West & Vega: The Untold Jori

Bad Dog

"Tori. You're back."

  Some people might have thought the day Tori Vega showed her face at Hollywood Arts High School was the day my world started to change. But the truth is, it was that second day. The day she came back.

  Entitled little shits showing up at Hollywood Arts for a free ride was nothing new. As much as Eikner loved to tout the high entrance standards, the truth is they'd let in anyone who paid enough money or who checked a certain box to make the school look all progressive and edgy. Because if there's one thing Tinsel Town loves, it's pretending to be progressive in the hopes of making more people like them. Most of us had to bust our asses to get in the door, but once in a while Eikner would pull a Hollywood-style sweeps month rating stunt; you know, some big ridiculous thing that's intended to draw a larger audience, like killing a character or blowing up a house or whatever. He was notorious for that, and I couldn't stand him for it.

  Vega was one of those. I could smell it on her. She checked a lot of the boxes, actually. She was pretty, she had some legit talent, and she was half-latina. But none of that mattered to me. She was a stunt, and I handled her like I handled all the other stunts that came through the door. I don't always go for the jugular; sometimes I like to give people the rope and have them hang themselves with it. But that leggy beanpole was so woefully naive she was practically begging for the hazing.

  Putting her hands on Beck didn't help. Again, not a new thing. Beck was—is—a total hottie. I was used to girls (and guys) tripping over themselves around him. I played that part up a bit, but I'm not stupid. I knew it was an accident, her spilling coffee on him. I knew she was trying to be the nice, new girl and help out. But every villain needs a solid motivation, and I didn't care enough to reveal any real reasons I might have had for treating her like that. She probably wouldn't have gotten it anyway.

  Vega coasted into my school because she was an allegedly "impressive" last-minute replacement for her even more talentless sister, Trina. I was at the showcase. I saw her sing. I also saw that dress she wore. It must have been a last-minute thing because it seemed like it was made for someone about a foot-and-a-half shorter than her. Okay, so she totally had the legs for it, which I'm sure worked in her favor on some level. Short as she was back then, those legs just went on and on and on...

  Anyway, I showed her. When Sikowitz made me the captain of the improv exercise, I brought her right in. She was clueless. I made her crawl around like the little bitch I knew she was. She went for it, though. She tried. That just pissed me off more, and I gave her an espresso bath. Even Sikowitz didn't have anything to say about that. She ran off, and I figured that was it. I'd get some dirty looks from Andre and Cat, and maybe a lecture from Beck, but I didn't care. I could handle that. It was worth the trade-off.

  But then, Vega did something I didn't see coming.

  She came back.

  I remember when she walked in the next morning. I kind of casually tossed my head back to see who was late and mock them for it, and there she was...blue and purple top, dark skin, her hair straight and hanging down almost like a dog's tail between its legs. Humbled, afraid...but goddamnit, she was there. She showed up.

  At first, I just felt rage. Blinding rage. How dare she.    How dare she come back? They never come back!  To be honest, I was also pissed at myself for not seeing it. I hate being surprised.

  A hundred other things flashed through my brain. I started plotting my next move. There's no way I was going to accept that this pampered brat staying at my school, that I worked so hard to get into. I guess that was kind of the birth of "evil" Jade.

  But the thing is, I'm not evil. Never have been. That's an idiotic construct anyway, good and evil. People are what they are, which in my experience is just varying degrees of assholes. No one ever listened to my perspective. Granted, that's because I never really shared it openly. I never thought anyone was worth the time, I guess. Why should I show who I really am? People are assholes, right? Like I said. No one deserved to know me, not the "real" me, to use a stupid cliche.

  If anyone did know the real me, then they'd know that the moment Tori Vega came back to my school, my acting class, for that second day...it wasn't just rage I felt. It would take a long time and a lot of gross soul-searching before I'd come to grips with it. And even then, there would be a lot of kicking and screaming and crying and misery and frustration and terror.

  But those kinds of stories are the best kind, right?

  Well, buckle up, kids, because this one is mine.