Bully Proof

Chapter Eleven

"What do you mean?" Spencer asked, stepping away from me as he nursed his forearm, cradling it into his chest.

"Her dad is one of the sweetest people alive, and I feel like he deserves to know what Claire is doing. He'd know what to do more than anyone else would," I informed, scanning through the parking lot before remembering that my mom had dropped us off.

I didn't want them to argue with me, so I turned to my phone as an excuse to end the conversation. I was careful with touching my phone screen, unlocking it and dialing my mom's number slowly so that I wouldn't accidentally cut my finger on it. I turned up the volume, making sure I could hear the ringing it produced while also ensuring that I could be heard if I kept the phone a few centimeters away from my ear.

"What's up?"

"Can you pick us up, please?" I requested. "We finished our homework."

"Sure, honey. I'll be there soon," she answered.

I ended the call, putting my phone in the back pocket of my jeans. I sighed, the pain in my eye starting to go away a little, but I could only have imagined what it looked like. My hand was fine, the ache receding as more time passed.

We stayed silent as we waited for my mom to show up. When she did, Lexi didn't say anything to her, while Spencer and Amanda murmured a quick greeting, all of them obviously gloomy. I couldn't have blamed them.

The ride to Claire's house also had a lack of voices, all expect for mine. I asked Mom if she could drop me off at Claire's and drop my friends off at their homes.

"How are you getting home?" she asked me.

"I have a feeling I'm going to want to walk," I responded. It's not like it mattered, though; I lived across the street from Claire.

The rest of the ride was silent, and when we pulled up in the driveway, I took a moment to compose my thoughts. I wiped my sweaty hands on my jeans, and I heard Spencer wish me luck before I hopped out of the car.

I walked up to the front door, climbing the few steps to get her porch. I knocked on the door, and I heard footsteps from the other side before Mr. Stevens stood in front of me.

"Kiley! Hi!" Mr. Stevens said after a moment, realizing that it was me at the door. "I haven't seen you in awhile," he continued, looking back in his house for a moment before turning back to me. "Claire isn't home, but I can tell her you stopped by, if you want."

"Actually, can I talk to you about something?" I asked, suddenly interested in his porch, even though I'd seen it over a dozen times.

"Uh, sure. Come on in," he stepped out of the doorway, allowing me to walk inside. I sat down on the loveseat, while Mr. Stevens retreated to the kitchen a room over.

"Do you want anything to drink?" he yelled so I could hear him. "We have water and lemonade, I think, and a little bit of orange juice."

"I'm good. Thanks, though," I answered, feeling very uncomfortable, just wanting to get this done and over with.

I heard the fridge close, which he must have opened in order to list its contents to me, and he walked into the room and sat on the couch across from the loveseat, placing a water bottle on the coffee table in front of us.

"What's up?" he asked, concerned.

"Claire's been, umm, acting a little weird, err, strange, lately. She's kind of, uh, she searched through my stuff and she stole my phone. I think she looked through it. And-"

Mr. Stevens let out a string of curses, putting his hands on his face and swiping down as if he was trying to wake himself up. "I thought I would notice when she'd start acting up," he groaned.

"What?" I croaked, confused.

He rubbed his eyes again, pinching his eyebrows before putting his hands on his knees. He looked at me, his eyes piercing into mine, and said, "Her mom's side of the family has had complications in the past." He noticed a picture, a family picture, on the wall behind me, his gaze lingering there before continuing, "It's not a mental disorder, but a lot of them had therapists and so many generations had problems that they just deemed it a genetic thing."

I nodded, trying my best to understand, but I didn't have any experiences that would have allowed me to relate to what he was saying. I couldn't imagine what he was talking about, how Claire's relatives knew that there was something wrong. Those must have been horrible memories.

I sat there, listening, up until he finally said, "Her mom committed suicide because of it."

I gasped, and finally spoke, "Is that why Claire never talks about her?"

Mr. Stevens sighed, "Pretty much." He licked his lips, and whispered, probably not meaning for me to hear it, "It doesn't help that she's gay."

My eyebrows furrowed, and I gulped, "How would that make a difference?" A few moments of silence passed, and I realized how my words sounded. I added, "I didn't mean to be rude, but-"

"Her mother was very homophobic. If there's anything that has stuck with Claire from her mom, it's that," Mr. Stevens admitted.

"But you're not like that," I stated, not even questioning it.

"I'm not, but Claire isn't convinced of that. She cried when she told me, as if I'd throw her out. It upset me to think that she assumed I would do that," he sighed. "I thought that I failed at making her feel safe, at being a good father. And now there's this," he put his hands behind his head, clasping them and making a triangle with his arms, "which I didn't even notice."

I could see it, how her brain worked. It dawned on me, in that moment, that I was the person Claire liked. It had all clicked into place.

Claire didn't like how I wrote about other people in my diary. It meant that I noticed other people besides her. She thought that if she kept me focused on her by hurting me, I'd only notice her. If she humiliated me, no one else would like me because of her false rumors.

I feel like her intentions were innocent, as they were the same as the intentions of someone who was jealous, but probably wouldn't act on. Maybe it was because of the gene thing, but her methods were wrong. That wasn't morally right to do. Claire needed to know that.

For the first time, though, I could see where she was coming from. I didn't just see this girl that made me feel angry and sad; I saw a person who was struggling. She was fighting herself, and that had to be one of the worst situations, because Claire couldn't run from herself. She was stuck with her head, and she couldn't even step away from it for even a second.

"Do you think I could talk to her?" I asked Mr. Stevens.

He looked up from the ground and told me, "I wasn't lying when I said that she wasn't home. I'll tell her to give you a call, though."

"Thanks," I gave him a small smile as I stood up.

"I'm going to talk with her, too, about all of this," he scratched the back of his neck, looking embarrassed.

I nodded and turned to leave the house. He followed me and I opened the door, "See you next time, Mr. Stevens."

He closed the door behind me, and I crossed the street, going home. I opened the door and plopped on the couch, sighing before I fell asleep.