Some Boys

Some Boys Chapter 3 - Grace

Tuesday morning.

Day thirty-three.

Mom lets me take her car so I don't have to deal with the bus crowd calling me names. I arrive at school and the second I step into the building, it starts. Insults. Shoves and elbows. Whispers and giggles. Comments loud enough to hear. Slut. Liar. Bitch.

I have no classes with Zac McMahon — about the only thing I can think of that's good. But I have to endure one with Miranda. She's chatting with two girls near the window when I take my seat.

"...can't believe she tattled to her Mommy."

Her audience laughs and looks at me.

"She called my mother and now I'm the one in trouble even though she's the one who started the lie in the first place."

I sigh heavily. "Miranda, I'm sorry you think I stole Zac from you — believe me, I don't want him — but I am not lying."

She glances at me like I'm a pile of poo she just stepped in. "Then why did you tattle to your mommy that I made you cry?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Oh my God, seriously?" She rolls her eyes and takes out her phone. "This text? The one your mother sent to my mother and now I'm in trouble?"

I glance at her screen and see what she means. With another sigh, I dig out my mother's phone. "This is my mother's phone. She has mine. So if you texted my phone, she got the message."

Miranda's eyes go round and her jaw drops and there's a tiny part of me that cheers.

"Guess it's your fault you got in trouble."

"Grace, if you're through riling up my class, I'd like to begin?"

I glare at Mr. Brown while Miranda shoots me a look of pure malice.

And the day just keeps getting worse. My social studies teacher, Mr. Reyes, asks me to stay after class. "I heard what happened and hope you're okay."

I nod, stunned to hear a kind word in the last few days.

"Um, so I was wondering if, now that you understand the risks of teen drinking, you'd be willing to talk to some eighth-grade students I mentor at my church. Sort of a What Not To Do thing."

Frowning, I think about that for a moment. He wants to use me as some kind of Before picture? Hell, no! I didn't do anything wrong, Zac did. "Mr. Reyes, did you ask Zac McMahon to speak to your group, too?"

Mr. Reyes blinks and adjusts his tie. A dark flush creeps slowly up his face. "Um, no. He didn't—"

"Yeah. He did."

With his hands up in surrender, Mr. Reyes shakes his head. "Grace, what I mean is—"

"Yeah. I know what you mean. My answer's no." I stalk out of his class before I smack him with my way-too-heavy text book, and somewhere deep in my belly, a fire starts to smolder. To stay safe, I wait for my mom to pick me up from the safety of the main office, but even the secretaries are having a hard time not looking at me with that same level of disgust I keep seeing in everybody's eyes. I pull out my mom's phone, but there are no text messages to read, nobody to call. I put that away, take out the digital camera and snap a few shots of the secretaries doing their thing. Maybe there's a feature Mrs. Weir, the editor, can use them for, I don't know.

A loud sigh interrupts my boredom. "Miss Collier, could you please stop tapping that foot?"

My foot? Right. I glance down and my knees are bouncing. "Oh. Sure. Sorry." I shift positions and notice the Semester Abroad sign tacked to a bulletin board. Mom's been chattering about this all month. The brochure is glossy and full of color pictures of happy students wandering around famous spots across Europe.

For the serious student interested in escaping the confines of traditional study, a semester abroad immerses you in culture and language. Instead of hiding in classrooms, you'll explore museums and experience local customs, gaining a deep appreciation for the world outside your comfort zone.

It looks amazing. Rome, Paris, London. Maybe I could stay for more than a semester and not come back until graduation. I close my eyes and imagine it. Sipping cappuccino at a sidewalk trattoria, wandering around The Louvre or maybe even watching a Parliament debate. I could make new friends, maybe date a boy with a sexy accent.

My stomach kinks and I let my eyes slip shut. Date a boy? No. No way. Who'd want me now? A tsunami of regret flows through me and Ian Russell pops into my head. I've been crushing on Ian for months. He was the only reason I went to that stupid party last month and he didn't even show up. But the thought of dating him — even seeing him — after Zac, makes me sick.

The burn in my belly gets hotter, bigger. Mrs. Reynolds, the school nurse, walks in, puts some file folders in a basket, sees me sitting on a hard plastic chair and angles her head. "Grace, you okay?"

I shrug.

She sits next to me and peers at my brochure. "Europe, huh?"

"My mom thinks I should go until this 'blows over'." I make finger quotes.

"And you? What do you think?"

"It sounds great."

"But?"

Another shrug. "I'd have to come home sometime."

Mrs. Reynolds pats my arm. "Hold your head up, Grace. Even when you're dying inside — especially then — hold it up." She smiles and walks out.

I consider her words. What she said echoed what Diane, the rape counselor said. Maybe I should go to one of those meetings, see if it helps. The brochure in my hand keeps taunting me with smiling faces and cowardly words until I finally crumple it up. No, I'm not going to Europe. I'm done avoiding people, and I am so done with being called names. I stare at the camera still in my hand until something in my brain goes click. I can reclaim everything Zac McMahon stole from me. A month ago, I wanted to die. Now I have a plan. And I'm mad enough to put my plan into action.

Zac thinks it's fun to post pictures online? Fine. I'll give him pictures.

I stride to the door and pitch the brochure in the waste basket on my way out, head up high.