Fitting in

Chapter 32

Brett’s father had won the election. Even with the wedding fiasco, he still beat the other competitor by a landslide. The Witte family celebrated with a stiff party. Most of the guest came to see the infamous Witte daughter, but Brett had been told to stay in her room all day. Her mother still wouldn’t talk to her, but Brett was enjoying the silence before the storm.

There had been no school due to the election, so on Tuesday Brett sat in her car staring at the brick edifice apprehensively. She had noticed the kids whispering, but ignored them. Her goal was to find Simon, and no one would get in the way of it.

Brett was wearing the jacket Simon had given her earlier in the year to cover the clay splattering’s, white jeans, riding boots, and had slicked her hair into a chic long ponytail. She got out of the car and slid her book bag onto her back. Her peers glanced at her then turned their heads away laughing.

She walked into the mouth of the school, eyed her group of friends, and almost retched. Jason and Jesse were pressed against a locker, mouths locked, and absorbed in one another. Brett felt nothing for Jason, but she felt as if someone had twisted a knife into her back when she looked at Jesse. Heather began to whisper to Chloe, who looked over at Brett and sighed.

Jason and Jesse broke apart, as if they could feel Brett’s stare, and Jason began to smirk. Jesse threw a hand over her mouth, and moved towards Brett. Jason’s hand reached out and pulled her back, she stared at Brett with a war of emotions flashing across her face and looked to the ground. Brett forced herself to take a shaky breath, she slowly walked up to the group of her friends, and noticed that they all pretended to ignore her. Most of them stood with arms crossed and whispered “art freak” towards Brett.

She realized what was happening before she’d reached the circle of “friends.” And turned to head down the other side of the hall. Everyone in the hall was addressing Brett with the foul nicknamed she’d tried so hard to avoid. Brett even looked to where the art nerds stood, and got a fresh round of pointed middle fingers and profanities hurled at her. 

Brett ran to her first class and realized she had been dethroned. Not even the art nerds would claim her. She was a social pariah, wanted by no one, not even a part of the lowliest group. Brett attempted to ignore the cruel remarks. There were new nicknames related to artist mixed with the words “slut” and “whore.” If it were not for her hope to see Simon, Brett might have walked out of the school.

Lunch was the apex of the social ostracizing. Brett held her organic lunch bag in her hand, and looked at the table her previous friends were sitting at. They were all talking in hushed whispers, and periodically glancing at Brett. Deciding it would be unwise to venture to their table, Brett walked to the art table and summoned whatever courage she had left. Someone let out a low whistle, commenting on how Brett had guts to walk over to their table.

“Have any of you seen Simon?” She said looking directly into each of their eyes.

“You still think he wants to talk to you? We should beat you up just for entertaining the thought.” A boy with eyeliner said, using the plastic knife from the lunch tray to stab his mash potatoes.

“I know you guys wouldn’t hurt me.” Brett said quietly.

“You don’t know anything about us.” A petite girl with red hair snarled.

“Honestly we should. What kind of person messes with Simon, Simon of all people? You’re a really fucked up bitch.” the guy stabbing the potatoes said. Brett watched him anxiously saw at his mystery meat.

A more docile looking art geek placed a hand on the guys arm, and talked to him softly. If Brett had seen her in the halls she would have assumed she’d belong to any click but the art nerds. She had no piercing, no hair dye, no expressive clothing. She was wearing a school jack and a pair of blue jeans.