Ten
Mrs. Craft found out about the profile right before Thanksgiving break began. After she asked around a little, one of the other kids showed her the profile. Enraged she instantly marched up to Principal Daniels office, demanding immediate action. Turns out Aubrey Ridgely had been one of her favorite students, and she had watched her go from straight A's and talk of full scholarships to solid D's and F's and talk of just ending it all. And she had gone to Principal Daniels that year seeking help for her troubled student. But since it was his daughter who was directly responsible, he told her not to make waves, he would handle it. And he wound up "handling it" by paying off the girl's alcoholic mother after the fact. But now it was happening all over again, and as far as Mrs. Craft was concerned history was not going to repeat itself. She had failed Aubrey. She wasn't going to fail me.
The whole class stopped talking about me for a change. Instead, they all talked about the hideous scene Mrs. Craft caused by screaming at the top of her lungs at the principal, right in the middle of the office. There were threats made, she was going straight to the school board and the media if he didn't take this matter seriously. His calm, condescending voice was no match for her sense of injustice. The result of the blow-up was every trace of that Facebook profile disappeared in the span of a few hours, though not by my hand – and Mrs. Craft was written up for her "emotional outburst." Unfortunately it didn't erase the images. They popped up in so many places they became pandemic. I didn't want to get Mrs. Craft into any additional trouble, so I didn't mention how hollow her victory actually was. I tried to stay away from the pictures, hoping now that they had pulled this stunt and gotten caught it would be the end of it. And it was, for a while.
I heard through the grapevine, by the few people who weren't completely repulsed by me, that one of the parents also laid into the principal, commenting on his obvious lack of ability to control his own children equating into the complete inability to control entire school full of them. Unfortunately for him there was a newspaper reporter who was reporting on a completely unrelated story, probably how the school planned to spend a windfall on new technology. When they caught wind of the remarks "intolerable cyber bullying" and "why is this happening again?" they were off like a shot, new technology quite forgotten. After a little digging this same reporter landed on our doorstep.
It was Saturday morning. My mother was just finishing up her grapefruit and my sister had tossed her glass bowl into the sink, making a hellacious racket. I was still in bed, mulling over the weird depression I was currently dealing with, and it had nothing to do with what was happening at school. I wanted to forget real life for a while. I longed to get back to Psitharis, to escape the hell of this world in the hell of that world. Even though I faced mortal danger in that realm it didn't really concern me. It was better than this.
There was a knock at the door. My mom, still decked out on her pajamas, scrambled to get a house robe so she could answer the door. She had been stringing a new guy at work along for some time now, so I think she was hoping it was a flower delivery or the guy himself, asking her out on a date. What she got was a young lady in her twenties, computer bag on her shoulder and notepad in her hand. It wasn't a welcome sight.
"I don't buy crap from door to door salespeople." She stated firmly, and began to close the door. The young lady stopped her.
"Is this the Parker residence?" the woman asked.
"Yes." My mom's patience was thin. No flowers equated to no interest in the woman standing at the door.
"Hi, I'm Theresa Bennett, I'm with the Chronicle. We're doing a story on cyber bullying and the inability of the school board to handle the epidemic. I'd like to talk to your daughter. A Miss..." the woman consulted her notepad. "...Medora Parker. Is she available?"
My mom looked at me curiously. I shrugged, just as flummoxed as she was. "That's me." I replied. The lady smiled and my mother, too stunned for words just yet, let the woman in and showed her to the living room, excusing herself momentarily to change clothes. The lady sat down in the recliner across from the couch and gestured for me to sit down. "Hi, I'm Miss..."
"Bennett. Yeah, I heard." I responded.
The lady pulled out her laptop and a small recorder. "I like to record as well as take notes. Do you mind?"
I shook my head. It didn't take long for the reporter to get down to business. For the next hour we sat and discussed the issues that had occurred at school. When we got to the part about the pictures, my mother forced a sob. "My poor girl!" Miss Bennett's expression was unchanged. I'm not sure she bought my mother's melodramatic reaction. When we got to the part about the principal my mother had plenty to say, especially about Mr. Daniel's daughter and his unwillingness to hold her accountable for anything. But Miss Bennett had obviously been told stories about her Sasha's behavior and how it had remained unchecked for so long, even after another girl's suicide. Apparently she had spoken with the irate parent at the school meeting before she chose to speak to us, to make sure the story was worth pursuing.
When the reporter had everything she needed, she stood up to excuse herself. Before she left she requested permission to take our picture for the exposé, which my mother readily agreed to, once she had the opportunity to get dressed. I wasn't so sure. If just existing in the school had earned me such vicious treatment at the hands of two spiteful girls, what would spilling my guts to the local paper get me? In the end we wound up taking two pictures, each as mournful looking as the other. Theresa wanted to give the illusion that this extensive victimization had taken its toll on me. My mother leaned in for a hug, feigning the look of a frustrated mother who was at her wit's end for her daughter's sake. I felt stupid posing for those pictures, pretending my mother was my only hope in this disaster.
When it was all said and done my sister, who had hidden in the back room to avoid any association with me or the news story, finally reappeared. She looked at Mom, then she looked at me, annoyance etched across her face. "Is this about all those stupid pictures of you on Instagram?"
I stared at her, dumbfounded. Mom turned her anger toward my little sister. "You knew about this? Why didn't you say anything to me about it?"
It was Aurora's turn to get defensive. "Do you know how embarrassing it is to have the laughing stock of the high school as your older sister? I've been playing this off with my friends for weeks."
"What do you mean 'playing this off'? What are you trying to say?" Reality hit me hard. Nothing I had experienced at the hands of the Terrible Twosome and Peyton threatened to tear me apart as badly as what I was about to find out. "Wait a minute. You've been making fun of me with your friends, right?"
"What did you expect me to do, defend you?" She looked to our mom for a nod of approval of her actions; she was surprisingly denied. "I had to do something or I would have wound up a loser like you. So when I was over at Jessica's house and Jennifer came into her room..."
Mom's eyes narrowed into slits. "Wait a minute. Are you getting ready to tell me you helped do this? You helped that little bitch put those pictures up?"
Aurora nodded. "Just one. Jessica was getting along with her sister that week and if I didn't she would have told everyone at school I was like her." She cast an accusing look my way. I felt like I had been sucker punched. "I only did one. It's not like a created the whole profile or anything. I just wanted to, you know, let Jennifer and Jessica know."
"Know what?" I asked, feeling close to tears.
Mom for once was in agreement with me. "Yes Aurora. What did you want them to know?"
Aurora stood there stammering, acting like a trapped wild animal. Suddenly she blurted out, "I didn't want them to think I was a loser like you!" She turned on her heel and ran to her room, slamming the door behind her. My mom, forgetting her momentary alliance with me, went after her. At first I thought she was going to yell at her, but no such luck. I could her saying down the hall, "Sweetheart, nobody thinks you're a loser like your sister. You're so pretty! You're so popular! You have nothing to worry about! Medora has always been odd. You know that!" I stood there in solitude, feeling cold inside. I wanted to cry but I couldn't. Our relationship had been established years ago, and this was just a new blow in an old struggle. I just felt so alone. I wished I could have real friends and real relationships. But it had been obvious to me from an early age I would never be able to be friends with anybody, because in the end, they all turn against me. Mom, my dad, Peri...Aurora. It had been so hard to love her the past couple of years, but I still held dearly to that period in our lives where all I had was her, and all she had was me. And that love we once had for each other was now finally dead. I couldn't trust anybody. Defeated, I walked out the front door into the bitter cold. I didn't bother with a jacket.
