​​​Chapter Thirty-Five
Wren

I’m so bothered by Mareck that I sizzle out The Mule’s desire to clobber me.

She follows me with her eyes throughout the day. I feel like they’re dressed up in her skirt and whale sweater, Big Louis somehow slung over an invisible shoulder, and we walk the halls together, drawing White Smoke babies in our heads.

And I’m not even high.

“You’re a real killjoy, you know that?” We’re in the basement bathroom, and it’s just me and Leslie who finally corners me. I’m guessing she’s on the outs with the cohorts because they’re not here right now. Earlier, they were pressed shoulder to shoulder walking down the hall, The Mule nowhere to be found.

Her face looks like it’s made enemies with a brick wall, and I swallow down the sick sense of pride in my throat.

“What does it matter what I am? Nothing matters anymore,” I say. I press my back against the tiled wall, attempting to ignore the years of bacteria that has colonized there as I slide slowly down to the floor. When she followed me in here, I knew it was the end, and I was grateful for it. And I can only imagine she saw that, a sense of peace, and was too thrown off to punch it off my face.

“What are you talking about, loser?” Leslie slides down with me, giving me a better shot of her getup. She’s wearing a different whale sweater this time and flared khakis instead of the tights and skirt she was wearing last week. She looks like she’s working second shift at the GAP.  I don’t know how I feel about it, the fact that Leslie and I both look like somebody else dressed us.

“Mareck. He left me. He’s hooked up with some red headed chick. One of yours, I think. If not, you need to hand her an application.”

“That’s what you’re all sourpuss about? Mareck? The guy who thinks Tony the Tiger invented frosted flakes?” She’s looking at me like I’ve grown extra heads. She puts Big Louis in her lap and excavates the inside with her hand. She delicately removes a tub of gloss she applies with her very thick pinkie.

“There’s more to him than that.” I don’t go into detail. Mareck lives with his grandfather and brother in a trailer off a road in the woods that’s not really a road. It feels like I’m going to be obliterated via chainsaw every time I’m out there, and his grandfather, Franklin, a drunk in a wifebeater, doesn’t do anything to alleviate that feeling. But I go with Mareck because of what Mareck’s told me. Because of the scars on Mareck’s legs.

I’m not the only one dealing with a bully.

“People are more than the stupid stuff they say.”

“Ah, how poetic. But are they more than the stupid stuff they are?” The Mule asks me, point blank. I imagine she’s thinking of Wanda and that other one now. “Must suck when nobody’s got your back. Oh wait.”

“Why do you even need those two? I mean, I imagine they’re good for the ego, but I think I’d lose my mind having to babysit every day.”

“I don’t need them like you don’t need Mareck. It just doesn’t blow having someone else to help shoulder the responsibility.”

“Responsibility for what? Deciding who wears pink on Wednesdays?” For a moment, I think our little camaraderie has ended, and she’s about to introduce her fist to my face, but she settles down.

“No, smart aleck. I’ve created an entire dynasty. This thing continues on with or without me, and you bet your backside I’m going nowhere until they cart me off the stage next year during graduation.” She dunks her pinkie in again and if it weren’t for the slick glob on it, I’m certain she’d set her lips on fire with her frantic rubbing. “That redhead? Her name’s Miranda. She’s a freshman looking to take my place. My. Place. Girl’s lost it if she thinks she’s any match for me.” I have to agree with her, but something in Leslie’s eyes makes her seem worried. Which oddly makes me worry. Not like Leslie Buell’s my dream bully or anything, but at least she’s comfortable. Like my favorite big-boned blanket.

“Miranda,” I say. It sits like poison on my tongue. “Mareck was weird today.”

“When is he not?” she says, wiping her saturated pinkie on her sweater. I cringe knowing if I owned that thing, I’d keep it covered in protective plastic.  

“No, I mean he seemed like his soul’s been sucked right out of him. He said he finally got around to doing something he’s been meaning to for a long time now.”

“Break up with you?”

“I hadn’t considered that until just this moment.”

“Sorry,” she says, and I can tell she kind of means it.

“No. I think something happened. I wish he’d talk to me.” The loneliness kicks in even though someone is sitting right next to me. It’s the panic of being alone, something that always lingers at my shoulder. And now that Mareck’s left, it’s something that sits beneath my skin like a very concerning splinter. I wish I could talk to Mrs. Ling right now.

“I didn’t do anything with him.” Leslie stares at the wall in front of us. The bell for fifth period rings but neither of us moves.

“Really?”

“No. I just wanted to piss you off.”

“Then why did he make me think you did?”

She turns and looks me in the face. “Because he’s Mareck. He doesn’t care about you, Wren. And I’m actually not saying that to hurt you. He’s damaged goods. Damaged goods hurt and keep hurting,” she says, turning to the wall again. I want to press her, but the second bell rings and detention doesn’t seem appealing at the moment. Besides, I have my Cornerstone Club meeting and against all odds, I’m kind of looking forward to it.

Leslie rustles her bag, makes to leave. I feel like something important is ending, and I really don’t want it to.

“What are you doing after school?” I ask.