Disclaimer: all characters over the age of 18.
I'm the strongest girl at school.
I'm not a bully, mind! If anything, I'm pretty much the opposite. I don't go around looking for a fight; I haven't tested my mettle against other girls, I don't go out of my way to punch the boys. But Liberty Heights is a cruel school, where the strong routinely prey on the weak, and the teachers turn a blind eye just as frequently. Which is why I'm happy to cultivate my reputation as Irene the butch, the weird goth you shouldn't mess with.
I'm tall for a girl -- freakishly so, enough to look most guys in the eyes, and I'm big-boned by nature. Throw in years of gym membership and, while not specifically trained to fight, I can definitely handle myself. I go for a radical goth presentation, just to drive the point home: platform boots, black lipstick, spikes and chokers, the whole shebang.
I wish I could say I take the victims' side when they're picked on, but truly, I don't. I'm a bit ashamed to admit this, but this is about self-preservation. I don't like socialising, I don't like people's attention on me, and I certainly don't want direct confrontation with anyone. So I rely on my keep-away attitude to make sure I'm left alone, and that is that. Not a bully, not a victim, and definitely not a hero.
Bottom line: the queen bees among the girls stay out of my way. And so do the guys, although a few required extra lessons before they accepted that. Cameron -- as sexist a frat guy as you're likely to find -- tried to get handsy with me once. I put him in an arm lock until he begged me to relent, and all in front of his friends too.
I see the smoldering hatred in his eyes every time we cross paths at school, and I riposte with my own sullen, expressionless look. He always walks by without a word: we both know I'd kick his ass if he tried anything else.
On the whole, I like my routine. I focus on school, the gym, and the few but good online friends I've made over the years. I have no room for what passes for social life here, partying and drinking with all the jocks and the Beckies, and I try to keep it that way. I definitely don't like change.
Unfortunately for me, change is already on the way.
Anyone who lives at the fringes of any social environment quickly becomes observant. You have nothing to do but stare at other people's lives, after all. At a remove, uninvolved, observation becomes second-nature, and it is easy to detect changes. And I know something's the matter with the school's newest arrival.
Helenia has just transfered here -- due to her parents moving, she says -- but she seems to have made an immediate impression. That alone raises my suspicions. New arrivals are usually the butt end of every joke and cruelty at Liberty Heights. They're at the very bottom of the pecking order, and have a steep hill to climb if they want to have lunch in peace or get to keep their change at the vending machines, let alone make any friends. And yet, Helenia has rocketed through the informal ranks like a meteor, and is now inseparable from Rebecca, the richest girl at school and the local queen of queens.
It helps that Helenia has the right looks, I suppose. She's lithe and graceful, with wavy blond hair that frames her clever green eyes and goes down to her waist. She definitely lookslike she would fit in among the popular girls, but still... it's a bit sudden.
There is one way in which she's most unlike them, however. She's smart, driven, and no class goes by without her asking pointed questions to our teachers, or proving she's quick on the uptake with some clever observation. Normally that would have her labelled as a nerd and teacher's pet -- basically a capital offense here -- and yet she gets away with it.
It's as if the rules don't apply to her. I guess they don't apply to me either, but that's different: I've basically seceded from the social dynamics of the school. Helenia hasn't. She's swimming among the sharks, and the sharks aren't biting -- if anything, they're doting on her.
Still, as time goes on and the novelty wears off, I put aside my suspicions and focus on my daily routine.
I've almost forgotten about Helenia by the time I first meet her face to face. I'm hanging out next to the vending machines, surfing my phone and trying to keep the boredom of school at bay, when I spot her. She struts down the corridor like she owns the place, with Rebecca at her side. The latter's giggly group of hens is nowhere to be seen, for once, which I find rather unusual. Rebecca always has a following wherever she goes. Here, it looks like she's the one following, and Helenia is the one leading.
They're clearly headed for the vending machines, so I slink off to the side, both to give them access and to keep my distance. It's one of those rare, blessed moments where you can be courteous by being a loner -- two birds with one stone!
"No, no, stay," Helenia says out loud while staring at me. She proffers an open hand. "I need change for a snack anyway."
I blink slowly, in mild confusion. Rebecca is not reacting, so clearly the message wasn't for her. I turn to look behind my shoulders -- nobody there, either. Damn, no way. Is this girl talking to me? That alone would be shocking enough, but what she's just said to me -- is this girl for real?
I'm just about to turn and walk off without a word when Helenia interjects. "Oh, sorry, where are my manners! Hi, I'm Helenia. And you must be... Irene."
Yeah yeah, I'm sure my reputation precedes me. My eyes roll back into my skull. "Yes, a real pleasure," I mutter as I pocket my phone and get ready to leave.
"So you're not going to buy me a snack, I take it?" Helenia asks, eyelashes fluttering innocently. Alright, I see I need to get the point across. Rather than leave the other way, I walk towards Helenia, rotating my shoulders to appear more imposing as I make my way between her and Rebecca.
"No. Pick someone your own size, girl," I say in a low voice, "and stay out of my way."
Normally, that is more than enough to do the trick -- but apparently, not this time. Helenia giggles as I walk down the corridor, then calls out to me. "You'll regret that!"
Whatever. My only regret is that there's apparently no way to be left damn well alone at this cursed school.
I tell myself I don't care, that I won't think about it. But of course that's just a rationalisation. As one day blends into another, Helenia's aggression all I can think about. I've had countless interactions like these with would-be bullies over the years, but this one feels different somehow.
Helenia refuses to take the hint. Again, it's like she's rule-proof and feels free to do whatever she wants. My confidence is shaken, but I won't show any outward sign of weakness. Still... why do I feel like I have any weakness to hide at all?
The next time we meet at the vending machines, my confidence is shaken even more.
"You're still holding out on me," Helenia tells me in an amused tone. Then, she holds out her hand -- in Rebecca's direction.
"Becca," she says sharply, "Irene won't play, so it's your turn. Here."
Before my astonished eyes, Rebecca -- queen bee Rebecca, filthy rich Rebecca, mean bitch Rebecca who will rip off the head of anyone who dares call her Becca -- lowers her gaze and demurely fishes out a handful of coins from her jeans' pockets. The coins promptly end up in Helenia's hands, but the bully's eyes are glued on mine, drinking in my momentary shock. She gives me a knowing grin as she pockets the change.
"I can kick your ass any time, Irene."
That breaks me out of my stupor, and this time, my chuckle is genuine. Physical confrontation is one field I understand. All these mind games are weird and fucked up, but a good uppercut is unequivocable. I don't like to fight, but if it serves to prevent further conflict, so be it.
I go straight for the most antagonising option. Maybe she'll back down.
"You're on. Where and when?"
I'm somewhat taken aback that Helenia doesn't even flinch. "This afternoon after class, in the school gym."
Are we really going to do this then? But why? Have I miscalculated with my brinkmanship? What does this girl want with me?
"Just don't cry when I mop the floor with you," I say, with more confidence than I feel, hoping to get past her mental armour somehow.
Helenia gives out a long, throaty laughter. "So much spirit. I'll love breaking it. I need a new foot wipe, and for all her qualities that is one thing Becca is just not great at," she says as she pats Rebecca's head, as if she were a pet.
What? The implication of what she's saying is staggering. Surely Rebecca couldn't... not in a million years! Is she being blackmailed? I try looking Rebecca in the eyes, but she won't meet my gaze -- or Helenia's. She looks... defeated.
I shiver.
Eventually, Helenia walks away, the deposed queen bee in tow, following her like an eager dog. I don't know what's going on, I don't like that I'm in the middle of it, and the prospect of staring Helenia down later this afternoon fills me with dread. But I have nothing to do save wait, and think.
Classes go by impossibly slowly. I'm not paying attention to the lectures, and for once, it's not because I'm immersed in my phone. Blood roars in my ears and my heart pumps relentlessly in my chest. I can't put my finger on it, but I know something's odd about this whole situation. Helenia is throwing herself at a girl twice her size, which alone sounds completely crazy. But she also has seemingly put Rebecca on a leash. What does she know that I don't?
Let alone how improbable it is that the local queen bee could be so swiftly demoted, who even doessuch a thing? Go out of your way to... what, make someone your thrall? It's the words Helenia uses, too, that keep bouncing around in my head. Foot wipe. Is this some weird fetish thing? Does Helenia put her feet in Rebecca's face?
Oh god. Maybe she hopes I'll defeat her and put my feet in her face? If so, I won't give her the satisfaction. I'll just put her down firmly and make it clear that I want to be left well alone. And if it's my face she wants to stomp, well... she'll have to get me first.
By the time the last bell rings, my resolve is so deeply shaken that I seriously consider walking away, going home as if nothing happened. But there's a problem: Helenia could start boasting that I chickened out of her challenge. She would be met with some scepticism, sure, but if she challenges me publicly, I will have to respond anyway, or face the destruction of my carefully cultivated, bully-proof reputation. And she has Rebecca as a witness that she did issue the challenge.
No, I have to make this problem go away. Right now.
As I make my way into the gym, pushing down the throes of anxiety, I spot Helenia. She really is a wispy little thing -- I will have to make sure not to do any real damage -- but she also has her back to me, tapping away at her phone.
