“You both did,” Vicki agreed.
I smiled at her. “You did better than any of us.”
“Well, I was barely their target. It’s easier for me to tell you to just ignore them.” Her expression was sympathetic, concerned. “I’m sorry they’re doing this to you. And—” she glanced down at her phone and winced “—just an FYI...if I were you I’d continue to avoid all social media. They just sent out a filthy post about you on Messenger to a whole bunch of us.”
Tobias and I shared a weary look. “This is one of those moments when being an anti-social-media introvert actually works in my favor.”
He grinned but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Guess so.”
* * *
It was English last period but as soon as the bell rang Tobias had to hurry to the rugby park to see if he’d made the local boys’ rugby team. The lit mag wasn’t up and running yet so I had no extracurricular activities to stay at school for. Vicki had encouraged me to tag along with her to the school show rehearsals and Tobias had seemed relieved that I wouldn’t be walking out of school alone, so I’d agreed.
I should have kept to the agreement but frustration and anger clouded my judgment. I attempted to tell myself that the fear Stevie’s friends were making me feel was nowhere near as bad as the cowardice I’d feel if I allowed them to make me change my routine.
“Comet...” Vicki shook her head in concern as we stood outside English. I’d just told her I was going home instead of accompanying her to the school auditorium. “No.”
“I can’t wait around for you to make a decision, sorry.” Steph backed away, looking anything but apologetic.
I felt like shouting surprise, surprise after her. “I’ll be fine,” I promised Vicki instead. “I’ll text you when I get home.”
There was little she could do to change my mind, but as I stepped out the front entrance of the school and saw them waiting at the gate I almost turned back around. I’d considered sneaking out the back entrance through the teacher’s car park, but it would mean a detour down a street Forrester lived on. His parents weren’t around a lot so I knew from Stevie that Forrester’s was the most common hangout for them. There was a possibility of running into them all no matter which entrance I left through. Trepidation moved through me in waves of nausea and quivering tremors. Knees shaky, I tried to look as casual as possible as I walked down the stairs and made my way toward the gates.
Jimmy saw me first and hit Stevie on the shoulder. They all turned. All of them were together, including Alana and one of her friends.
“Aw aye, here she comes,” Jimmy called out as I approached. I stared straight ahead, not giving them the satisfaction of meeting their eyes so they could see my fear. My body was in revolt against my stubbornness, desperate to take off into a sprint away from them. “Dinnae worry, Com Com, we never got suspended. Just a gentle warnin’.” They all cackled like hyenas.
I strode through the gates, praying they wouldn’t follow.
My prayers fell on deaf ears.
“Such a stuck-up bitch,” Alana said as I heard their footsteps fall into rhythm behind me. “What the hell does he see in her?”
Jimmy’s answer was so unbelievably crude I wanted to disappear. My shoulders hunched around my ears as if I could block out their comments.
Then Stevie’s voice joined the herd, “Nah, she’s no’ givin’ it up. Thinks hers is made o’ solid 24-carat gold. She’ll just tease him til his gonads drop aff.”
His words hurt most of all. The frightened tears I’d been holding back spilled down my cheeks, and I hurried my steps so they wouldn’t catch up and see. Everything and everyone became a blur as they cackled at my back through town, shouting obscenities.
Their insults crashed over me, battering me with humiliation. People passed, throwing me concerned looks, but it was only as the sea came into view ahead of me that a familiar voice jerked me back into my immediate surroundings. “Oy, leave her alone!”
I looked up to see Mrs. Cruickshank storming across the street toward me with her shopping bag in hand, yelling at my bullies.
“Get lost!” Alana yelled back.
“You filthy little buggers, leave her alone or I’ll call the police.” Mrs. Cruickshank waved her mobile phone at them.
“Aw screw this,” Stevie huffed.
And I glanced over my shoulder to see him giving them all a jerk of his head. They muttered insults at my neighbor but turned on their heels and began to stroll casually away. Not once did Stevie look back at me.
My face crumpled as sobs just exploded out of me.
“Oh dear, Comet, come here.” Mrs. Cruickshank reached my side and put her free arm around my shoulders.
I swiped at my tears, embarrassed that I’d had to be rescued by my elderly neighbor. “Thank you,” I managed to say.
She nodded, face etched with concern. “What was that all about?”
I sucked back more tears.
“Okay.” She led me onto the esplanade. “Well, you should tell someone. And by someone I mean someones. And by someones I mean your parents.”
The thought of my parents made me cry harder, because they were the last people I could turn to with this. Instead I took Mrs. Cruickshank’s shopping bag from her. “I can’t tell them.”
“Then in exchange for you carrying my shopping, I’ll make you a cup of tea.”
Still shaking with adrenaline, I found the idea of taking comfort in my neighbor—a grown-up I trusted more than most—appealing, and I walked with her down the esplanade toward home. The shopping bag jerked in my hand as we were hit by a rush of cold wind.
“Ooh, a cup of tea sounds grand right now.” Mrs. Cruickshank raised her voice to be heard over the wind.
Anything sounded grand to me as long as it meant being away from Stevie and his crew.
My neighbor hurried to let us into her house, and we passed through the familiar narrow hallway with its Persian-style carpet and walls cluttered with photos and artwork. Mrs. Cruickshank’s house smelled like beeswax, lavender oil and turpentine. When I was younger and lacking in diplomacy, I’d asked why it smelled the way it did and what it was. She told me it was her homemade furniture polish.
The smell waned in the kitchen, a lovely light room that overlooked a small courtyard, much like ours. Except whereas our courtyard was overgrown and dirty from lack of use, Mrs. Cruickshank’s courtyard was bordered with flowers in the summer and had a little table and chairs where I knew she enjoyed drinking her peppermint tea and reading the newspaper.
The courtyard looked a little bare and lonesome in the winter, but the kitchen—a far more modern kitchen than our own—was warm and inviting because of the wood-burning stove at one end near a small couch and coffee table. I put Mrs. Cruickshank’s shopping on her kitchen countertop, offered to help and was promptly told to sit down on the couch. I watched, feeling my shakes fade as my neighbor bustled around putting away her shopping. When she was done, she moved on to lighting the fire, and the kitchen became all the cozier for it.
Finally, she settled down beside me on the couch and handed me a mug of peppermint tea, then shoved a plate of biscuits at me.
I took a biscuit while she sat patiently, staring at me.
Finally, I said, “One of them used to be a friend. He’s my boyfriend’s cousin.”
Mrs. Cruickshank gave me a slow, small smile. “Boyfriend?”
“Tobias.”
“Is that that the handsome tall Yank you’ve been walking with?”
I chuckled at her old-fashioned words. “Yes.”
She nodded, seeming pleased for me. And then she sobered. “So why is this other boy now following you home with his friends, shouting rude comments at you?”
Sadness overwhelmed me. “He’s a good person, really. He’s just...” And I found myself telling her the gist of the story, without mentioning anything to do with Stevie’s involvement with drugs.
“So he’s angry that Tobias has moved out just when he needs him, angry that his mum is sick and also angry that Tobias wasn’t there to help him out of a fight? And he has decided to blame you for this because it’s easier than feeling powerless?”