High Heels and Lipstick Page 6

  “Are you safe at school?” Dad asked. “Do you honestly feel safe, especially after what happened to that other girl?”

  “She did it to herself.” That sounded cold as hell, but I couldn’t think of any other way to put it. “She was the only one who was a danger to herself. People said things, but no one made her do what she did. She wasn’t safe because she decided not to be. Kind of.”

  I covered my face with my hands. I was speaking total crap. It wasn’t what I meant. I didn’t blame Maryellen or think she was a horrible person for trying to hurt herself. I was just having trouble figuring out the right words to express that no one else had made her do it. “She was physically safe at school. No one’s pushed us around or hit us or anything. People say things, but people always say things about each other. No one’s threatened me, and I don’t think anyone threatened her. Just a bunch of crap like we deserved what Jim did, and we should be ashamed of ourselves, and we probably lied. That kind of thing.”

  I left out the part where more than one person had said I would be better off dead. I didn’t consider that a threat, but Mom and Dad would have.

  “Someone almost died.” Mom sniffled and dabbed her nose with her napkin.

  “She chose to.” I took my hands away from my face. “I don’t mean it’s her fault. I mean, she heard the same things I did. It isn’t right that people are saying those things. They shouldn’t be. But she decided to try to die instead of finding another way to handle it. No one told her to do that, and no one did it to her.”

  I still sounded like I was blaming everything on Maryellen, and I didn’t know how to explain myself any more clearly, so I decided I should just shut up.

  “It isn’t your decision whether to stay at your current school or change,” Dad said again. “We think you’d be safer and happier at the Catholic school. We understand you disagree. We aren’t going to make the final decision tonight, but the final decision belongs to your mother and me.”

  “It’s my life.” If they tried to make me change schools, I would drop out. I was old enough to get a GED or something. I was damned if I would go to the school that, according to my cousin, had more drugs and sex and bullying going on than my school did. Of course, my parents would never believe that.

  “You’re our daughter,” Dad said firmly.

  “Chastaine, you understand Mom and Dad are just trying to take care of you, right?” Andy said.

  I should have known he would take their side. He always did, especially if it meant I got in trouble. “I know, but they aren’t doing it the right way. If I leave school, all the people who are being sh—dumbheads will win. I need to stay where I am to prove that I haven’t done anything wrong and don’t have anything to be afraid of. Everyone keeps telling me I did the right thing to report it. I was brave and sh—crap. So I’m going to keep being brave, if I didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “That makes sense.” Dad rubbed his chin with his thumb and middle finger, the way he always did when he was thinking. We all knew that meant we should be quiet.

  I grabbed a dinner roll from the plate in the center of the table. I wasn’t hungry after all the pizza and baklava I’d eaten at Holly’s, but Mom made the rolls from scratch and they were always amazing. Even though the roll was cold and I didn’t bother putting butter on it, it still tasted incredible.

  It wasn’t until I swallowed the last bite that I registered the fact that I didn’t feel sick to my stomach. I’d actually eaten a lot at Holly’s and had kept it all down, and the roll seemed to be okay too. Usually I threw up within a few seconds of swallowing something, but this time I felt fine. Not even a twinge of nausea.

  I took it as a sign that I was doing the right thing by trying to persuade my parents not to make me change schools.

  “I had a couple pieces of pizza at Holly’s,” I said. “And some fries. And half a piece of baklava.”

  “Why are you giving us your menu for the day?” Andy rolled his eyes. “We don’t care.”

  “We do.” Mom blinked a few times. “You ate all that? Plus the roll?”

  I nodded. “I don’t feel sick.”

  “Even after everything that happened today?” She knew what set off my stomach as well as I did. “You’re okay?”

  “I’m not okay.” That was way too generous a word for how I felt. “But I ate and I didn’t get sick.”

  “You were so upset this morning.” Mom looked confused.

  “I still am.” I tapped my fingers on the table. I was pretty much done with this conversation, but I knew better than to just get up and walk away. “I should have helped Maryellen more. I think I’m going to have to talk to Kendra about that. It’s as much my fault as anyone’s, if it’s anyone’s fault at all, because I went through the same thing she did. I should have helped her.”

  My voice broke, but I didn’t let myself cry this time either. Everyone supported Mom when she cried, but I’d heard my dad and brothers complain about how emotional she was. Ever since I was little, I’d listened to them, and so I’d learned early on not to cry too much. I was the youngest in the family and the only daughter, and I didn’t want my dad and brothers to think I was too emotional.

  I had a reason to cry, but with my father, Marcus, and Andy all sitting there, I couldn’t let myself actually do it.

  “It isn’t your fault,” Marcus said. “You didn’t know what she was going to do, and you might not have been able to stop it even if you did.”

  “That doesn’t help, but thanks for trying.” I gave him the closest thing I could manage to a smile. “Maybe I could have stopped her, maybe not. I won’t ever have a chance to find out, probably. Ms. Rondeau said Maryellen isn’t coming back to school, and I don’t think she wants to be my friend. So I can’t just ask her if I should have done anything to help her.”

  I would always wonder if I could have made a difference, though.

  “We’re getting very far off track,” Dad said. He was all about staying on topic most of the time. “Chastaine, we’re going to think about this overnight. Your mother and I will consider your position, and we would like you to keep an open mind about the possibility of changing schools. We’ll talk about it tomorrow night at supper. You will be home for that.”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Good.” He pushed back his chair and stood. “I’m going to go watch the cable news. Chastaine, make sure you do your homework. Boys, thank you for being here. Help your mother.” He walked into the other room without giving anyone a chance to reply.

  Chapter 6

  OVERNIGHT, I had nightmares. Maryellen. Jim. My grandparents’ creepy neighbor who had flashed me when I was seven.

  When I woke up, I was pissed. Maryellen shouldn’t have given up so easily. I hoped she would be okay. She might go on to meet a decent guy. Get married, have kids, have a good career. If she had died, no one would ever have known what she might have become. At least she still had a chance.

  But her family and friends would always remember she’d wanted to die. One of them had probably been the one to find her. I couldn’t even imagine what that would have been like.

  I didn’t go to the donut shop that morning. I was planning to, until Holly texted me and said some of her friends were talking about Maryellen. The last thing I needed was to hear more about her. I ended up being late leaving the house, so Marcus gave me a ride to school. He tried to have boring small talk conversations with me, but I ignored him. I wasn’t in the mood to talk. Or to go to school. Or to do much of anything except find out what the court was going to do to Jim, and tell all the people who were screwing with Maryellen and me to go to hell.

  One of Maryellen’s friends, a girl whose name I’d never figured out, hurried over to me when I walked through the door. “Maryellen’s out of intensive care. I thought you should know.”

  “Thanks.” I gave her something close to a smile. “I’m glad to hear it.”

  El-Al was suddenly beside me. I hadn’t seen her coming, and I c
ouldn’t help jumping. “Damn, El-Al!”

  “Sorry.” She put her hand on my shoulder. “Hi, Brittany.”

  “Hi,” the freshman girl said. Of course her name was Brittany.

  “Chastaine, I was watching for you,” El-Al said. “Mr. Lawrence needs to see you. Like, before you go to class or anything.”

  “Great.” I hadn’t been in the building long enough to do anything wrong, so I couldn’t even guess what the vice principal wanted with me. “Brittany, thanks for telling me about Maryellen.” I hesitated. “Do you, um, is she going to be in the hospital for a while?”

  “Yeah. They want to keep an eye on her.” She frowned. “She might go to another hospital after she’s physically okay. They aren’t exactly going to send her home to do it again.”

  “Yeah.” I hadn’t even thought of that. “Can she have visitors where she is now?”

  “I think so. My mom was going to find out, because I want to see her.” Brittany gave me a weird look. “You want to visit her? You don’t even talk to her.”

  “I tried,” I said. “She didn’t want to talk to me.”

  “She’s pissed at you for getting her to report what happened.” Brittany shrugged. “She was the one who decided to tell about it. And half the time she said she hated you, and the other half she kept asking why you wouldn’t talk to her. She’s messed up.”

  “Yeah.” Someone had to be pretty damn messed up to try to kill themselves. But I didn’t think I meant messed up quite the same way Brittany did. “Okay, well, if people can visit her, will you tell me, please?”

  “Chastaine.” El-Al tugged my arm. “The bell’s going to ring soon.”

  “Chill.” I yanked my arm away from her. Mr. Lawrence could wait until I had an answer from Brittany.

  “Yeah, I’ll let you know,” Brittany said.

  “Thanks.” I spun around and walked to the office without bothering to see whether El-Al was behind me.

  She was, and she went into Mr. Lawrence’s tiny closet of an office with me. Mr. Lawrence didn’t look too pleased about that, but all he said was, “Have a seat, girls. Eleanor, thank you for bringing Chastaine in. This will be easier than having to call her down with all the morning chaos.”

  “You could have called me down from class.” I sat on the most uncomfortable chair in existence and clamped my knees together. I was wearing a minidress I’d gotten from the same store as the ten-dollar skirts, and of course it rode up when I sat down.

  “I needed to see you before you went to your locker.” He tapped a pencil against his desk. “Chastaine, have you been experiencing the same harassment Maryellen’s note said she has?”

  “Duh.” That probably wasn’t the best response to a school administrator. “Sorry. Yes. Since November. Here at school, online, and on the phone until I changed my number.”

  “Do you think the way you dress is wise?”

  I gritted my teeth together as my temper rose. No way was I about to call this guy a frigging moron for blaming me or my clothes for anything. No way would I grab that pencil out of his wormy little hand and jam it into his neck.

  The fact that I was even thinking about that scared me enough to take a deep breath and try to stay calm. “I think I’m not violating dress code, so it’s not really any of your business.”

  “When young women dress in a certain way, it can give the wrong impression.” He twisted his mouth like he’d just swallowed a heaping helping of raw lemon juice.

  My effort to keep my temper went right out the tiny little window. “When people form an impression of someone based on how they’re dressed, the only one who has a problem is the one being a judgmental prick.”

  El-Al gasped, and Mr. Lawrence’s mouth dropped open. I had to mentally rewind and replay what I’d said to realize what they were reacting to. As soon as I did, I braced myself to get kicked out for the day or something. Using a word like “prick” in front of the vice principal was much, much worse than just saying “duh.”

  Mr. Lawrence shook his head. “Ms. Rollo, watch your language.”

  “Sorry.” I wasn’t, but saying it didn’t hurt anything.

  “We unfortunately don’t live in a world where people don’t judge one another for some reason or other.” He started tapping his pencil again. “Some of you girls dress in ways that are not exactly appropriate or, for want of a better word, safe. I don’t mean it’s acceptable for people to treat you badly. Only that from what I’ve heard, some of the harassment has been based on your clothing.”

  “Here we go again.” I barely managed not to drop an F-bomb. “Just like Evan wouldn’t have gotten beaten into a frig—freaking pulp if he didn’t wear nail polish, right? If it’s so bad to dress this way, put it in the dress code. If it isn’t against the dress code, I’m not doing anything wrong. And outside school, you don’t get a say in what I wear. My parents are the only ones who have a right to complain, and that’s only until I turn eighteen.”

  “I don’t want to get into a debate with you about clothes,” Mr. Lawrence said.

  I thought about asking why he’d brought it up if he wasn’t looking for a debate, but I kept my mouth shut. I was probably already on the edge of being kicked out. Suspensions didn’t count as excused absences, as far as I knew.

  “I wanted to see you before you went to your locker,” he said. “There was an incident.”

  “Incident?” I glanced at El-Al, who shrugged.

  “Your locker and Maryellen’s were vandalized sometime between the end of the day yesterday and this morning.” Mr. Lawrence took a long breath. “A very unpleasant word was painted across your locker door. The same word was on hers, but of course she won’t be here to see it. We’re trying to find out who did it, but I wanted you to be prepared. We haven’t opened your locker, so I can’t guarantee some of the paint—it looked like spray paint—didn’t get inside. If any of your books were damaged, the school will replace them. You won’t be held responsible for the cost.”

  “Good to know.” My parents and I would have fought it if the school tried to make us pay for books someone else had ruined. Assuming anything in the locker was ruined, which I wouldn’t know until I got out of the damn office.

  The bell rang. Now I would barely have time to get to my locker before first block. If I was late, it wouldn’t be my fault, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t count against me. “Can we go?” I asked. “Class. Books. You know?”

  Mr. Lawrence hesitated, probably trying to decide whether to get on my case for being disrespectful, then nodded. “I just wanted you to be aware of what’s written on your locker. It will be painted over by lunch, but I don’t believe it’s been done yet. If anyone says anything to you, any harassment or bullying behavior, tell us immediately. We weren’t aware this was going on. If we had been….”

  He trailed off, but it was pretty easy to fill in the end of his sentence. If school staff had been aware of what people were saying to Maryellen and me, they might have done something about it, and Maryellen might not have taken drastic action.

  Then again, the school didn’t have a very awesome history of dealing with bullies. They were doing a little better now, but it had taken Evan getting beaten up for them to do anything. Someone somewhere along the line had held the administrators responsible for Jim and Ray assaulting Evan, because Evan had reported them a bunch of times for hassling him at school and no one had done much of anything besides telling Evan to dress less feminine and handing out detentions to the other guys.

  Bullying was against the law in our state, but it only worked if cases were reported and the school decided to deal with them.

  “Sure,” I said. “I’ll come down and tell you if anyone gets out of line with me, so you can sit there and tell me it’s my fault for dressing provocatively. That’s what your little sidetrack about my clothes was, right? Whatever I get is my fault because of how I dress?”

  “That is not what I said.” His face reddened, and he narrowed his eyes. �
�No one deserves to be bullied or harassed. Or anything else. Regardless of clothing or behavior.”

  “Thanks. Good to know you’re politically correct.” I stood, and my chair toppled over. “I’m going to class now.”

  I didn’t bother waiting for him to answer, and he didn’t try to stop me. I rushed out of the office, breathing hard because that was the only way to keep from crying. El-Al hurried to catch up with me, and we walked up the hall together. She didn’t say a word, just stayed with me.

  It felt good to know one of my friends was a friend again.

  A custodian was in front of my locker with a bucket of blue paint and a brush. He looked up when I stopped beside him. “Yeah?”

  “My locker.” I nodded at the one he was trying to paint. He hadn’t completely covered the word “slut” yet. “I need my books.”

  “Oh.” He stepped back and stood there while I opened the door.

  Fortunately, other than a few dots of paint on a couple of books, nothing inside the locker was damaged. I got the books I needed, put my backpack and other stuff into the locker, and headed to first block with El-Al.

  “I didn’t know what happened,” she said as we headed for the stairs. Our lockers were on the second floor. Class was on the first.

  “I figured you would have told me if you did,” I said.

  “It sucks. You shouldn’t be treated like that.” She shook her head. “As if half the people here aren’t sleeping with someone. And you’re getting shit on for something that wasn’t even your choice.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.” If she brought up the whole thing, I wouldn’t be able to keep myself together. I had to get through the day.