threw me backwards, hitting the lockers with a loud clang.
When she reached for me I pushed my arms out to the side and dropped my forehead, ramming it forwards into her face. It missed her nose, but the impact was enough to loosen her grip, and I pressed my right foot against the locker and pushed myself off, knocking her back several steps in the process.
I leapt forwards, not giving her a moment to breathe, forcing her back even further before I raised my leg and kicked sharply at her knee.
I felt a surge of sadistic glee rise up inside me at the sound of Sophia crying out in pain, the shock that flashed across her face sending a pulse of terrible joy through me.
Then her face twisted into a hateful, ugly expression and she attacked me again. With no finesse or training involved, Sophia attacked like a wild animal, filled with a berserk rage. I staggered, taken aback, and she sank a fist into my midriff.
The air was driven out of me, my lungs struggling to draw a breath and the wild sound of shouting students in the corridor dropped away to nothing.
Sophia grabbed me, lifted me up and then slammed me into the ground, driving whatever breath I might have retained away.
My head hit the ground, but instead of the hard tiles it struck something softer, the impact still hard enough to daze me for a few seconds.
I tried to breathe and gagged, the awful reek of whatever they had filled my locker with sticking in my throat.
Then I felt hands grabbing my jacket, and I was dragged across the floor, hands sliding through warm, oozing bits of mess as Sophia dragged me towards the locker.
I tried to grab hold of her legs, but she simply lifted me up and slammed me down into a patch of filth.
My hands shot out, sinking several inches deep, and though it wasn't enough to stop myself dead, it was enough to stop Sophia from forcing my head under.
Twisting my head to the side, I kept my face away, trying to pull in a ragged breath.
Sophia's hands shifted position, gripping painfully tight to my hair as she tried to put her full weight onto my head.
Dropping to my forearms, I tried to find a way to stay above it all, but no matter what I drew from her, Sophia was too heavy for me to lift, and inch by agonizing inch I felt myself forced ever lower.
More voices intruded on us, and then the weight on top of me vanished, my head jerking up painfully with the sudden lack of force against it.
The teachers had arrived, one of them pulling Sophia off me while another tried to help me to my feet.
Sophia was snarling like a rabid dog, until another teacher arrived to help restrain her and I could see a modicum of sense returning to her features.
The crowd of students beyond them were shouting, each one of them clamouring with their version of events or quietly slipping away. I could see more staff members approaching rapidly from around the corner.
The one with a hold on my arm was saying something to me, but every attempt to breathe in failed, until I was almost convulsing, desperate to get the rancid stench out of my lungs.
Sinking to my knees, I threw up.
Repeatedly.
……….
I scrubbed at my skin, lathering soap as heavily as I could in the school showers.
I still felt nauseous.
I still felt furious.
The more colourful clothes I had been nervous to wear in school were now in a garbage bag outside the shower, ready to be thrown away the moment a staff member arrived with some spare clothes. The make-up I had carefully applied had been washed away, forgotten as I tried to clean myself.
It had gotten in my hair.
Even empty, my stomach twisted at the thought. Once I got home I was going to have another shower, using as much shampoo as possible.
I started scrubbing even harder.
I was never going to go through this again.
It didn't matter what it was, or what skills I had to take. I was never going to be subjected to this kind of behaviour again.
I heard the door open and footsteps approach.
"Taylor?" Mrs. Jeffries' voice called out. "I've got some clothes from lost property that should fit you."
I took a deep breath, trying to keep my voice calm as I answered, "Okay. I'll be out in a minute."
I gave myself another thorough scrub and turned the shower off, letting the water run down me and into the drain.
A few deep breaths later and I was ready to step out of the shower.
Towelling myself off, I took stock of the clothes Mrs. Jeffries had left out. They were mismatched and either too short or too wide, but some of them would fit and they were all I had. Taking a baggy shirt because it was the only top that reached my waist and a pair of shorts that I had to tighten as much as possible, I resigned myself to the fact that I would be explaining things to the principal barefoot.
Leaving my ruined clothes to be disposed of by a janitor, I followed Mrs. Jeffries to the principal's office, where the other girls were already gathered.
Julia, Cindy and Madison were huddled together and whispering with each other, their eyes flitting over to me as I walked in, a brief hush falling over them before they continued.
I looked at Sophia, seeing her already sitting and glaring at me, hair still damp from the shower while Emma sat next to her, one hand on Sophia's arm as if she was trying to calm her down.
She probably was, but she was also obviously trying to look innocent and confused at the same time, her eyes wider than they had to be and her mouth slightly open. Unfortunately for her, the combination didn't quite work, and she was left looking slightly desperate.
After a glance at her, I looked back at Sophia, taking in her murderous expression and clenched jaw.
Eye contact.
I could feel the possibility stretching out ahead of me, the chance to connect to Sophia's ability to fight and pick up where I left off. I could slowly drain her ability to fight from her and make sure that if she ever tried anything like this again I would be able to win.
Before today I would have rejected the idea outright, the idea of using such an insidious power in a school as too villainous to consider. But when we had fought I had drawn from her and not felt a split second's doubt or remorse about it.
I still didn't.
But that didn't mean that I wanted to keep doing it. Acting in self-defence was one thing, but taking away part of someone's life because I was angry was another.
Sophia and I regarded each other for a few seconds longer. I was angry at her of course, furious to a degree I hadn't expected, but I would leave her alone. If she tried to attack me again then all bets were off, but for now I would do nothing.
To her.
I turned my attention to Emma.
Her posture was upright, though her shoulders kept slumping forwards until she forced herself to sit straight. I could see the nervousness she was trying so desperately to hide. This had not gone the way she had expected, and now that staff members had witnessed us fighting, she had lost control over the situation.
Would she be able to get out of this?
Sophia was the only one that the teachers had seen attacking me, but I had no doubt who the mastermind behind this sick little activity was. I could see her claiming that I had attacked Sophia first, that she had been drawn to the commotion along with all the others.
And I could see her getting away with it, too.
Proximity.
Emma was a talented actress, modelling aside, and she had proven adept at getting teachers to take her side of things. A combination of relatively good grades and the ability to always seem innocent made a convincing argument to the staff of Winslow.
Manipulation.
I could see her acting ability, see how it influenced what she was doing and what she was trying to achieve with it. I could also take that away from her, draining it away to leave her unable to convince the teachers of anything, while taking that skill for myself.
I felt a surge of glee at the thought, of Emma left struggling to bring anyone to her side, gaping like a fish as she realised that nobody believed her, while I effortlessly swayed them and convinced the teachers to punish her. Would she realise what had happened?
The thought gave me pause.
Using my powers on a civilian, in a school no less, to deprive them of a part of themselves? I was aware of just how dangerous a path that was, and the risks that taking any steps along it carried, especially if I got caught.
And also if I didn't.
Taking the employment skills of an Empire supporter that I had never met before was one thing, but someone I knew very well was another.
Seeing me looking at her, Emma straightened up further, her eyes flicking from side to side to make sure none of the teachers were looking.
Then she smiled.
She really expects to get away with this.
She looked at me, her smile sickeningly sweet as she made sure I could see every ounce of satisfaction she was feeling. It didn't matter that Sophia had probably come off worse than me for their little prank and it didn't matter that it hadn't worked out.
None of that would fall on Emma, she would find a way to turn it against me and she wanted me to know that. She wanted me to know that she would always win, and despair at that fact. She wanted me to know that she wouldn't let up. That this was what I had to look forward to for the rest of high school.
It was a very deliberate expression, calculated to convey exactly what she wanted to show.
Active use.
I kept my face locked in position, clamping down on my emotions. Because deep down, I knew Emma was right. She would get away with this. She and her other friends had already had plenty of time to iron out the details of their story so they could back each other up, the teachers had no reason to suspect her and I had nobody to support me if I accused her of being involved.
She would get away with it, and in a few weeks' time, she would start again with something else. Then she would get away with that, and she would keep pushing me and tormenting me until I gave up or did something about it.
And it would all be because she could act innocent and cry crocodile tears.
The certainty crystallised in my gut, that doing nothing now would only lead to more problems later. And perhaps not just for me, but for anyone else that Emma might feel like bullying. If I left her alone now, she would keep hurting people later.
I started to draw from her.
A few minutes later, Principal Blackwell came out of her office, looking over at us and frowning.
She was a thin, severe looking woman wearing a charcoal grey dress and a bowl cut that my newfound skills in art and cosmetics found aesthetically offensive.
Madison and Julia tried to start talking the moment she appeared, spinning events to paint themselves as innocent, but Blackwell just waved them into silence, looking irritated. It was an expression she made sure to direct at me as well.
"You should all be aware that your parents have been notified of this instance and have been called into school."
That caused a pause amongst us, and I felt a flicker of dread at the thought of Dad finding out about this.
"Those who are able to come in will do so, and we are going to find out what happened this morning. Normally we wouldn't go this far, but given how extreme the situation is I felt that this was warranted, so we can stop this behaviour from happening again."
When Blackwell returned to her office, I turned to Emma and glared at her, and she looked back.
Eye contact.
She was still confident, but cracks were starting to show in her mask. How much did her parents know about her harassment of me? Not much, I suspected. They'd probably noticed that we'd drifted apart since high school started, but friends do that.
They probably didn't know any more than Dad did.
I pushed the thought away.
I ignored the way they whispered together. They were probably planning what to tell their parents. They'd already had all the time they needed to get their story straight while I was showering.
So I waited, and the minutes ticked past.
The first parents to arrive were Madison's, and she rushed over to them as one of the teachers approached, trying to give her version of events first.
Zoe Barnes was next, which surprised me. I was expecting Alan to be the one to come, the lawyer come to protect his daughter from any accusations. From the look on Emma's face, so did she.
Following her as she hurried over to Zoe, I thought that Emma looked nervous. Would Zoe be less sympathetic to her than Alan?
A few more minutes went by, and I tried to ignore the looks of concern that Zoe Barnes kept sending my way, and how Emma kept a tight grip on her arm whenever she looked like she might come over.
The next car arrived, and a blonde woman got out. Cindy's mother, I guessed, going by the hair. She was dressed smartly, in a white blouse and khakis, but it wasn't Cindy that she made her way over to, but Sophia.
This piqued my interest, because she obviously wasn't related to Sophia. Step-mom, maybe? Whoever she was, she led Sophia over to a corner and began a hushed conversation with her.
A few minutes later, Dad's beat up old truck pulled into the car park outside. Another car came in close behind, but I wasn't paying much attention to that.
Dad was here, and I'd have to tell him how things were going for me at Winslow. My breath hitched and I coughed, struggling to swallow the lump in my throat. I didn't dare look at Emma, afraid of what I might see on her face.
I knew she was watching me, and I couldn't bear the thought of giving her the satisfaction of seeing me struggle.
I saw Dad cross the car park in rapid strides, his long legs carrying him ahead of the couple from the other car. He climbed the steps outside the office and I refused to let my eyes burn, though each step seemed to reverberate through me , and when he finally opened the door I felt as if all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room.
I saw him look around the room, his eyes settling on me, taking in my change of clothes, my stony face and rigid posture. Then confusion bloomed across his face and he rushed over.
"Oh, Taylor, what happened now?" I couldn't tell if there was more concern or frustration in his voice.
If I told him what happened right then and there I knew I'd break down, so I simply forced out "Fighting," between gritted teeth and waited for the last parents to arrive.
Except it turned out that that was all there was, since Blackwell's secretary finally told us to head to a meeting room down the corridor.
I looked at Emma, eyes hard, waiting for her to go ahead of me, and after a few seconds she did, looking more and more confused. This wasn't fitting the pattern of behaviour she was used to from me.
We filed into the room and took seats around the large, egg-shaped table. Dad and I sat at one end, facing the other girls and their parents, while Blackwell, Mr. Quinlan, and Mrs. Jeffries took more neutral positions. Blackwell sat at the head between Julia and I, which was probably for the best. Mr. Quinlan and Mrs. Jeffries, meanwhile, were squeezed in between Dad and Madison's Father. All in all, it took a few minutes to get everyone seated, extra chairs having to be brought in, but once this was sorted the meeting started in earnest.
Blackwell began by filling them in on what happened, telling them that my locker was filled with waste and that teachers had found Sophia and me fighting amongst it. Dad exclaimed angrily when he heard what had happened, and he turned and said something to me, but I wasn't listening. Zoe was looking upset, glancing between Emma and me, confusion on her face as I continued to glower at Emma.
"Taylor has claimed that Sophia attacked her and tried to push her into the garbage, while Sophia claims she was trying to help and Taylor attacked her unprovoked. They had to be separated by teachers who heard the commotion."
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Sophia raise her hands defensively in response to something sharp the blonde woman said.
"Uh, was Madison involved with this fight?" Madison's father asked, looking uncertain. He was larger and more solidly built than Madison, unlike his wife, but both of them were quite young-looking, younger than anybody else in the room.
Blackwell looked unhappy.
"Each one of them was present during the fight. Also, while talking with the teachers afterwards, Taylor spoke of numerous incidents of harassment and bullying before today, and named all of the other girls here as people responsible. Since it was Taylor's locker that was filled with this waste, we'll hear her version of events first."
She fixed her eyes on me and I was startled, expecting Emma's friends to be given first opportunity to speak.
I saw the other parents looking at their daughters, most in surprise, while the girls tried to protest their innocence. Julia didn't need to try, since neither of her parents had been able to make it, Madison took the 'tearful pleas' approach and Sophia seemed to get angry. Zoe just seemed shocked. She said something to Emma, who just brushed her off, snapping something I couldn't quite make out.
"…Taylor?" Dad asked me, sounding lost, but I ignored him, still glaring at Emma, my frustration and impotent rage beginning to boil over.
Straightening up, I looked Principal Blackwell in the eye and recounted the events of the morning, just half an hour ago. I made sure to speak clearly and confidently, and when I described how I opened my locker to find such disgusting filth inside it I let a tremor of anger and hurt enter into my voice.
I glanced over at Emma, and for the first time I saw a note of uncertainty enter her expression. She hadn't expected such a performance from me, and she was rattled, as much as she tried not to show it.
I held the eye contact for a couple of seconds, silently savouring the strengthening of the connection before I turned back to Blackwell.
"When I turned away from the locker, Sophia attacked me-"
Before I could get any further the other girls shouted out, calling me a liar, claiming that Sophia had only gone up to help me and I'd attacked her without provocation.
"Enough!" Blackwell called out, and then again several more times before quiet resumed. "You'll all have your chance to speak later. Ms. Hebert, please continue."
I did so, telling them how Sophia had charged me and how I had only just managed to get out of the way, how I tried to defend myself. I let my voice shake and choke up when I described how Sophia had tried to force my head into the pile of used tampons, and the act of recounting what had happened was enough to bring tears of rage to my eyes.
When I was finished, Blackwell sat silently, watching me, evaluating.
How dare they do this? How dare they bring my Dad into school?
"They waited in the corridor for me to arrive and open my locker," I ground out, glaring around the room, finally allowing some tears to appear. "They just stood there and laughed."
I didn't look at Dad next to me, I couldn't look at him, but I was aware of his presence like a great weight at the back of my mind and I hated that he was seeing this.
Eventually, Blackwell turned to Sophia, giving her a far more unfriendly look than I had expected.
"Ms. Hess, this wouldn't be the first time you've been in my office for altercations, though I have to say that this is the most serious incident. Please, in your own words, describe what happened earlier."
Sophia looked sullenly back at her, and then shot a venomous glance at me.
"We could all smell something bad in the corridor, then Hebert opened her locker and that gross shit fell out. She looked like she was gonna puke, so I went to see if she was okay-"
I couldn't help it.
I scoffed loudly, incredulity the only thing keeping me from retaliating even as Blackwell shot me a stern look and gestured for Sophia to continue.
"Then she freaked out and attacked me, tried to throw me into that shit." Sophia glared at me, and I seethed back. "Got it all over my clothes, kept trying to throw me in, so I got pissed and started hitting her. I try to help and she does that, I lost my temper, and then the teachers turned up and pulled us apart."
"You tried to shove me into it face first!" I snapped, knuckles white around the arm rests of the chair.
"That's not true!" Emma cried out, looking at the principal. "Principal Blackwell, Sophia was only trying to help Taylor. Taylor just went psycho!"
Blackwell turned to look at Emma, a frustration and anger she was trying to hide subtly playing across her face. Emma's eyes were wide as she stared at Blackwell, projecting hurt and confusion on behalf of her friend.
Perhaps slightly too wide.
When Blackwell didn't speak, Emma continued, gesturing around at the other girls.
"We all saw it, Sophia didn't do anything. Taylor's making it all up!"
The other girls all voiced their assent, chiming in and talking about how I went crazy, that Sophia was innocent and that of course I was the perpetrator.
"Bullshit!" I snarled. "You waited for me and fucking laughed when she attacked me."
"That's enough!" Blackwell called out, her temper rising as the other girls raised their own voices in response. "All of you be quiet!"
"Sophia ran over to help," Cindy tried again, but her voice was feeble and she shrank back as eyes turned her way.
"She threw me to the ground and tried to push my face into it," I snarled, angry tears flowing down my face. "She sat on me and tried to force my head down into that shit. That's what she was doing when the teachers arrived and pulled her off. How the fuck does that sound like 'helping' to you?"
I turned back to Emma, giving her a fresh glare before glancing up at Zoe, letting my expression show more of the pain and humiliation I was feeling. She almost recoiled from the look I was giving her.
Job done, I turned to the other girls, my eyes moving around the room, this time making sure to meet the gazes of their parents, pushing my pain onto my face, demanding that they see what their children had done.
At the very least, they were uncomfortable with what they were seeing, most of them turning away or looking elsewhere. The blonde woman with Sophia seemed frustrated, giving her a look I caught in my peripheral vision afterwards.
Blackwell sighed as she returned to the room and resumed her seat.
"Ms. Hebert has indicated that all the girls here were involved in this incident, and believes that they were waiting for her in the corridor so they could see what happened."
There was another round of protests at this, and Dad's hand tightened around mine, almost painfully so.
"Principal Blackwell, we all have our lockers in that corridor as well," Emma protested, her eyes wide and fixed on Blackwell's. Emma let her mouth stay open slightly, pouting as she adopted an expression of confusion. "We were just there to get our own stuff, that's all."
Throughout it all, she hadn't blinked, and when I glanced at Blackwell, I saw her looking at Emma, evaluating her with more scrutiny than I expected.
"We just didn't want to get close to that mess," Emma continued earnestly, "and when Taylor tried to throw Sophia into it we couldn't try to pull them apart ourselves. She would have just thrown us in as well."
She was still looking resolutely at Blackwell, and even her mother was starting to give Emma an odd expression.
"You were standing there, watching me," I snapped. "You would've just grabbed your stuff and left, not hung around when it stank so much in that corridor."
"We'd only just arrived!" Emma protested, her voice slightly too high in an attempt to sound young and innocent.
"If you'd only just arrived then you wouldn't have your stuff," Dad growled, his voice harsher than I was used to hearing. He turned to Blackwell, his face red and his jaw clenched with the effort of keeping himself in check. "This seems like an easy thing to check. If they have what they need for class, then they were waiting for Taylor."
I saw the other girls share looks with each other, while Blackwell sighed as she looked around the room
"That does make a certain amount of sense," she admitted. "We can look at their schedule and see what they have, though it's hardly conclusive."
"I only just grabbed my stuff when Taylor appeared," Madison said quickly. "I was going to leave when she attacked Sophia."
"I don't have my stuff!" Julia cried out, looking around at everyone. "You can check my bag."
"And we were waiting for Julia," Emma said in her just-too-high voice, back to staring into Blackwell's eyes.
"I'm sorry," I said, my voice deceptively calm as I pulled back on exposing my feelings. "Were you waiting for Julia? Because I thought you said you just arrived then."
Emma hesitated, eyes flitting back and forth between me and Blackwell.
"I just arrived, so I grabbed my stuff and waited for Julia to get there."
"You waited, when it stank that bad?" I scoffed. "You were watching me the whole time."
"We waited at the end of the corridor," Emma retorted, "so we could see Julia arrive without being near your locker."
"So you knew about the shit in my locker?"
Emma froze for a second.
"No, it just stank around there, that area, so we stayed away from it. We didn't know anything was in your locker."
"Emma," Zoe whispered, looking at her in shock.
That second's pause had been enough.
Emma looked at her, and the shock as she realised her own mother didn't believe her was probably the only genuine emotion she'd displayed during the meeting. She looked from Zoe to Blackwell, to me, to her mother and then back to Blackwell.
"We didn't have anything to do with this!" she practically wailed, making her eyes go wide as she stared at Blackwell, trying to pout at the same time.
She's changing expressions too quickly. It's no longer looking natural.
Blackwell's expression was hard as she looked back at Emma.
I turned to Mr. Quinlan and Mrs. Jeffries, shaking slightly.
"Who was it that pulled her off me?" I demanded. "Whoever it was, explain what was happening when you arrived."
Blackwell looked slightly uncomfortable at the suggestion.
"Perhaps that would be a good idea," she allowed, and gestured tiredly to the two teachers. "Helen, Gordon, since the two of you were the first on scene and were the ones who separated Taylor and Sophia, could you please give us a rundown of what happened?"
Mr. Quinlan cleared his throat.
"We heard a lot of shouting, so when we saw all the students crowding together in the corridor we knew a fight was going on. We found the two girls fighting amongst the filth, so we pulled them apart. Sophia was still trying to get at Taylor, so I had to hold her until Rick arrived and she calmed down. Helen was talking to Taylor and later escorted her to the showers, then Eliza did the same for Sophia."
He trailed off.
"And what," I asked quietly, painfully aware of Dad sat next to me, "was Sophia doing when you 'pulled us apart'?"
Mr. Quinlan look at me, taking in the tear tracks going down my cheeks, and then at Sophia, sitting hunched in her chair and looking like she was about to bolt out the door. She glared at him, but it was a reflexive defiance. Next to her, the blonde woman was stony faced.
"She was on top of Taylor," Mr. Quinlan admitted, "and was trying to force her head into the, uh… waste... that had fallen out of the locker."
"Thank you, Gordon. Helen, do you have anything to add?"
"Nothing major. Taylor was having some difficulty breathing when I got there, and she vomited a few times, but she seemed better by the time we got to the showers."
"Thank you for clearing this up," Blackwell sighed, rubbing her eyes.
I could see the panic starting to settle inside the other girls; the realisation that they were in far more trouble than they had expected.
"I guess the only thing that's left is to decide on a punishment for these girls," Blackwell said calmly.
"Hold up a minute," Cindy's mother said, raising a hand to forestall the principal's next words. "Just because these girls were there doesn't mean they were all involved in what happened today."
She looked sharply at Emma and then more apologetically at me, quickly averting her eyes.
"Being friends with the person responsible doesn't make them responsible as well. If Cindy's bullying anyone then we'll make sure she's punished for it, but I want to make sure she's actually guilty of something first."
Dad was glaring at her then, and I could feel how much effort he was putting into holding himself in check, finding out about fucking Winslow.
"How about the time Cindy tripped and 'accidentally' spilt glue all down my art project?" I snapped, my face flushing and going almost as red as Dad's. "How about when Madison took every opportunity to talk to the teacher so she could knock all of my books onto the floor or tip pencil shavings into my hair as she went past? Or Sophia pushing me over while I was walking down the stairs? Or throwing my clothes into the gym showers and soaking them?"
My voice was threatening to break, and I decided to let it, talking over Blackwell when she tried to calm me down.
"How about the times when they all corned me after classes or during lunch to tell me how fucking ugly I am, or stupid, and how everyone hates me and I should kill myself? Or all of my assignments that 'go missing'?"
I was almost shouting, ignoring whatever soothing gestures and words Blackwell tried to make as I stood up. I leant forwards, pulling my hand out of Dad's and planting my fists on the table, glaring across at Emma who shrank back from me.
"Or when Emma said I only go to English class so I can pretend that Mrs. Jeffries cares about me, because she's an English teacher like Mom was?"
Zoe went white, slowly turning to look at Emma, who was frozen in her seat, unable to look away from me.
Dad stood up so suddenly that his chair was thrown backwards, falling to the floor with a clatter in the sudden quiet. His jaw worked silently for a few seconds, and then he looked at me.
"Taylor," he whispered, his voice utterly level. "We're leaving. Now."
I straightened from the table, suddenly feeling the weight of all the eyes on me.
"Yeah," I croaked.
The two of us turned and left, Dad striding ahead of me, out the doors and out of Winslow.
I just want to say thank you to everyone reading this story for their encouragement and simply taking the time to read it. I've gotten such incredibly positive feedback for this chapter, both here and on spacebattles, and I'm literally grinning from ear to ear. This is why I enjoy writing.
I just want to say thank you to everyone reading this story for their encouragement and simply taking the time to read it. I've gotten such incredibly positive feedback for this chapter, both here and on spacebattles, and I'm literally grinning from ear to ear. This is why I enjoy writing.
