Pillars

Chapter 2: Gates of Hell (Lorin)

Leave it to Mom to go all medieval on us. That so-called school had some serious Game of Thrones vibes, if you know what I mean. The fleur-de-leis on top of each thin post looked like the tips of ancient warriors' spears. I would not have been surprised to see a disembodied head mounted on one of them.

Even though the outside of Grayson's appeared ancient and ominous, I followed Kelci inside. I'd never seen her more excited. Her eyes bugged out when she saw their state of the art library and coffee bar. 

To me, entering Grayson's felt more like a creepy simulation. For starters, everyone looked the same! Tragic. The girls wore the same hideous plaid skirts and saddle shoes, like they were on an episode of Gilmore Girls or something. And the boys resembled bankers with their ties tucked under their gray sweater vests. It didn't take me long to figure out that this was not a simulation. It was literal hell!

For some reason, they all seemed so proud of themselves. Obviously, they hadn't looked in a mirror lately. They didn't need to, all they had to do was stare at each other. It would basically be the same thing.

As Kelci trotted off to the freshman wing, I pulled out my schedule and tried not to make eye contact with anyone. No matter how hard mom tried to play this transition as an "opportunity" it was clear that this was her punishment for the Sissy Borel incident. How was it MY fault Sissy was borderline psycho? You'd think someone with the name "Sissy" would have developed thinker skin.

Valerie was the one who started the whole thing with Sissy, but I guess I only made it worse. Sissy was an awkwardly tall girl who wasn't fat but wasn't skinny either. She had broad shoulders and twig legs attached to her back...no ass whatsoever. Mrs. Glover was droning on and on about the significance of Shakespeare's Othello. If she had said "interracial couple" one more time I was ready to walk out. They were a dysfunctional married couple. Race had nothing to do with it. Get over it Mrs. Glover.

Anyway, Sissy had on these huge silver hoop earrings. Like six inch hoops, seriously. And Valarie decided they were perfect for practicing free-throws. As she tore the rubber eraser off her pencil, she nudged me.

"Bet I can make it," Valarie whispered, motioning a free-throw arch toward the shiny hoops. I snorted into my hand, and Mrs. Glover paused to throw a glare in my direction. When she turned her attention back to the smart board, Valarie flicked the eraser and it hit Sissy square on the side of the neck.

"You suck," I hissed, and began tearing the corners of my notebook. For the rest of the period we took turns tossing miniature paper balls at Sissy's head. Some actually went through the hoops, much to our surprise, eliciting stifled laughs from other kids in the area. But most landed in Sissy's frizzy hair, so that when she got up at the end of class, they fell all around her like dandruff.

"Oops. Looks like someone needs some Head and Shoulders," Valerie laughed.

"Grow up," Sissy said.

"Grow up," Valarie mocked. Sissy darted out of the room.

Our squad consisted of Valerie Russo, Lilly Davis, and Jessica Elliot. If there was a leader, it was most likely Valerie. Ever since kindergarten she had basically called the shots. I learned early on that it was easier to be Valerie's friend than her enemy. Most students at Willow Charter High just stayed out of our way; either that, or they went along with what we did, egging us on. There was structure. There was hierarchy. There was a system at WSCH that just made sense.

We were called in individually during the "bullying investigation." I confessed to my part of the prank. It really wasn't that serious. Why do adults have to make such a big deal of everything? When Ms. Zuwiski the school counselor called in mom, that's when the shit really hit the fan.

"You were doing what?!" Mom glared at me.

I stared blankly at the smiling teenager on the college poster behind Ms. Zuwiski's desk.

"Unfortunately, this was not a harmless prank," Ms. Z said. "Sissy's mom discovered she has been cutting, and Sissy said it was because she was being bullied at school."

I stiffened. "That's bullshit."

"Lorin Elizabeth!" Mom scolded.

"No one was bullying Sissy. And no one told her to take a razor blade to her arm," I said.

"Actually," Ms. Z said, "the definition of bullying is relentlessly teasing or intimidating a weaker person. And we have a zero-tolerance policy for such behavior. You will serve three days of suspension, and Saturday detention for the remainder of the school year." My mouth dropped.

"And," Ms. Z continued, "you will receive weekly behavior modification counseling with me to ensure this sort of thing does not happen again."

I was livid. Not only did I serve punishments at school, but mom basically killed my social life with extensive grounding. And to top it off she had delivered me into the gates of hell to further ostracize me from society. Who's the bully now?

The kids at Grayson's annoyed the shit out of me. They all walked around like they were high and mighty with their straight A's and early college acceptance letters. It was only September for christ's sake.

I had absolutely no clue what was going on in any of my classes. The curriculum was not even close to what I had at WSC. My schedule was filled with overly ambitious classes like calculus, physics, foreign economics, and Latin. Digital media was my only refuge. I had always enjoyed taking pictures. And my teacher, Mr. Archer, was pretty chill.

I had managed to come to peace with my situation by reminding myself that it was only for a few months, and then I'd never have to see these people again. Thank god. I figured I'd survive if I could just keep my head above water long enough. With Valerie away at boarding school, and the other girls back at Willow Springs, there wasn't much else to do but study.

Creative writing was my second favorite class. I liked to write in my journal when I wasn't looking for the perfect nature shot. I refused to take pictures of people. Even from behind a lens, people couldn't be trusted.