Bullied

CHAPTER FIVE

When I walked into my English class, it was the usual parade of chatter, with everyone either catching up on what they’d done that summer, or talking about what had happened to Tyler and Sara.

My teacher, Mrs. Branson, was writing something on the chalkboard as I passed her. She was an ice bitch who had never liked me. And she was shady. I could see her looking at me out of the corner of her eye. And then she stopped writing all together.

“Seth Moore?”

The last thing I wanted was attention. I pretended I didn’t hear her and kept walking to my seat.

“Seth,” she said, her voice more commanding. “I’m talking to you.”

I turned to her. “Yes, Mrs. Branson?”

It was as if she’d never seen me before. She was an older woman in her late fifties who, probably in her prime, was something to look at. Now, she still was, only age was eating away at her, putting on pounds where she hadn’t had them before. Her tough luck.

She studied my face and hair.

“Is there a problem, Mrs. Branson?”

She composed herself. “No,” she said. “Did you have a good summer?”

“I’ve never had a good summer. My parents are drunks. Over the years, everyone in this room has gone out of their way to make certain that's a known fact. It was a lousy summer. It was no different from any summer I’ve ever had. It sucked.”

She didn’t know what to do with that. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s nice to have you back. At least it looks like the summer treated you well.”

Make her squirm. “What does that mean?”

“It means that you look…healthy.”

“How did I look before.”

Her face flushed. She was digging herself deeper. I was more than happy to let her do so. “Your skin has cleared up,” she said.

“I didn’t know you had an interest in my skin.”

“I don’t. But you have to admit it’s a change.”

“Really?” I said. I was aware that the room had gone quiet. People were listening. “A change from what? What did I look like before?”

Somebody behind me said, “A freak.”

It was Mike Hastings-I’d know his voice anywhere. I turned to him and when I did, the expressions of surprise that shifted across every face in that room were priceless. Everyone was rooted to my face, which was indeed smooth and actually had a hint of color to it. I looked better. Some might even consider me handsome. Many were staring at my hair, which had a kind of hip, curly vibe to it. I saw Alex in the back of the room, and his brows were knitted together, trying to figure me out.

“You think I’m a freak, Hastings?”

“Any guy who wears that amount of makeup to cover his zits is a freak, buddy. You didn’t look like that this morning. You looked like you always look-a frigging volcano ready to erupt. Who’d you get the makeup from? Your momma while she was passed out?”

“You're a class act, Mike.”

“And you're a friggin' drag queen.”

“If you think it’s makeup, come wipe it off me.”

“Why?” he said. “So you can get close enough to kiss me?”

Save for Alex and a few others, most in the room laughed.

“Why don’t you leave him alone?” Alex said.

But Hastings was having none of him this time. More interesting is that Mrs. Branson was allowing all of this to unfold.

“Why don’t you shut up? This doesn’t concern you.”

“Actually, he’s right,” I said. I turned to Mrs. Branson, who had a look on her face that suggested she was enjoying this. Her eyes were bright. She was biting her lower lip.

She didn’t know what was coming next.

“Isn’t it your job to make sure none of this goes on?” I asked her. “Isn’t it your job to keep order? Make peace? Keep us in line so we can do our work and do it well? Isn’t it your job to make sure people like me aren’t bullied? I’ve had you for a teacher for years and you never interfered when they pulled this crap on me or anyone else. Can you explain that to me?”

She was flustered, embarrassed.

"Explain it to me?"

"I owe you no explanation."

"You owe me every explanation."

"For what?"

"For standing there and doing nothing. For getting off on watching them take their repressed self-hatred out on me."

She pointed toward the door. “Go to the principal’s office. Now.”

“For what?”

“Insolence.”

“That’s an impressive word, but I haven’t been insolent. I was just called a freak by one of the worst, most morally corrupt people in this school. You heard it and did nothing about it. So, I’ll go and see the principal and here’s why-I’m going to question your teaching, your lack of morals and ethics. I’m finally going to let them know exactly how you’ve behaved in these situations since I’ve been coming to your classes.” I snapped my fingers. “Time for the curtain to go up on your teaching career, Mrs. Branson.” I snapped my fingers again. “And then, when I’m finished, time for it to go down on it.”

“Holy shit,” someone behind me said.

Branson came around her desk. “Get out.”

“You’ve got it.”

I started to walk past her and when I did, she grabbed my arm. “No one in this class heard or saw anything you're claiming.” Her eyes swept the room. “Am I right, class?”

Immediately, the majority either nodded or said, “yes.”

But when I looked over at Alex, he was out of his seat, gathering his books and coming to the front of the class, where he towered above Branson. “If he goes, I go. I saw what happened here. I’m backing him with the truth. To stop us, you can do this: Send Hastings to the principal, apologize to Seth and set the record straight.”

“Two against twenty is a losing proposition,” she said.

I started to walk out the door. “We’ll see about that.”

Alex followed me and as he did, I was aware of someone else standing. It was Jennifer Sanford, one of the few people who never had picked on me and one of the few girls I’d had a crush on for years because of her kindness and let’s face it, because she was hot.

As always, she was seated in front. She never had been popular or unpopular, the former of which was surprising because she was one of the most attractive girls in school. Still, probably because she wasn’t a cheerleader and didn’t participate in sports, she was one of the in-betweens-a person who was allowed to exist without interference.

Plus, a lot of the guys wanted to screw her.

“And where are you going, Jennifer?” Branson asked.

“With them.”

“You better think twice about that.”

“Actually, you better think twice about this.” In her hand was her iPhone. She pressed a button, held it in front of Branson and turned up the sound.

She recorded everything on video.

In horror, Branson looked at herself on the screen. She heard Hastings call me a freak. She heard herself say, “No one in this class saw or heard anything. Am I right, class?” And she heard herself say to Alex, “Two against twenty is a losing proposition.”

Now, her face was the color of the chalk staining her finger tips.

“We’ll be in the principal’s office,” I said as I walked out of the room. “Thanks for sending me there. It’s time to get a few things off my chest.”