Chapter 7 Lonely nerd stays alone

My mind goes blank as Silvia shoves my head into a locker in the school swimming pool changing room.

After my bold response set her off, Silvia commands Fanny, Alexa, and a third girl to drag me here—a place where no one comes for swimming, and which is pure hell for me.

“I don’t know why you’ve gotten so bold even after Martin flat-out rejected you in front of everyone,” Silvia says, yanking my hair.

Through the pain, I laugh. “I kept it all hidden; Martin didn’t come to help me. Now everyone knows I like Martin, and he won’t come for me either. It’s all hell for me anyway, so I’d rather enjoy this my own way.”

Silvia smiles in annoyance, then slams my head against the locker again. The loud thud is barely audible because my ears are ringing, and when I realize it, my nose is bleeding, a salty, metallic taste filling my mouth.

“You know, if I killed you right here, no one would come to help?”

“No one has ever helped me, Silvia. You need to come up with a more terrifying threat.”

Silvia doesn’t answer; her eyes seem stunned by my defiance.

“Why? Have you finally realized I don’t have anything left to fear?”

“You need to learn to keep your mouth shut!” Silvia seems to have gone mad; she showers me with slaps—left and right. My cheeks feel hard and swollen, my eyes are red, but the tears streaming down aren’t from fear.

Silvia’s three friends looks horrified and seem to want to stop her, if only they hadn’t forgotten that Silvia hates interruptions.

Then, when Silvia is satisfied, I’m just lying on the cold floor, my head too dizzy to liftt

“Alexa,” Silvia calls, as if she’d given the command before. Alexa hesitates slightly until Silvia repeats it. “Alexa!”

“Okay, okay. Wait.”

Fanny is still recording, and she’s almost crying from fear as I stare sharply at her. Then Alexa comes over with a medium-sized bucket that she’s dragging with great effort, and the next thing I feel is a jolt of shock and coldness gushing over me like a waterfall.

My body jerks slightly from the shock, and after that, Silvia says right next to my ear.

“I don’t like your freaking sassy mouth, so you’d better learn to speak more politely.”

Then she leaves with her friends after poking my foot with the tip of her shoe.

After they’re gone, I must have been unconscious there for about two hours. When I wake up, my body is almost dry; I don’t know if it’s because the water Silvia poured on me has evaporated or if my body absorbed it like a sponge.

I force myself to lift my head, and my face feels like an over-ripe pumpkin ready for harvest—plump, hard, and huge. My shirt is half-wet, my face half-swollen, my body half-conscious; I force them all to stand up and leave that place.

Outside, recess has filled every corner of the school with students. They’re playing, gossiping, or sitting close with their sweethearts. Most of the others are probably in the school cafeteria, and those in the corridors who see me right then must think I’ve just stumbled into another misfortune.

Their eyes follows me with all sorts of reactions, except sympathy. No one stops me to ask why I look like I just stepped out of a home ruled by an abusive father—except a middle-aged teacher—Mrs. Weller—who stops me only because she sees me walking toward the gate.

“What are you going to do?” she asks, coldly—as if she can’t see my face and my soaked body.

“I want to go home and take care of myself.”

“Seriously? While classes are still in session? That could count as skipping school.”

“You see me, Mrs. Welder; can’t you be kind enough to give me an official excuse for my absence?”

As I was about to walk away, Mrs. Welder held me back with her hand, beginning to wrinkle but still strong.

“If you want some time off, do it tomorrow. You have to stay here until class is over, Ms. Jules.”

I let out a sigh, then reluctantly face her and catch sight of Silvia’s friend—watching me with a slightly tense expression, as if afraid I’d report what Silvia did to me.

But I’m only talking to Mrs. Wellder now.

“Everyone must know why I look like this—even without me having to scream,” I say, and Mrs. Wellder looks like she’s about to get angry until I continue, “I’m too lazy to file a report to the school about the injustice I’ve experienced, and you’re probably too lazy looking for an excuse to ignore my report. So let me go home; I won’t make a fuss.”

After hearing my words, Mrs. Wellder stops holding me back. It feels a little bitter realizing that no one really cares about me; even the teacher who’s supposed to be wise and sympathetic—letting me go home isn’t to let me recover, but because she doesn’t want me to report the juvenile crime in the environment she’s in charge of.

Tears fall as I walk out, even though I didn’t intend to cry.

I can only wonder how my mom would feel if she knew I was being treated like this? She’d cry all night even if I told her I was okay, and she’d try to get Mr. Williams to transfer me to another school.

I wipe my tears and try to smile with my swollen face. I’m grateful my mom isn’t here, but because she isn’t here—it feels so painful.

When I get home to the apartment, the ice pack never leaves my hand. I take it with me while I clean the dust, I take it with me while I cut fruit, I also take it with me when I do laundry and when I organize the groceries I bought yesterday. I hope this ice pack can stick to my face and that a bigger one can soothe the pain in my head.

Even though Martin’s parents know he hasn’t returned to the apartment since his birthday night, the daily allowance keeps flowing to keep this place afloat.

You might think I’d be relaxing with a full fridge every day, but I’ve even let a lot of short-term supplies go bad because my appetite’s been all over the place since that night.

Just mental stuff.

I know I’ll get better, but for now, I want to let my body feel the pain—after all this time, I usually just bottled it up so I could keep smiling for Martin.

I check Martin’s room every other day; just to dust it off and keep it presentable in case Martin suddenly comes back. I drag the vacuum cleaner into his room, an ice pack pressed against my cheek.

But when I open the door, my eyes go straight to the bed and I see someone lying on it without a shirt on. My ice pack falls, my scream gets stuck in my throat, and fear makes me almost jump.