I felt awful after talking back to Mom yesterday, but I had to let my frustration out somewhere.

  It feels like everyone’s ganging up on me, tying me to another girl to tarnish my name. Oliver once said most of the guys in the school have, or had, a crush on me, though I’ve never been sure if that was true. If it is, maybe the girls know, and this is their way of keeping the boys away from me.

  The harassment has been bothering me already, and as if that’s not enough, they ganged up and called my mom a whore. They can say anything about me. I’ll deal with it. I’ll swallow it. But dragging my mom into it is a big no. Even though she annoys me and I don’t always like being around her, I still care about her. It feels like a return, knowing that she’d do anything for me, even give her life if needed. That’s why when they called her a prostitute, it triggered something deep inside me.

  The rage sitting in my chest had to go somewhere. And who else did I have to take it out on besides Mom? Nobody. So I took it all out on her. I’m scared that one day I’ll take it out on someone else, and that’ll be a disaster. Mom, though, doesn’t take it personally. She didn’t even come back to give me another lecture after that heated exchange of words. The only thing she asked later in the evening was whether I was going to school tomorrow.

  I said yes, even though I’m not in the mood to go. I can’t keep skipping school forever.

  I get ready halfheartedly while Mom’s still asleep and head to the bus stop.

  The second I get on the bus, I know nothing’s changed. It’s the same glances and same mocking. As I try to sit in my seat, I notice a piece of plain paper. I pick it up and turn around. It’s the same picture that was on the board, with a slight difference. I’m kissing Emily’s neck this time, my hands gripping her breasts. Laughter echoes in the bus, and I feel nauseated. I squeeze the sheet and stuff it into my bag. The rest of the way, I close my eyes and lean back, as if nothing around me exists.

  As the bus stops in front of the school, I get out first and almost run to the classroom.

  When I walk into class, Tom and Oliver are already in their seats. There’s no picture on the board, but from the faint marks, I can tell it was there. The room is completely silent, no laughter like last time, as if someone dared them not to. I know Tom, on Oliver’s behalf, must have asked them to be quiet when I entered the class, but they can’t stop the judging stares and scornful smiles coming my way. I take my seat, and Tom glances over. I give a polite smile for cleaning the board or whatever else they’re doing from behind the scenes to help me.

  This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

  As usual, Oliver doesn’t acknowledge me. Tom continues to give me a small reassuring smile now and then, but it doesn’t help. He’s trying to be kind, but I don’t want kindness. It feels like pity, and I’m not looking for sympathy.

  The day feels long and dull. Thankfully, no one comes at me directly to remind me I’m trash, but the distant mocking never really stops. I keep hoping this will fade in a day or two, like it always does. This time feels different. This time, it doesn’t seem ready to go away.

  The next morning confirms it. When I see Oliver and Tom already in the classroom before me, I’m sure the picture was on the board again, and they came early to erase it before I arrived.

  But there are places they can’t enter or come for my rescue. I’ve been avoiding the girls’ washroom for days, but today I can’t hold it anymore. When I walk in, the same picture is drawn on paper and taped to the mirror, exactly as I expected. I see it again in the library, right where I usually sit.

  I know one thing by now. The attacks are relentless, and they’ll follow me no matter where I go.

  I decide not to go anywhere unless I have to. I decide to stay in class and keep my head down, holding my bladder until I get home.

  In the afternoon, we get our math tests back. Oliver scores eighty percent.

  Looks like my short coaching sessions helped.

  When he gets his paper, he turns around, lifts it slightly, and mouths, Thank you. I still feel that electricity run through me, even though I’ve tried so hard to shut that part of my heart down. He turns away before I can respond, not that I would’ve said you’re welcome anyway.

  Selena and I both get full marks. Her face lights up as she flips through her test, proud of herself. I feel a little proud too, knowing I helped her get there. I wish she’d acknowledge me somehow, a smile or a glance at least, for all the help I’ve given, but she doesn’t.

  During afternoon recess, I stay in the classroom. So does Oliver, just like yesterday. I don’t know why he keeps staying back; he never used to do so. If he’s trying to play bodyguard, I don’t need that.

  I rest my forehead on my backpack and pretend to sleep. I want to avoid any conversation with Oliver. He doesn’t seem interested in starting one anyway. He sits there scribbling in his notebook, not even glancing at me.

  Selena’s group comes back early, probably ready to harass me. But when they notice Oliver, they gather around Selena’s desk instead. Selena throws me a sharp look, clearly annoyed by Oliver’s presence. I don’t understand why she and her brother deal with their own problems at home instead of making me the villain every single time.

  The rest of the day crawls. When I leave the school gates, I head straight to my secret place. I need a good cry.

  I drop my backpack and climb onto a low tree branch instead of sitting on the rock. Even if Oliver isn’t interested in me anymore, I’m still worried he might follow. The rock is out in the open. The trees are easier to hide in.

  The tears come instantly like they’ve been waiting all day.

  Why me? God, why me?

  I’m mid-breakdown, tears streaming, when I feel something. I wipe my eyes and glance around.

  Someone runs between the trees beside me. Quick, silent, gone in an instant, slipping behind a trunk like a shadow.

  For a second, I think it’s Oliver.

  But it isn’t. I’d know him even from the briefest glimpse.

  My heart pounds. I jump down, grab my backpack, and run as fast as I can.