Sides of the Coin

Poor Scum

-Kaelyn-

Why am I so obsessed with you? You take and take and take, everything I could possibly give just for a taste of that sweet validation of feeling like I'm worth something. I know, of course, somewhere in the back of my mind that it's slowly destroying me from the inside out. But to live without you wouldn't be a life at all.

This is my toxic relationship. His name is the varsity swim team.

I can feel every muscle burn in my body in protest as I push off the wall with what remains of the force in my body and feel the cool rush of the water around me. The goal right now is to become a machine. Unfeeling. Indifferent. There is a purely primal urge in me telling me to stop, getting stronger with each stroke of my arm.

But that's the true key to being exceptional, not stopping where most people would.

I somehow reach the other end of the lane, and the relief I feel when air surges into my lungs is unlike any other. When I look up, I'm greeted by the permanently scowling face of Natalia Volkov, who's hated me since my freshman year because she knows I'm the better swimmer, even though she's a year older. Her eyes narrow at me in the way I know she's looking to start shit. What was it that people say about dogs? Looking down is a sign of weakness, but looking into their eyes is a sign of aggression.

I stare right back, smiling wryly as I step out of the pool and stand up. I straighten my back and shoulders as much as I can, but my efforts are in vain. I barely clear her chin. Familiar white hot anger courses through me. I want to see her fall.

Height. Strength. Money. Connections. She has every resource she could ever need, all because she was born at the right place at the right time. We both earned our spots here in one of the best high school swim teams in the country, but she will always have the upper hand.

It's only when I feel a hand on my shoulder do I notice the way my fists are clenched, so that my nails are digging into my palms. When I turn around I see Hunter Wilson, one of my best friends. Standing at 6'1 and having the patience of a saint, she is the phrase "gentle giant" personified. Hunter subtly shakes her head, then leans down to whisper in my ear.

"She wishes she was you." Hunter grins, teeth bright white against her dark skin. This is a lie, of course, because nobody at this school wishes they were me. But the tension flows out of me anyway. Hunter has superpowers like that.

Thoughts of beating Natalia still fuel me through the rest of practice.

When I leave the pool, I leave any reverence anyone could have had for me there too. I still brace myself when I walk out of the locker room door and into the stuffy hallways, even though the days when people would see me physically walk the other direction were over. Now, generally there are three types of people at Pine Ridge. There are people who just ignore me, like I'm simply another part of the wallpaper. Then, there are people who watch me through stolen glances and whisper about me behind their hands.

"What's up Trailer Trash?" Mitchell Kline hollers at me, earning him chuckles and guffaws from the hoard of mindless Neanderthals in his wake.

Bingo. Finally there are people like Mitchell who make me wonder if anything has really changed since elementary school. They think they're special with their bad insults and worse jokes. They really think they're onto something, when really all they do is say what everyone else in this fucking prison is thinking. If I had a bit more influence and a lot more money, I could rid the world of people like them, one dickhead at a time. But I wouldn't. If I did, who would be our gas station attendants and panhandlers? Who else would keep bars open and back alley dealers rich if there was no one who needed to fill the ever-expanding gap within themselves with hedonic, short-lived pleasures?

I don't say any of this to Mitchell. I don't so much as acknowledge his presence, because I have classes to pass and Ivy League schools to reach out to. Wiping that stupid grin off of his face and seeing his ice blue eyes widen with fear would be great, but not great enough that it would be worth being stuck here forever.

I take the long way to class because I need some time to cool off before I do something that I'll regret.

Science used to be one of my favorite classes last year, but I can already tell this year is going to be different. First of all, I have Ms. O'Flaherty, who is 49 but tells everyone that she's 27. She's the kind of teacher that lets the jocks out from class early for games and throws anyone else in detention if she hears a zipper thirty seconds before the bell rings. Second, I see pretty much anyone who ever cried about getting the wrong color Tesla for their sixteenth birthday. I look through familiar faces. First off there's, Kyleigh (yes it's spelled like that) Moreau-Chen. Half French, half Chinese, but fully entitled bitch. Then there was Samira Rahal, who was rumored to be actual Arabian royalty and sure as hell acted like it. Last and definitely least, Mitchell and his twin sister Paris. What foul crimes had humanity committed to be cursed with two of them? I would love to know. There's a whole crowd of people surrounding them, but all they really do is grovel at the feet of these four.

As I walk past them I can hear Kyleigh say something followed by a chorus of poorly hidden snickering. "This would be a great moment for the heat death of the universe" I think to myself absently. I sit at the front of the room where I won't have to look at their faces, and I see a girl pull her things a little closer to her as I walk by her desk. It makes me feel gross, worse than anything Kyleigh had or will say.

Class is insufferable. I can't focus for the life of me when all I can hear is their ceaseless chatter, a constant buzz like cicadas in the summer. Of course, Mrs. O'Flaherty has conveniently gone deaf at the moment; she drones on with her lesson which really only consists of reading out of the textbook and making no effort to actually explain the material to us. Suddenly, I feel a tug on the back of my head. I reach back to feel what it was, and my hand comes back warm and sticky, holding a lock of hair with a piece of freshly chewed gum stuck between the strands. I can already feel my blood boiling as I stand up and whip my head around.

"This is sooo funny to you isn't it?" I say loudly from across the room.

Everyone goes silent, all eyes on me.

Paris stands up, smirking.

"It's called a joke, you freak, but I guess you wouldn't understand that since you don't have any friends to laugh with anyway" she sneers.

There's a collection of "ooohs" from her worshippers and her brother guffaws, giving her a high five. Unfortunately for her, I have ammunition this time. I wasn't gonna bring this up, but they're making it far too tempting.

"You know what I really don't understand?" This is for sure coming back to bite me. "Having parents who drive all around Winchester waving a confederate flag in the air and preaching about how we're all going to hell."

Paris' face turns beet red, contorting itself into a bizarre expression, as if she can't decide whether to be angry or embarrassed. She tries to sputter out a retort but comes up empty handed.

"That's quite enough, Ms. Forrest." Ms. O'Flaherty warns. "It's rude to bring up personal details like that, you know."

Personal details? She can't be serious. Does it not matter when I get constantly teased about my life, just because my circumstances are different? When I've gone the last eight years in this hellhole being ashamed and embarrassed of everything I never had?

Of course, I don't say any of this. I don't even mention the gum in my hair, because I know she saw it and just didn't give a fuck. I sit down quietly like a good girl who knows her place in this class, in this school, in this world.