Mean girl_A dark, disturbing psychological thriller Page 2

  “Need tampons?” he shouted.

  Stupid Glasgow! She thought they would have forgotten about his stupid joke, but someone found it worthy of continuation.

  Corby’s patience was over. She forced herself to ignore everything, but her resolve had shattered. It was better to let them shout insults at her back. That would last only as long as it took to reach the door. Corby grabbed her food to throw it in the trash and hurried away from the tables. A guy shouted something else about tampons, but Corby didn’t turn to see who it was and then some of the teachers probably intervened because no one said anything else.

  Corby went to the bathroom, closed herself inside a stall, and began to cry. Only she climbed on the toilet, pulling her legs up and crossing them on the seat, and she cried quietly, so no one would hear, as she had done many, many times before.

  “Damn Glasgow. I hate him.”

  CHAPTER 2

  In the Mackentile family, dinner was always held at seven and it was the only thing Corby’s mother scheduled or planned for the household. They always ate at the big glass table (Mother wanted everything metal and glass) in their big, bright kitchen with walls painted a light green color. The candles were usually lit to provide good energy, as Dad said. The cook in the family was also Dad. A tall and skinny blond who gave Corby his blue eye color, plump lips, and narrow nose, he was a vegetarian and usually didn’t bring meat home from the store, but when his wife begged him for it on holidays or when there were guests visiting, he complied. Dad prepared vegetable dishes and Corby couldn’t stand them. In such cases, she preferred her mom’s cooking. Her mom, though, usually cooked a frozen pizza or some other things that could be removed from a box and put in the oven for twenty minutes. During that time, Mother could do a manicure, apply a mask, check her Facebook, and talk on the phone.

  Today it would be pizza. Mom knew that Dad didn’t eat meat, but she still bought one with pepperoni. He didn’t want to argue and pushed the meat to the side, while twisting his lips. He used to eat meat and given that his family owned a butcher shop, he ate it in unlimited amounts, but he stopped as soon as his dad moved to Florida and put the full responsibility for the store on his son. Patrick Mackentile not only stopped eating meat, but he also renounced Christianity to accept Buddhism. He argued with his wife because of that for the first two years, but then she realized the debate wasn’t going to change anything and she gave up. She still loved him and didn’t want to ruin the family. Not because of religion.

  “Did you have a good day at school?” Mom asked, biting from a slice of pizza and reaching for the lettuce. Dad, of course, made salad. Mom usually ate half a slice of pizza and the bowl of salad. She didn’t want to get fat when the camera already added at least four pounds to her frame.

  “I told you, Mom. Tests, tests, nothing interesting.”

  “Did you play with your friends?”

  “Chelsea!” Dad dropped his fork on the plate and looked at his wife reproachfully. He’d told her many times not to bring it up, but she always forgot. She still remembered birthdays, when the house was full of children who were Corby’s good friends.

  “Mom, I told you, I have no friends.” Corby nibbled on her pizza and washed it down with juice. “And I’m fifteen; we don’t play at this age.”

  “Don’t forget about your salad.” Mother pointed to the bowl. “Not only pizza.”

  “Why did you put it on the table then?” Dad started his favorite topic. “Don’t serve it and she won’t eat it.”

  “What should I serve in your opinion?”

  “If you want your child to eat healthy food, spend a little time on it.”

  “I do! You could cook something instead of just salad. Why should I cook all the time?”

  “You don’t cook all the time. You order take-out or we go somewhere to eat. We have to prepare meals at home to maintain good health.”

  “Go ahead! I’m not stopping you.”

  “I don’t have time! I can barely get home in time for dinner and you’re at home by two or even earlier.”

  “Never earlier.”

  “Details. Plenty of time for cooking anyway.”

  Corby hated this conversation. The same words over and over. Fortunately, not every day, but too often anyway. Memorized words, comments, reactions. She didn’t understand how these two people could keep assuring her that they loved each other. Sometimes, it seemed to her that they hated each other.

  “Somebody threw a piece of paper at me.” Corby almost cried, hoping her parents would hear her and stop arguing.

  “What piece of paper?” Mother couldn’t change the subject right away. “What are you talking about?”

  “Someone threw a piece of paper at me.”

  “Did you tell your teacher?” Dad asked. He always told Corby to complain. Many times he promised to come to her school, but he had never done it. Promised, but didn’t do it. Corby was used to it.

  “I didn’t know who it was and I don’t like to complain.”

  “You should have thrown a piece of paper at her,” Chelsea said. “What a mess. I don’t think this salad is fresh.”

  “I told you, I don’t know who it was,” Corby said. Her mother never listened to her, she thought.

  “Confronting violence with violence is not an option,” Dad said.

  “That is the only way to stop them.”

  “Stop who? What are you talking about?”

  “Until you act the same way they do, they won’t leave you alone. I wasn’t like Corby. I was in the spotlight all the time because I was a cheerleader, but I had problems too. People were jealous, but if they put a mouse in my bag, I would put a mouse in theirs.”

  “What are you teaching her? What are you saying? What mouse?” Patrick said.

  “I’m talking about normal things, about reality! You can’t turn your other cheek to them. You have to hit back, so they will remember.”

  “Chelsea! How can you say that?”

  “This is reality, Patrick. People don’t live by the law of Buddhism. Most people, anyway.”

  “This is the problem. Reality? We have to make a reality! We have to teach people how to live differently. We have to teach them patience, respect for each other. Humanity.”

  “You’re saying that? You? A man who works in a butcher shop?”

  “That’s right!”

  “Right what? You sell dead animals!”

  “It teaches me to be patient with people.”

  “This brings you income and you don’t want to do anything else, because your dad did everything for you and handed you his business.”

  “You didn’t complain about me being a butcher when you agreed to marry me.”

  “I’m not complaining now!”

  “Then stop it!”

  Corby pushed the empty plate away and stood. She was sick of it. It had always been like this. They started with her and ended up with their own problems. Later, Dad was going to talk about the philosophy of Buddhism. He didn’t talk about it as much as he did in the beginning of his enlightenment, but he hadn’t stopped completely. Also, as Corby’s mother said, he was a Buddhist as much as she was a pilot. He hadn’t visited the Buddhist temple once, but he read books and meditated. Mother said he had a very convenient form of Buddhism, which, she assured, he probably invented himself. Because he said that Buddhism should come on its own, without force. Faith must be in your heart because that was something that couldn’t be taught. He said he learned everything himself, without teachers. He also said that all temples were created for money collection. Once you built a temple in your heart, everything would be fine. As far as Corby knew, her father’s temple was at the very foundation and he remodeled his plans for future construction all the time.

  “Did you finish your food, Corby?” Mom asked without looking at her daughter.

  “Yes, thank you. I’ll go to my room.”

  “Did you do your homework?”

  “I did.”

  Corby
didn’t, but neither Mom nor Dad checked it.

  “Good for you. Don’t tell me about patience! As soon as you start talking about patience, I lose it.”

  Corby looked at her mom who was killing her husband with her eyes, and trudged to her room. She wanted to turn on the TV, read a chapter from the book for school, and do her math. School was easy for Corby. She always had good grades and her parents didn’t even think about participating in their daughter’s education.

  She sat on the bed and examined the pink flowered wallpaper, the pink fringed lamp, the bed with a pink blanket and princess pattern. Corby had hated pink since she was seven. She told her mother that, but the woman didn’t seem to hear. She had changed the furniture in her bedroom twice already and told her daughter that she would outgrow any color preference, hence she had to wait. Corby waited. She would like to hang photos of her favorite actor who played Austin Moon in Austin and Ally, but the wallpaper with pink flowers would make it look foolish.

  Corby opened her notebook computer and found her homework on the website. She thought the girls from school probably texted each other now and she only had messages from her mom and dad on her phone. Sometimes, her grandparents from Florida sent her messages also. On her birthday, relatives congratulated her through her parents, because she was still a child in their opinion.

  She wanted to grow up as soon as possible and leave school. Dad once said that such confrontations between people occurred only in school and then they ended. He also said that children who were bullied in school became successful in life and the ones who were popular turned fat and lived in trailers. Corby asked if he was bullied and he said no. Kids were scared of him. He told everyone that his dad was a mad butcher and no one knew what to expect from him. Corby mentioned once that she was a butcher’s daughter, but it didn’t scare anyone, it made them laugh. His butcher’s shop was popular, but some people also knew about his being a vegetarian and about his calling out for peace all around the world. That was why Corby thought sometimes that her problems were partially because of her dad, because of his strange behavior. For her he was all right, but for the others he could appear crazy. Only no one talked about her dad. People preferred to discuss her mother, even though she was quite normal (in most people’s opinion).

  Corby had almost finished her math when she heard a notification on her cell phone. She didn’t expect it and almost dropped the computer. Who could it be? At this time? Not even a holiday? Grandparents? Not likely. Mom and Dad were still arguing about the difference between Buddhism and Catholicism and they wouldn’t send her a message while everyone was at home anyway. That would be really weird.

  She put the computer down and went to the bedside table where she kept her phone most of the time. She didn’t take it to school because she didn’t need it and she forgot about it for the most part. She was right. The small envelope in the corner of the screen meant that someone had messaged her.

  “Wrong number probably,” Corby muttered, opening the message without a name attached.

  I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings 2day. I’m not always such an asshole.

  Corby frowned. It has to be a mistake. Who and why would anyone apologize to her? A boy? Could she receive a message from a boy?

  “Glasgow?”

  Corby said his name and laughed. He would never apologize to her. He didn’t even know her phone number!

  “He could find out.”

  Corby shook her head. No, no, no. Who then? The other boys didn’t say anything to her today. It seemed to her that some kids got tired of laughing at her. Maybe they were growing up, who knew? Someone else shouted about tampons when she was in the cafeteria. Maybe him? Corby didn’t recognize his voice and didn’t look in his direction. There was really only Glasgow, but he just couldn’t apologize to her.

  She was staring at the phone, at the screen that was dark already, when another notification sounded and the phone fell to the floor.

  “What the heck! Seriously?”

  She picked up the phone and opened messages.

  In case you don’t know who this is. It’s Jacob Glasgow. Have a good night.

  This time, Corby kept the phone in her hand.

  “No way. Nope. This is a joke. It has to be Jane and her team of jokers. They probably decided it wasn’t enough to bully me in school and found my phone number.” Corby was afraid this would happen one day. She had heard so much about phone and cyber harassment. Was it her time to experience this?

  Corby looked at the messages, trying to believe it was Jacob, trying to figure out how to react. Respond? Ignore? Ignoring was rude because he apologized. If it wasn’t him and she said something stupid, tomorrow it would be all over the school. Something like this happened to a girl from another school, Corby couldn’t remember her name. The poor thing thought she met a great boy, took a photo of herself in a bathing suit as he asked, and sent it to him. She understood that she was victimized, played upon, after receiving a link to her photo on the Internet. The girl had to leave her school and she tried to commit suicide. Thank God she wasn’t successful at taking her own life because Corby had heard about situations leading to death too. She read a lot about children being bullied and how one should deal with it. The tips were stupid, and it was difficult to follow them in real life. In real life, according to her mother, she had to respond with a mouse to a mouse, or with a slap in the face.

  She raised her finger over the keyboard and then slowly typed thank you. She took a few deep breaths before pushing the send button. She didn’t strip like that girl and didn’t send a photo of herself half-naked to an unknown person. She wouldn’t do that for sure. She pressed the button hastily, before she could change her mind, then threw the phone inside the drawer, pushed the drawer shut, and closed her eyes. God, what would he think about her? God, God, God. Or Buddha, Buddha, Buddha as her Dad would say.

  The signal alerted her to a message again. Corby almost cried because she didn’t want to know what he had answered. She didn’t want to and wanted it at the same time.

  More than a minute passed before she pulled herself together and took the phone out again.

  No problem, the message said.

  No problem. That’s all. Nothing more.

  Corby looked at the phone for a few seconds then put it on the bedside table and sat down on the bed. Before she realized what emotions she had experienced, a smile spread over her face. She felt incredible. She felt as if someone had picked her up and put her on a cloud, and now she sailed across the sky as angels waved their wings at her.

  Now Corby couldn’t think about math and the room didn’t seem so nauseating. She fell on her back, staring at the ceiling, and smiled.

  No one had ever asked her for forgiveness, especially a boy. What if it really was him? What if? He had apologized to her and wished her a good night. The most popular boy in her school, one of those who always had a sharp word for everyone, had apologized to her and wished her a good night. It couldn’t be true.

  Her mind began to form pictures that made her stomach churn with sweet warmth. She and Jacob walked in a park holding hands, she ran along the ocean shore and Jacob chased her, the two of them sat in a cafe and ate ice cream while looking into each other’s eyes, and finally Jacob kissed her outside her house, under the single lamp that illuminated the porch.

  Corby opened her eyes at the last picture and pressed her hands to her cheeks. They were burning. Never in her life had she imagined that a boy kissed her. It was so nice. Corby giggled and remembered her math. Unfortunately, no one had canceled her homework and she had to take care of it no matter how much she didn’t want to right now. Corby sighed and went back to the laptop. She loved math, but right now she hated the numbers that stared at her. Now they were just plain numbers and not interesting puzzles as before.

  “I’ll see him at school tomorrow,” Corby said, and smiled again. Life wasn’t so bad after all.

  CHAPTER 3

  The day at school promise
d nothing bad. Or nothing different. Corby expected the same old jokes from Jane and her gang, the same laughter, hoots. She also expected the look. If it was Jacob, he had to look at her in a different way. She didn’t know how, but something to show that it was him. He sent her a message late at night, apologized, and said good night. He had to give her some indication.

  She was one of the first to enter the classroom and she sat down at her desk right away, so she wouldn’t be the subject of attention as she would be if she came in last. All the students would stare at her and maybe make comments. She took out her textbooks, her notebooks, her pens and pencils, and waited.

  Jacob was late as usual, but when he walked into the classroom he looked at her first. He didn’t wink, didn’t smile, didn’t nod; he just looked at her and turned away, welcoming his friends. For Corby that was enough, it was what she was waiting for. It was true. He was the one who sent the message. Three messages to be exact.

  “Why are you smiling?” Corby heard, and looked at Jane.

  “I asked you a question,” Jane said, staring at Corby.

  “Is your period over?” Sylvia asked, and those who heard her started to laugh.

  Oddly enough, Corby was glad they laughed, because Jane turned away from her at that moment without requiring a response to her question and without asking anything else. The teacher entered a moment later and Corby was relieved. So far everything was good.

  At the first break, she went to her locker to change books. Jacob’s locker was next to hers and he was there already when she came. Her locker was simple: no decorations on the outside and only a small mirror and a photo of her favorite, although dead, hamster, Terry, inside. Jacob’s locker was painted with some Japanese or Chinese characters. Their school allowed students to be creative like that if it could be washed away later. She was afraid to look at Jacob before and now even more. She went to the locker without watching him, opened the door, and put the textbooks in.