The Payback or The Adventures and Pranks of Zachary O'Connor

Chapter Twelve: The Hallway

8 Months Earlier

Two minutes. That's how long I listened to Laurel cry before I went to her. Two minutes of deep sobs. Two minutes of pain. Two minutes of wrenching guilt building inside of me until I wanted to vomit. In those two minutes, Laurel was small. In those two minutes, Laurel was not my mortal enemy. The hatred was replaced with pity. The frustration, confusion. The anger, sadness.

It was junior-year Prom. Annabeth and I had slipped into the halls. She pulled me by my hand off the dance floor and into a lecture hall. The dance was held at a local college. She had me up against a wall in the lecture hall, kissing the hell out of me. Annabeth pulled out of the kiss when we heard laughing in the hallway outside the room.

"Probably the PP," I muttered. "Drunk."

"Yeah. I have to use the restroom. Wait here for me?" Annabeth said, indifferent.

"Of course."

She kissed me again quickly and disappeared. As I leaned against the wall, reminiscing about the night, the laughs of the Popular Pack got louder. They were close. I was now certain that it was them. I heard an awful noise—the sound of someone sobbing so hard that they were choking. I poked my head out of the lecture hall. A drunk Eric and Andre stumbled into my view where the two perpendicular halls intersected. The darkness in my hall hid me from view, but dim lighting from the dance floor reflected off their skin. The girls—the Kate's and Reagan—followed, along with a surprisingly sober Keegan. And among them, Laurel. What a strange group to encounter: my mortal enemy and the Popular Pack.

What the hell was going on?

"Uh oh, did someone's Prince Charming not show?" Eric sneered at Laurel.

"Couldn't even hide in the bathroom could you, sweetie?" TFK said. "Too fucking embarrassed. We could hear your sobs from rooms away. Picked the wrong hallway to cry in."

Reagan was not laughing along with the others, but I hardly noticed at the time.

"Ah, who can blame the guy?" Andre said, shoving Laurel into a corner between a vending machine and the wall. "The bitch is ugly."

"Shut the fuck up," Laurel choked.

I couldn't believe what I was seeing. I hated Laurel, sure, but no one deserved that shit. I felt like a piece of shit just sitting there watching. But I couldn't move. I just sat there and watched the abuse rain onto her. I could have prevented everything on that night, but no. I couldn't. Well, I didn't. Every single thing that occurred afterwards could have been avoided if I had stepped in.

"What did you say to me?" Andre growled.

"Andre..." Reagan said.

"No, this bitch just disrespected me."

He punched Laurel in the gut, and she collapsed onto the ground.

Keegan ran up and kicked Laurel in the stomach, and she vomited onto the floor.

"Gross!" TFK squealed.

"Bitch can't even hold her food!" KT said.

"Stop, guys. We've fucked with her enough," Reagan said.

The rest of the PP looked at Reagan distastefully, but then they looked down at Laurel and saw what they had done.

"Let's go," Keegan said.

They started walking away, and KT purposefully dug her heel into Laurel's hand. Laurel screamed in anguish. Reagan edged her way around the pool of vomit, looked back at Laurel, then walked off. I turned away from the scene, hardly daring to breathe. A few seconds later, I looked back. Laurel was curled in a fetal position on the cold tile, her hair in the vomit, sobbing so hard her body appeared to be convulsing. For two minutes, I listened to Laurel become a small child again, overcome by terror and powerlessness. I almost was satisfied. It seemed like a seriously screwed up form of revenge, seeing this happen to her.

I ran through the scene in my head. Guilt threatened to take the breath from me. I had every opportunity to stop it. I could have made footstep noises to make it sound like people were coming. I could have confronted them head on. I could have, I could have, I could have, but I didn't. I didn't do shit, and that's what mattered. Seeing Laurel like that messed me up.

I approached her, walking up and bending down.

"You okay?" I asked.

"D-Does it l-look like I'm o-okay?" she managed between sobs, not even bothering to see who had asked.

"Alright, let's get you out of here."

The worst possible place for her to be in that moment was exactly where she was, laying in a pool of her own vomit and tears where anyone could stumble across her. Laurel needed to be brought home, and I could get her there. She looked up at me and saw who I was, and I could tell she was not pleased.

"Go away, Zach," Laurel said.

She had hated me ever since I had turned a boy she liked against her in eighth grade. I hardly knew the guy, but I had some classes with him. When I found out Laurel liked him, I warned him about her racism and ethnocentrism, and he avoided her after that. Laurel found out that I had told him, and from that day forward, we had been mortal enemies.

"Laurel, please," I said, "Let me help."

She didn't protest as I put my arm around her and helper her to her feet.

"Get off me," she muttered, throwing my arm off once she was on her feet.

"You need some help after that," I said.

"You didn't see that, you hear me? I'm fine. I'm going home."

I watched her walk off.

Annabeth returned to me in the dark hallway moments later, but I wouldn't kiss her.

"What's wrong, babe?" she asked.

"Feeling sick," I said, which was true. "Very, very sick."

On that night, in those two minutes, I had wanted Laurel, the Bigot, to suffer. However, after some time, I didn't see Laurel, the Bigot. Just Laurel, the Person. And she needed to get out of there. Of course, evil won out in the end when I agreed to get revenge on the Popular Pack. Who was I kidding? I was no karma cop. I was just a hypocrite.