“Ugh, I have Trevino for English.” Lindsey pulls her mouth into a frown. “I’m going to have so much homework.” She shoves her schedule in her bag and looks at me. “What do you have, Ellie?”
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I look at my schedule. “Physics, with Whitlock.” Science of any kind has never been my strong suit, and I don’t relish the idea of starting senior year with an early morning class that requires sharp mental ability. “I’ll be in the same homework boat as you.”
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“I have English with you,” Romina says, showing Lindsey her schedule. “At least we can suffer together.” The three of us turn and head down the senior hallway. Other seniors stand in groups, chatting about their summer adventures or showing off new haircuts and outfits. I pull my bag closer to my body, wishing I put a little more effort into my appearance today. A simple pink shirt and plain jeans aren’t going to make much of an impression, nor do they scream, “I’m finally a senior!”
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“Oh, there’s Cyrus and Simon,” Romina says, pointing to the end of the hall. Both boys stood there, mirroring our earlier scrutiny of schedules. They look up as we approach, and Cyrus pulls Lindsey into a hug.
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“I missed you,” he says, giving her a kiss on her forehead.
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“I missed you more.” Lindsey kisses his cheek, getting dangerously close to his mouth.
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“You guys are gross.” Romina sticks her finger in her mouth and pretends to throw up. “Seriously, you saw each other yesterday. It’s not like Cy is heading off into war and you’re his faithful wife, Linds.”
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Lindsey smiles, her eyes lighting up. “You just don’t understand what it’s like to be in love, Ro.” She wraps her arms around Cyrus’s waist. “Plus, I’d totally rock at being a war-torn wife. I can bake a mean bread, and Cyrus would get the best letters.” She winks and licks her lips.
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I groan. “Must you always be thinking about sex?” Cyrus and Lindsey have been together over a year, and while they are cute most days, sometimes their lovesick language and heart eyes towards each other become nauseating.
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“Who’s thinking about sex? I want bread,” laughs Cyrus. Lindsey rolls her eyes and pulls away from Cyrus to inspect his shirt. She lifts some fuzz from his shoulders and smiles up at him. Nauseating or not, seeing Lindsey happy makes my heart full.
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The warning bell rings, signaling us to head to our first class.
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“What do you have first?” Simon steps in line with me as I walk down the hall.
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“Physics, with Whitlock.” I glance at him. “Please tell me you have the same.”
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He nods, pieces of his hair falling into his eyes. “I do, and so does Marcus.” His lips twitch up into a smile, and a slight blush creeps onto his cheeks. Marcus has been Simon’s secret crush for a few months. Well, secret to everyone except our small group of friends.
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“Don’t make me sit through a second love fest today.” We turn the corner and head to the Physics room.
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Simon shrugs. “A love fest is doubtful. Marcus still hasn’t come out officially.” He stops and pivots towards me, frowning. “Ellie, am I being stupid for going after him when he can’t even admit he’s gay? He doesn’t give me the time of day unless it’s just the two of us.”
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I stop, turning to face him. His pained expression says it all, and I want to make his heartache go away. “No, I don’t think you’re being stupid. You’re in love, that’s all.” I sling my arm over his shoulder and we start walking again. “Love bites, Simon, and if Marcus won’t even acknowledge your existence in public, it’s time to cut him loose.” I snip the air with my free hand.
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“Glad to see you’re not bitter, Ellie.” Simon laughs. “Have you heard from Max, by the way?”
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I drop my arm and bite my lip. “No, there’s no reason I would have.” My mind goes back to the carnival, to the feel of his skin under my hand when I slapped him. “It’s fine.” I bounce back, my face resumes its upbeat expression. "Totally fine.”
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“Sure, whatever you say.” We reach Mr. Whitlock’s room and Simon pulls open the door for me. I shuffle through, the pungent smell of baby powder and roses filling my nostrils. Mr. Whitlock, as tough as he is, is known for bringing in all sorts of flowers and for dousing himself in baby powder. I’m not sure why he does it, but whatever floats his boat, I guess. I breathe in the heavenly scent, scanning the room for two empty seats. A back lab table is empty, and I grab Simon’s hand and lead him to it. We drop our bags and plop into the empty seats. I pull out my notebook, ready to start the day.
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While I’m waiting for Whitlock to begin the lesson, I scan the room for more familiar faces. Marcus is sitting with Felix Murphy, the class president. Marcus is sporting a new fade. There are zigzags leading down from his hairline to his neck. Behind him is Brittani Platt, Tiffani’s best friend and second in command to the Bitch Trifecta, the three-headed monster led by Tiffani. Next to her is Ashli, her twin, and the final head of the monster.
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I tap Simon’s shoulder and point over to the girls. “Bitch Alert,” I say. Simon glances over towards the door and his jaw tenses.
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“If you think that’s bad, then look who just came in.”
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In the doorway stands Max, with his arm around Tiffani. A sinking feeling takes over my body, and the room starts to spin around me. Heat rises to my cheeks and I bite my lip, saying a silent prayer to the karma gods that Max would either not notice I am here or would ignore me entirely.
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“Fucking bitch.” Well, I guess my prayer didn’t work.
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Max eyes me and bounds over to the table, his eyes locked on mine. “You didn’t need to slap me, you bitch.”
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“Well, you didn’t really need to dump me, so I guess we’re even.” I break eye contact with him and look at the most interesting tree I can outside the window. Simon’s body tenses next to me.
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Max huffs and slams his hands on the table. “Listen, Eleanor. I did you a favor by even going out with you in the first place.” I’m startled, and I turn to look at him. He leans in close, the minty aroma from his toothpaste wafting into my nostrils. “You would never have been invited to parties or gone to Prom if it wasn’t for me.” His glare penetrates into my body and my heart rate quickens.
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“Yes, she would have,” Simon butts in. “I would have taken her.” Simon leans in so he’s inches away from Max. “She probably would have had a better time, too.”
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Smirking, Max looks at Simon. “Right. A better time with you. That’s a laugh.” Max guffaws, his shoulders shaking. “What, would you guys check out the boys together? Do you give her advice on how to pick up men, Simon? Or do you compare notes on who’s cuter?” Max winks, and flounces his wrist.
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I push back my chair and stand up. “Shut up, Max.” By now, the rest of the class is watching us.
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“What, are you going to slap me again?” Max leans back and howls. “Man, Ellie, you sure are tough. I bet you’re awfully feisty in bed too. Maybe I should have stayed with you. Found out, let ol’ Simone here know so he can at least have a good fuck before finding some poor homo to bang.”
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I am a volcano and my anger erupts out of me. I rear back, clench my hand into a tight fist, and swing it towards Max. It connects easily with his nose. I feel a crack and pain radiates up my arm. Max’s eyes widen and his hands shoot to his nose, which is now gushing blood. Simon bursts to his feet and pulls me away from the table, but the damage is done.
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“What the fuck, Ellie? You bitch!”
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“God, Max, learn some new insults, please,” I say. I’m shaking, and my hand is throbbing. Tiffani runs over, her hair swinging back and forth.
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“You whore, what did Max even do to you?” Her eyes shoot daggers at me.
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“Tiffani, there is literally no way I can be a whore and a virgin.” I shake out my hand. “Which is it?”
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“ELEANOR WHITTIER.” Mr. Whitlock’s voice causes me to jump. Everyone in the class whips around to the front of the room, where Whitlock is standing. His hands are on his hips, and his face, aged with time and unruly teenagers, is rigid and cold.
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“Mr. Whitlock, Eleanor has lost her mind!” Tiffani practically falls to the floor. “She punched Max for no reason!”
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“He was insulting Simon, Mr. Whitlock!” I look at Simon. The color has drained from his face and he has his fingers pinched on his own nose, as if he is the one who was punched, not Max.
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“Tiffani, please take Max down to the nurse.” Tiffani pulls Max away, muttering about psychopaths and bitches.
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Mr. Whitlock clears his throat. “Eleanor, I expected better behavior out of you. Go to the office.” He points to the door. “Now.
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“But Mr. Whitlock-”
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“NOW Eleanor. You know you can’t be fighting in here. God, paperwork on the first day.” He rubs his temples.
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“Mr. Whitlock! Max was saying horrible things about Simon! He-”
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“Eleanor, NOW.”
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I look around the room. Every single person is staring at me, eyes wide. In the twelve years they’ve known me, I’ve never acted like this. Quiet, calm Ellie would never punch anyone, let alone talk back to a teacher.
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Deflated, I grab my bag and notebook.
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“Sorry, Simon.” I rush out the door and down the hall to the dean’s office, replaying the scene over in my mind. The injustice of it all burns through me and I fight the urge to run back and give one more punch to Max.
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I can’t believe I dated him. The scumbag.
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The fire is still burning inside me when I enter the dean’s office. Mrs. Valmour, the secretary eyes me up and down. I feel my insides turn to mush as I step closer to her desk.
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“Hi,” I manage. “I got kicked out of class.”
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Mrs. Valmour peers over her glasses at me. “And what did you do to get kicked out?”
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“I punched Max Stockwell in the nose.”
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Mrs. Valmour blinks. If she is at all shocked by my announcement, she doesn’t show it. “Have a seat.” She points to the chairs across from her desk. “Mr. Lamontagne will be with you shortly.” She rises from her chair and goes to the office behind her, sticking her head in. “We have a puncher, sir.”
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I sit and look around the office. I never thought I’d set foot inside here, let alone on the first day of senior year. I’d always been the good girl, and the office is the last place I’d ever be. It’s brightly lit with cheesy motivational posters plastered everywhere. A unicorn on a therapist’s couch tells me to believe in myself. A kitten hanging onto a rope tells me to keep hanging in there. Dainty flowers tell me I’m important, and a mountain tells me I’m tough.
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Do they have any posters that can help me out of the mess I’ve made today?
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“You can go in now,” Mrs. Valmour says. She doesn’t look at me as I cross the room to Mr. Lamontagne’s office. He’s sitting at his desk, the phone receiver against his ear. He nods at whatever the person he’s talking to says and meets my gaze. He motions me forward and points to the chair in front of his desk. I quickly take my seat, swallowing the lump that has formed in my throat.
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“Right, thank you Mr. Whitlock. I’ll be sure to deal with it.” He hangs up the phone and looks at me. “So, Eleanor. First offender?”
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I nod.The air feels dry, suffocating. I wonder if I’d be allowed water.
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“From what Mr. Whitlock tells me, you punched a classmate?”
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I nod again. “I’m sorry I punched Max, Mr. Lamontagne. Well, not really, he had it coming, sir. You see-”
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Mr. Lamontagne holds up his hand. “You know fighting is against the rules.”
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I nod for a third time. “Yes, I understand that, sir. But please, if you’d just let me explain. Max was saying awful things about my friend, Simon. And me. I didn’t want him to keep doing it.”
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“What was he saying?” His eyes meet mine. They’re a soft green, friendly almost.
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“He was making cruel jokes about Simon being gay, and sexual jokes about me. He even called Simon ‘Simone’.”
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Mr. Lamontagne draws in a deep breath. “And you think punching him was the best solution to this?”
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“In the moment, yes. I wanted him to stop. I probably could have dealt with it better, but he just made me so mad.” My hands find each other and grip tightly. “He’d already been awful when he dumped me last Saturday, and he was just laying it on today.”
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“So you’re upset with him because he dumped you? Does that have any impact on why you punched him?”
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“No!” I look up. “Not at all. I mean, I wasn’t thrilled with having to see him in class, but I was okay. I punched him simply because he was being an ass.”
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Mr. Lamontagne nods, ignoring my curse. “Right. Listen, I understand you’re upset, I understand you feel you were standing up for your friend. I feel for your situation, Eleanor. Unfortunately, unless your classmates come forward and back up your story, I can’t do anything about Max.” He looks at me and frowns. “Do you know what the typical consequence for fighting is, Eleanor?”
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I gulp. I am going to be suspended, which would absolutely screw up my chances for getting into college. Max, why do you have to be such a jerk?
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“The typical consequence for fighting is a minimum of three days out of school suspension, with a meeting between me, your parents, you, and your guidance counselor.”
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I squeak. My parents are likely to kill me as it stands, and they would not be thrilled with having to meet with Mr. Lamontagne.
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“But, seeing as this is your first offense, I’m willing to look the other way and not suspend you. We’re looking at new discipline procedures, anyway. I’m giving you a warning, Eleanor. You cannot go around punching others simply because they make you mad.”
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I exhale the breath I am holding. “Thank you sir. It won’t happen again.” I start to stand.
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“Hold on, Eleanor. One more thing. I am going to recommend that you see Mrs. Wallace for an evaluation.” He glances at the clock on the wall. “This is an important year, and judging by your transcript, you’re heading towards a great college. Emotions and boys can easily take you down if you don’t effectively deal with those. I’ll have her reach out to you to schedule your first session so this doesn’t happen again.” He leans back in his chair and smiles. “Now, go to class, keep your head in your books, and try to keep your fists off people’s noses, please.”
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The already stale air feels dryer. Mrs. Wallace is the in-house psychologist. She usually deals with students who have severe issues and grief, not angry girls who punch their ex-boyfriends on the first day of school.
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“You can go, Eleanor.” Mr. Lamontagne motions for me to stand and exit.
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“Thank you, sir.” I leave his office and close my eyes. I escaped a suspension, so I should feel grateful, but I don’t. I didn’t want to sit and talk with a stranger about my life, let alone about Max.
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“Have a good day!” Mrs. Valmour says. A robot shows more compassion than she does. I nod and leave the office, the door slamming against me as I emerge into the hall.
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A good day, my ass.
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