Chapter Text
I can't believe things have been going my way for this long.
I've maintained my seat at the lunch table with the Frankenstein Girls for over a week without incident. As ridiculous it sounds, it almost seems like they actually like me. I mean, in the most superficial way possible. One of Lindsey's ground rules was that I had to be a bit more 'tasteful' with my eye makeup, which ended with her doing it for me. Chantal made a point of telling me that she had a bunch of Slimfast shakes at home, should I ever want to 'try them out.'
"Yeah, because we all know that you haven't been drinking them," Lindsey said, not batting an eyelash as she stabbed a bit of lettuce in her salad. Chantal blushed bright red, leaving Kitty to change the subject, as she always did.
I smiled and nodded away. Like I said, the offhand comments hardly bother me anymore. After hearing them for so many years, they sort of start to roll off your back.
Quite frankly, having the bitch queens tolerate me has made life a cinch. Not once since I got Chantal out of gym have I been stepped on. In fact, I've actually been noticed by quite a few people who hadn't bothered with me in the past. Surprisingly, having Bert McCracken ogle you doesn't feel as icky as one would imagine.
The only problem is that befriending Lindsey Ballato is a bit like making a deal with the devil. There were times that her bitchiness bordered on demonic. It was during these times that she made damn sure that she got her way, no matter how daunting or vile the task was. And, as the official dictator of our little group, she expected absolutely no resistance from her loyal subjects.
She's in one of those moods today, jaw set, eyes flashing as she strutted down the hallway, fellow students clearing her path without having to be asked. As always, Kitty and Chantal follow in a straight line, the three of them as in sync with each other as ever. I, however, haven't quite gotten their runway walk down, not having enough poise or confidence to hold my chin up high and swing my hips. This probably doesn't help my stance amongst their rankings. Though I haven't been stampeded over since my impromptu initiation, I'm still not on the same plane of godliness as the original three. Though I'm being whispered about in the hallway for the first time, quite a few of those whispers are a mix of amusement and disbelief, both royalty and underdogs asking "who does she think she is?"
One of these people, unfortunately, was my own dear brother. Though I hadn't really thought about it when I shoved my way into the in-crowd, my sudden shift in status had hit Mikey like a slap in the face. I mostly answered the kicked puppy eyes he gave me in the corridors with a smile and a wink, a silent 'don't worry, we'll talk when we get home.' It was all a game, and I knew that, so he would, too. Right?
The look he's currently giving me from across the cafeteria has me feeling a bit unsure of that. I have to admit, the sight of him eating his lunch in complete solitude does make me feel a bit guilty. Okay, really guilty. But it isn't completely my fault. I would wave him over to sit with us, --- if I didn't think it would result in me being beheaded before the period is over.
Considering how much I value my head, he'll just have to look sad for a while. I'll be gone next year, anyway; the preparation is useful. Besides, he isn't the only one eating by themselves; the new kid with the spiky hair seems to be enjoying it.
Yeah, he totally looks like the outcast type. Maybe he'll invite Mikey over to sit with him. Like attracts like, after all.
"Earth to Gina."
I avert my eyes from the newcomer, meeting the gaze of the demon queen instead. Her red-painted lips curl into an amused sneer, wide brown eyes darting from the new guy to me. "Jesus, drool much?"
"I wasn't-"
"Whatever." She dismisses the subject with a wave of her hand. For that, I'm thankful. "Do you still do that handwriting thing?"
As if I would suddenly lose my ability to do so in a week. I bite back any sarcasm. "Um, yeah. Why?"
She nods toward Kitty, who slips a hand into her jean pocket. A moment later, she sits a piece of folded notebook paper on the tabletop. Lindsey takes it, her grin growing as she waves the paper in front of me.
"Here, I have a note from Bert McCracken himself, " she says, lowering her voice. "Take a look, if you will."
I oblige, taking the note. Messily slanted scrawl spells out a comment about Kitty's backside that I'd rather forget. Trying to mask my disgust, I fold it back up. "And?"
"We were wondering if you might be able to forge a note from Bert," Lindsey says, motioning toward the football team's table. There, Bert is laughing, donning his letterman jacket as always. It's still a mystery to me how such a scrawny guy could successfully play football.
"From your loser brother," Chantal says, all too loudly.
"Chantie!" Lindsey snaps. With that, Chantal retreats back into her shell.
Pleased, Lindsey looks back at me. "Bert's having a party this weekend while his parents are out of town," she says. "And, since it's all too obvious that knee boy has some weird homoerotic feelings for him, -- I mean, Bert, -- might want to invite him to join in on the fun."
I swallow the lump developing in my throat. If my sitting with the Frankenstein Girls was heartbreaking enough for Mikey, contributing to his public humiliation would be utter betrayal. As nice as being recognized as something other than the fat girl was, I couldn't do that. Could I?
Lindsey doesn't appreciate my hesitation. "Look, if you're still worried about right and wrong and shit, you can go back to your brother dearest. We don't care. But, if you pick him over us, don't expect to get special treatment anymore. Your sibling bond or whatever means nothing to us." She slides a blank piece of paper to me, followed buy a pencil. "Take it or leave it, Two-by-Four."
With that, I take the pencil. Biting my lip to the point of drawing blood, I begin to write.
Michael,
I've noticed you've looked a bit down lately. I know we don't know each other that well, but I think it would really give you a chance to spread your wings, so to speak, if you could come to my house party this weekend, -- no adults involved whatsoever. Perhaps you'd like to stop by?
- Bert
I'm just about to fold the note back up when the sudden sound of Kitty shrieking rings out. "Holy shit!"
I look up to see that half of the cafeteria is now transfixed on the table the new kid is occupying. Only now, he's not so alone anymore. Bert and Quinn are standing in front of him, Quinn looking uncharacteristically timid, arms crossed in front of himself as an apparent defense mechanism. It's only when I stand up that I see why. The new kid's standing up now, and, despite how small he is, he holds every reason to be scared of him in his hands in the form of cool silver steel. Sweet Jesus, he's got a gun.
Bert, being the total brainiac that he is, stands up to him when his partner in crime doesn't. "You got a problem with him, jackass?" he booms.
The new kid grins. "Well, yeah. Taking lunch money from a freshman is pretty low."
Damn, that's what this was about? That was pretty extreme, but also... kinda hot.
Bert, however, isn't impressed. "You talk real big, but can you fight, you little prick?"
No-Name laughs. "You'd think the gun would make it obvious, wouldn't you? God, you're an idiot."
Before Bert can offer another retort, the new guy's fist is flying, ending up knocking Bert square in the jaw. Bert gasps, stumbling backwards. Quinn catches him.
Wow. I think I'm in love.
The two football players stare straight ahead, dumbfounded. The new guy smiles, tucking the gun away into an unseen bag. "Better be glad it was just a punch and not a pistol whip," he says. "Now that would have been a real tragedy."
Afraid to say anything, Bert and Quinn remain motionless. It's the longest I've seen them go without opening their mouths in a while.
Not as impressed as I am, Lindsey nudges me. "Now would be a good time to take it over there, before Bert has the chance to stop you."
On shaky legs, I stand up and saunter over to Mikey's table. I don't look at him as I drop it onto the table. "Bert asked me to give this to you."
Before he can respond, I'm turning back around again.
Then it happens. The tingling feeling you get when you know someone's looking at you crawls up my spine.
The new kid smirks at me from his secluded spot in the corner, something catching the light as he smirks. Is that a lip ring?
Oh yeah, I'm in trouble.