amethysts-musings

I straighten my posture, trying to come off as bold as I possibly can—which, really, isn’t very bold at all. “Are you going to eat it or not? I want to sit; I have a headache.” “Oh, no. Do you?” Misty makes a pouty face, as though she’s actually worried about me. “Poor baby. You go and rest right now. I’ll just take this and stick it in the fridge for an hour and eat it during fifth.” She snatches the lunchbox back, face contorting into anger as it does. Taking the egg salad container out, she passes it to me, but keeps hold on the bag. “Here. You eat that. I’ll just take the rest, since it’s the only shit that’s edible.” Begrudgingly, I take the Tupperware, knowing exactly what’s coming next. I’ve got to pay the price, somehow. I didn’t give Queen Misty what she wants, so she’s going to make my life hell—just like she has every day since I started here at Bolton. “My math homework,” she sure enough says, setting the lunchbox down as she reaches into her backpack. Grabbing a folder, she thrusts it at me. “It’s a problem set on, like, monomials or whatever. I don’t get it: I’m sure you do. Finish it tonight and bring it back to me with the correct answers. Got it?” I clench my jaw again, wishing to God I could just deck her. She’d deserve it. She’d more than deserve it, actually. She’s a selfish little brat, the worst kind of person out there. Like, you know that mean chick from Mean Girls? Regina George or whatever? Yeah, Misty is exactly like her, with the snobby-ass family to boot. The Simmons, they own Bolton. Misty is head of the JV cheer squad. Her brother is the star quarterback. Mommy Simmons, Katherine, heads our PSA (Parent-Staff Association), and her rich-ass daddy is the biggest donor this school has ever seen, to the point where our library is going to be the Richard Simmons library in just a couple years. It’s nauseating, how into themselves they are. In fact, I can guarantee their morning routine includes staring into the mirror for twenty minutes, just so they can admire how awesome they look. Unfortunately for me, because they are that connected to our school, I can’t avoid Misty’s bullshit, because she can single-handedly ruin my life if I go against her. And I don’t mean little things like changing the locks to my locker (which she’s done—twice). I mean shit like telling a teacher I’ve been cheating and getting me expelled. On the Misty versus Molly Scale, she gets believed, and I get in trouble. It’s just how it goes here. Annoyed, I snatch the math homework from her, going to stuff it in my backpack. “Ah-ah,” she tuts, shaking her head. “That’s not the way you’d treat your homework, is it?” I glare at her, more gently stuffing it in. She smiles, satisfied, flicking a purple curl over her shoulder. “Enjoy sitting, Wilson,” she says as she hoists her backpack up further her shoulders and starting down the hall to the cafeteria. Purposefully, she shoves herself against me, gaze darkening as she does. “Jesus. Get out of the way, won’t you?” I just set my jaw, letting out a sigh as she disappears from view. Then, turning to my locker, I lean against the metal, wishing so badly I could just put her in her place. I’m not usually a timid person, you know? Back at my old school, Johnston, I was the first to stand up against bullies for the kids who couldn’t stand up for themselves. My best friend, Char, and I spent, like, half our middle school career watching those high school flicks so we could be prepared once ninth grade came around. And, the thing that’s clear in all those movies? The mean girls always have a weakness. Always. A missing parent, a traumatic event, some kind of physical illness, there’s always something. And I know that rings true for Misty. There’s gotta be something that keeps her ticking, only I just don’t know what it is. Also, if I tried cracking her, I’d get in trouble—not just here, but at home, too. Here’s the truth of the matter: Piper doesn’t want me living in her house any more than the people at Bolton want me in their school. To her, I’m nothing but a stupid little invader freak—a kid she’s unfortunate enough to be related to, and a kid she had to take in because morality says you can’t shove your sister into foster care if you have the resources to care for her. She doesn’t care about me. Not really. If she did, she’d have kept in touch after she got pregnant with the twins and moved out. Instead, she acted like we didn’t exist, and Mom only got worse and worse, until she was so consumed by the sadness even her own kid couldn’t keep her alive. And, I’m okay with that, for the most part. Not the Mom being dead thing: that fucking stings. But, Piper? I don’t care about her. Honestly, I wouldn’t have been sad if I’d never heard from her again after the suicide, because it’s not like that was much different from what I was used to. But now that I am living with her and Nick and the twins, I’m not going to say I want to give them reason to kick me out. I know what foster care is like. I’ve watched movies about that, too. I know it’s rotten and the people don’t care about you for anything more than a paycheck, and if I can help it, there’s no way I’m going to let myself live in a hellhole like that. Shittily? Yeah, that means I’ve gotta at least kind of try to be not a pain in the ass. Shit like saying what I feel to Mr. Gerard? That’s fine, he’s an adult, he can live. But messing with the social order by being a bitch to Misty? Out of the question. Plus, I’m not nearly that bold anymore—not without Char, who lives forty minutes away now. My only other option is just surviving. What bullshit, right? I wait for a good little while to head to the caf after Misty makes her grand exit. That’s one of the many things I’ve learned in my four months here: she hates being followed anyplace, having her arrival outshone. The few times I dared to do that, she both dumped a juice box in my locker all over my notebooks and stole my tampons when she knew I was on my period. It’s not worth it. Plus, I’m not exactly a fan of drawing attention to myself. Sneaking in after Misty is far and away more my style. That is, when I’m actually able to sneak in. Here’s another little, fun tidbit about going to school here at Bolton: literally the entire student body hates my guts. Everyone knows me, and everyone hates me. It’s like being popular without any of the fun. People whose names I don’t even know go out of my way to make my life miserable, either by tripping me in the halls, or doing shit like what I come across when I get to the doors of the cafeteria: wait outside, specifically so they can block me from entering. It’s so old. It’s so freaking tiresome. Today, it’s the football guys who’re standing guard, and I roll my eyes a little. What a surprise. It’s Misty’s big brother, this asshole named Jackson, and another guy whose name I don’t know, but don’t care to find out. It’s not like it really matters, anyhow—his entire identity is football, made obvious by the Letterman jacket he refuses to take off. Nine times out of ten, these are the dudes standing guard to the caf, and I hoist my backpack a little higher over my shoulder when I see them, hoping maybe I can actually make it past them without them noticing it’s me. “Hold up, Wilson.” Of course, my luck isn’t nearly that great. I make a stride towards ducking behind Jackson, and the moment I do, he grabs onto my wrist, stopping me in my tracks. “That hurts,” I mutter, shoving his hand off of me. “I’m just trying to go eat lunch.” “Not here, you aren’t,” he raises an eyebrow. “I thought Misty made it clear. We don’t need white trash stinking up our cafeteria.” I bite down on my lip, the ‘white trash’ comment stinging. I know that’s how they all see me. I come from Farrington, land of poor schools and drug addicts. Mom smoked cigarettes for breakfast, and our car always reeked of pot and tobacco. I’ve never lived the life they all do, and they know that, because it’s obvious just by looking at me. I didn’t get braces: their teeth are all straight. I didn’t get a good eighth-grade graduation: they practically had Stevie Wonder come and mark the occasion. I’m not them, and they know that. I cling to the straps of my backpack. “I won’t bother anyone,” I try, knowing this plea will fall on deaf ears. “Honestly, all I want is just to sit in the corner and eat. That’s it.” “No way,” Jackson’s friend sneers at me. “We don’t need to watch you chewing with your mouth open.” I look down. Is that a habit of mine? It can’t be—Piper’s never said anything, and Piper makes comments about all my bad habits. “Save us all the trouble and just get out of here,” Jackson agrees, sighing as he folds his arms. “The caf is our place. Not yours.” “But, I just want to eat,” I bite down on my lip again. “Misty won’t even notice I’m in there. I can be quiet; honest.” “Misty will know,” Jackson says. “And this isn’t up for debate.” “Guys… please.” “What part don’t you understand?” Jackson leans in real close to my face. “The answer is no, Wilson. Get out of here, before I make you.” I flinch a little, halfway expecting him to shove me down the hall. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s done it. Guys like Jackson and his little crony here, they won’t think twice about laying their hands on a girl. It’s not part of who they are. If they hate me enough, they’ll just shove me, and I’ll have to deal with it. Have I mentioned I hate the people in this place? I hate the people in this place. “Good,” Jackson concedes as I step back a little. He straightens up, smoothing out his jacket. “I don’t want to catch you bothering us again, do you hear me? Find someplace else to eat. I don’t care where, but it better not be here.” I bite down on my lip, wanting so badly to say exactly what I’m feeling. Instead of finding my nerve, though, I just stare at him, and he raises an eyebrow. “What do you want, Wilson?” he asks. “A hand-written invitation to lunch someplace else? Get out of here.” “And don’t come back,” his little friend agrees. “Freak.” I don’t know why, but this is what does it. Tears prick to the back of my eyes at the insult, specifically at the way he says it, like I’m nothing more than the scum on the bottom of his shoes, and I quickly feel my legs turning to the equivalent of jelly. Whirling around, I try and drown out the sounds of them laughing to each other, like it’s just so hilarious how they’re targeting the new girl, and as fast as I can, I hurry down the hall to the bathroom, where I spend most of my lunches. Locking myself inside a stall, the tears flow freely, and I hug my arms over my stomach, swallowing hard. I hate it. I hate what these fucking assholes do to me. I was never unhappy like this before. Sure, Mom wasn’t amazing. Sure, I had to do a lot of stuff myself. But at least I had Char, and at least I could eat lunch not hovering over a toilet seat. I hate Bolton. I hate my life since Mom died. Most of all? I hate my stupid fucking sister.

Bolton Academy has a nice row of chairs lined up outside its’ headmaster’s office at any given moment. There more for appearance than anything else, only a select few students are ever lucky enough to sit in the seats Headmaster Zachary has blocked off for troublemakers. As a parent at this school, I’ve only ever seen another besides my own sat in one of them once. Every other time—five occurrences in four months—it’s just been Molly, and Molly only. She’s my little sister. And I love her to death. I cannot say enough how much it infuriates me to find her in one of these chairs yet again today. “Alright, what was it this time?” I drop my purse onto the chair beside her once I reach the row today, sighing at the way she’s just sitting there, thumbing through her book, and smacking her gum like this is any regular occurrence. It’s baffling, really. This degree of nonchalance is not like her. Even the way she presents herself isn’t. The Molly I knew back before our mother died, she gave a shit. She wouldn’t have let herself walk out of the house with her mousy brown hair looking like such a rat’s nest. She wouldn’t even have let herself wear those navy-blue socks with the dirt marks on the side, a clear violation of Bolton’s uniform policy. That Molly was good. So good, in fact, she was so far and away from a troublemaker that didn’t even speak out of turn unless she had to. Clearly, our status of parentage isn’t the only thing that’s changed in the wake of the suicide. “They seriously called you for this?” she groans as she looks up from the book. A frown instantly spreading across her lips, she rolls her eyes, then sets it face-down on her lap. “Mr. Gerard blew it out of proportion. It wasn’t a big deal. So, I didn’t have my book in class. Who cares?” “If you’re supposed to have the book with you? Mr. Gerard.” I settle into the spot beside her, sighing as I push my sunglasses up over my head. “Also, they didn’t just call me down here because you didn’t have your book in class. If that’s all it was, you’d have gotten detention, and I’d still be at the house right now. What actually happened? Because we’re about to go in there, and I’m about to find out, so it might as well come from you right off the bat.” Now, she tucks the book away in her backpack, clearly able to tell this isn’t just going to be a I-can-ignore-you conversation. I’ve gone that route with her already. It’s what I did in the beginning, back when we were still in the “grace period”, as her therapist called it. Back then, this was all new and she was still adjusting and the grief was fresh, so Nick and I were supposed to give her some time to try and get used to everything before coming down hard with any punishments or telling her we were disappointed. Now, though, we’re at a point where she’s been at the house long enough that she knows our expectations. More importantly, her behavior isn’t just something we can let slide anymore. Acting out has consequences, and especially when the person in question has more than been given enough chances to either shape up or talk to the people there to support her about what’s wrong. She folds her arms the longer she stares at me. Narrows her eyes like I’m the one who did something wrong. “Maybe I told him to back off,” she mutters. “So what? I’m tired of everyone in this stupid hellhole breathing down my neck all the time. Is it really that big a fucking deal that I didn’t have my book? He didn’t have to call me out in front of the whole fucking class.” I rub my forehead, sighing a little. I don’t get it. I don’t get why she’s always so defensive when she gets in trouble. Doesn’t she understand she’s the one who did something wrong? When Nick and I enrolled her at Bolton after the suicide, the administration made it clear: there’s a code of conduct the students have to follow. Coming prepared to class? That’s a pretty damn important part of the equation—just like maintaining the uniform, and just like thinking twice before you talk to the teachers like you would a friend. “You need to watch your language, first off,” I tell her, crossing my legs as I straighten my back up against the chair. “Secondly, yeah, it is a big deal. Molly, you’re here for an education. Don’t you want to get somewhere in life? Don’t you want to go to college, make something of yourself? This is the first step. You’ve got a crazy awesome opportunity to have Bolton on your transcript when you go to apply to places. An admissions officer will look at you and think, ‘oh, wow, she knows what she’s doing’. That’s because Bolton prepares you for college. Only, look at what you’re doing with this chance. Not caring about class? Showing up here looking like a homeless person?” I reach out and gesture to her messy ponytail. “You get out what you put in. Right now, you’re not putting in much of anything. Don’t you think that’s a problem?” I earn another eye roll to this, her arm-fold becoming more prominent as she looks away from me. Unfortunately, I’m not surprised. Whenever I come here to Bolton, and whenever I try to have these come-to-Jesus chats with her, I’m lucky if I get even one line of response. She’s so quiet these days. Well, quiet or defensive. It’s like those are the only two modes she knows how to engage in, and it really just kills me. I want to know what’s going on inside that head of hers. I want to be able to figure it all out, so I can stop her from sabotaging herself. Still, she’s as closed a book as they come. Apparently, the self-sabotage is destined to go on for a good while yet. “I’m not going to try and defend you when Headmaster Zachary calls us back today,” I continue after a moment. “I’m not going to tell him to take it easy because you’ve been having a rough time. You know the difference between right and wrong, Molly. You also know you’ve had more than enough free passes. Whatever Zachary decides is a fair punishment, you’re just going to have to live with. If that means in-school suspension? Oh, well. If that means actual suspension? I hope it’s worth it. This has got to stop. You’re better than this. You and I both know that.” She lifts her book right out of her bag at this one, extending another eye roll, and shifting so she’s turning away from me slightly. Gaze traveling down to the words on the page she left off on, it becomes clear to me I’ve reached the end of my Molly-listening time, and I blow out another exhale, leaning back in my own chair. Molly and her shitty behavior: 5 Piper and her rational explanations: 0 Jesus fuck, do I hope that score’s going to even out soon. Thankfully, Zachary calls us back relatively quickly this afternoon, his secretary poking her head out into the hallway only about a minute after Molly’s returned to her book. My sister, of course, glares at me for this (as though I’m somehow responsible for the timing), and as we both follow the secretary into Zachary’s office, she collapses onto the chair furthest away from the one I always choose, folding her arms again and just glaring down at her feet. I, meanwhile, extend a smile to Headmaster Zachary. “Always a pleasure seeing you, Mr. Zachary,” I say, settling my purse onto my lap. “Of course, not always under these circumstances, but, well… I suppose that’s what we’re here for, isn’t it? To try and sort that out?” “Always the hope,” Headmaster Zachary replies from behind his desk, grinning right back at me before he directs his gaze over towards my sister. She doesn’t notice of course, since she’s too busy making faces at the carpet, but once Zachary clears his throat, he grabs her attention, and she snaps her head up. His smile widens a little more at this “Why don’t you walk me through what’s brought you to my office this afternoon, Miss Wilson?” He asks. “I understand there were some difficulties in your English class? You didn’t have the materials you needed for the lesson?” It’s a chore, it seems, not rolling her eyes. Slumping down into her seat, she mutters, “Can’t you just tell me what my punishment is? I’ve got a headache. And classes are still going on, in case you’ve forgotten.” Oh, like you actually care? Because, as I remember, you’ve gotten in trouble for skipping class on top of not having the shit you need to properly engage. “I’ll make sure you’re given an excused absence,” Zachary replies, still smiling. Then, propping his elbows up onto the desk: “I’d prefer not to jump straight to a punishment, Miss Wilson. It’s better, in my opinion, to examine the underlying cause for bad behavior so we all know how to better prevent it in the future. Would you like to explain why you didn’t have the book you needed for the lesson? Or, why you felt the need to talk out of turn to Mr. Gerard?” “All I told him was to get off my back,” she replies, now giving the eye roll she held back earlier. “Big friggin’ whoop. The person next to me was going to share their book. It’s really not that big a deal. Maybe the question you should be asking is why everyone in this dumb place is so stupidly militant.” “To promote good behavior,” Zachary says simply. “The point of the matter isn’t whether or not a classmate would share with you, Miss Wilson. It’s accountability for the things you’re responsible for. We hold our students here at Bolton to high standards. You know that; you signed the code of conduct when your sister enrolled you. Those standards mean you need to take pride in your work. A classmate will not always be there to bail you out. In the real world, if you’re unprepared, the only person who will be around to bail you out is you. And it isn’t as though this is the first time such a thing has happened, is it? I believe Mr. Gerard’s already given you warning before today about how he expects his students to engage when they come to class.” “So, what, are you going to make me scrub his chalkboard?” Molly raises an eyebrow. “Polish his shoes? Or, I know, you’re going to make me write a letter about why I’m the Big Bad Wolf and he’s friggin’ Goldilocks?” “I’m going to assign in-school suspension for two days.” Headmaster Zachary just keeps on smiling, as though he deals with the kind of snarky behavior Molly’s showing off right now every single day. “One day for not coming prepared to class. The second for the insubordination. And, yes, there will be an essay in which you will explain the wrongdoings of your actions. I expect that on my desk… well, what is today? Wednesday? I’ll be nice and expect that come Monday.” A second eye roll. “So, why did you call her down here?” She juts a thumb out my way, the word ‘her’ rolling off her tongue like it’s made of poison. “Couldn’t you have just told Mr. Gerard to tell me that? What’s with all the fanfare?” Headmaster Zachary straightens up in his seat slightly. “Education here at Bolton is a privilege, Miss Wilson—not a right. I understand you’re in a mindset that all of these infractions are not a big deal, but I want to be clear that that is not, in fact, the case. Making trouble like this is serious. It’s not going to be tolerated for much longer, either. You are lucky that you are only getting away with in-school suspension after the scene you made in Mr. Gerard’s class. In fact, be it not for the current difficult circumstances you find yourself in, I wouldn’t be nearly as lenient. It is in your best interest to start thinking twice about your actions. In the future, I’m going to have a much harder time with being understanding.” My sister leans back in her chair, folding her arms tight over her chest. “What, so you mean you’d expel me if I cut class or told your precious Mr. Gerard to get out of my face again?” Headmaster Zachary leans his arms on the table, folding his hands together. His upper lip twitches. “As I mentioned, Miss Wilson, Bolton has a code of conduct. Insubordination against teachers is strictly prohibited. As is skipping class. Both policies against those actions are right there on the third page. Now, I don’t want to seem militant—as you so nicely put it—but, yes, there does come a time where we may have to reevaluate whether or not you and Bolton are a good fit. Seemingly, since you are having such trouble following the rules, we are at that point.” She scoffs. “Oh, my God. Seriously?” Her head snaps to face me (a first for us in this office), and she raises an eyebrow, like she can’t believe what he just said. “You heard that, right? He’s going to friggin’ expel me, all because I forget my book sometimes?” I can’t help but rub my forehead, a migraine starting to form in my right temple as she speaks. It really is amazing, the selective hearing of teenagers these days. I don’t know where she got the book is the only issue, but one thing I absolutely know for sure is that this kid is a great deal feistier than I could ever even hope to be. If I were in her shoes? I’d be kissing the ground Headmaster Zachary is walking on right about now. Doesn’t she know how big an expulsion would look on her permanent record? Any hopes she potentially had of her status as a student at a college preparatory high school getting her into a better university would be dashed in an instant. She’d be an outlier. The lowest common denominator. And, honestly, I’m not even sure if that’s a good or a bad thing at this point. Maybe she needs that sort of wake-up call. Maybe she needs something big to happen to realize her actions have real, serious consequences. “It’s not because of the book, Molly,” I tell her, a tired tone in my voice. “Of course, he isn’t going to expel you for forgetting a book. But if you skip class and talk back and keep doing all the crap you’ve been doing lately? Yeah, he’s actually fully within his right to do that. There’s consequences for breaking the rules. You can’t just do whatever you want and expect everything to stay as-is. That’s not how life works. It’s just like it is at a job. If you can’t follow the rules there, you can’t expect to stay employed.” “Yeah, well, have you ever considered maybe the fact that the rules are bullshit?” She looks between me and Zachary, anger clearly dancing in her eyes. Then, with another scoff, she shakes her head and quickly gets up, surprising me as she does. “And just where do you think you’re going?” “Uh, away from you idiots?” She hoists her backpack up over her shoulder, stepping towards the door and allowing her hand to hover above the doorknob for a second. Turning to face us and scowling further, she remarks, “Just FYI? Expulsion so isn’t the big, bad, awful thing you’re making it out to be. This place sucks. I’ll be better off if you kick me out of here.” Quickly, she disappears with this. Not giving Zachary and I a chance to respond. Not even caring that she leaves the door cracked open once she’s gone. She’s just a ghost in an instant, and I sit back in my seat, sighing loudly. I swear, this kid is going to be the death of me. Thankfully (I guess), Headmaster Zachary looks amused. “You’ve certainly got a spirited one, there,” he remarks, grinning slightly as he slides his glasses onto his nose. “I’m sorry to call you down here again. I just figured it was better if we all spoke collectively, tried to come at this from a collaborative angle.” “No, I appreciate that,” I shake my head, sighing as I run my hand through my hair. “I’m sorry. She’s not usually like this.” At least, she didn’t use to be. “I’ll talk to her therapist. I’ll make sure she writes that paper. I’ll… I’ll get her to stop being such a pain.” “No worries, Mrs. Meyers.” He lifts a hand, waving it as though he completely understands. “Hopefully, this in-school suspension will do her some good. If not, we can always come back to the drawing board.” I give a tight-lipped smile at this. Funnily, it seems as though we’re reinventing that board thanks to my sister. “Yeah. Yeah, I suppose so. I’ll get going now, though. Thank you—again—for being so understanding.” He just pulls out some paperwork in front of him, nodding with a smile still on his lips. In return, I follow Molly’s path to the doorway, sighing as my left hand travels up to my forehead. Spirited is an understatement as far as Molly goes. She’s like whatever ten steps above that is. As it seems, I’m only less and less able to contain her as the days pass.