Mark's mom, of course, had never heard of Charlie Day. So she asked Mark, "What is he talking about?"
Mark looked at me, answering in just about the quietest voice possible, and lied, "I don't know." I could tell he was scared. I could tell he was hoping I wouldn't say anything.234Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡnoTZpfpx0f
The whole thing was his idea. Before Charlie Day, I got bullied every once in a while, but usually not that often. After he started the "tradition," I learned the word sadistic. A whole group of people waited all week for the big day. Nothing would happen to me all week, but somehow it became a competition to see how much they could do to me. Mark's made it a sport.234Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ6aDPcEP64a
I tried to stay home on Fridays to avoid them when I could, but sometimes I had no choice.234Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡl2BZaPPLr4
One particular Charlie Day was so bad that when I came home, I made a list of everything people did to me that day—big or small. I stopped at thirty separate assaults. It wasn't just things like punching me or embarrassing me somehow, but little things, like breaking a pencil or drawing some gross stuff in my notebook for me to find later. People would repeat the same stupid things every time: "Everyone Hates You," or threaten to hurt me or tell me to hurt myself. I tried not to let it get to me, but part of me was so depressed I could have cried.
But I didn't.
I also knew that it wasn't every single person attacking me. Some kids never said or did anything to me. Some people said hi to me and were even kind to me, but none of them, somehow, were my friends.
Charlie Day was so harsh and so intense I think people stopped remembering I was a person. I felt like some character in a video game that you can kill over and over again, and he always comes back because he's not really dead. Just to be funny, one huge kid lifted me by the back of my pants and then put me down at the end of the hall, saying to anyone nearby I was so small I was portable. It got a good laugh. I walked away and didn't say anything. That was mild for Charlie Day—the worst things left bruises.
Mark would say to me in the morning, "Have a happy Charlie day!"234Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡyT2vOcGpoe
I thought about offing myself once—but the one thing that kept me going was knowing it wouldn't last forever. Even if no one said it to me, I knew I was a good person.234Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡfc44jDwUxB
I just didn't know how anyone else would ever find out.
When Mark showed up at my door at the beginning of summer and said he wanted to apologize, I didn't believe him, but at the same time, I also wanted to believe him. He hated me so much, and I badly wanted to believe that I had finally won out and my life was changing. I wanted to think that my worst enemy finally saw that I wasn't so bad. I figured if he became my friend, then anything else was possible.
So I convinced myself to believe him despite everything that had happened. When he said he wanted to help me, I believed him. I believed him when he said I was immature and acting like a baby.
I believed him when he said he wanted to be my friend.234Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡWAH9A4cbSd
I wanted to have a friend so badly.
When Mark wouldn't answer, his mom asked me, "What's Charlie Day?"
His dad lowered his arm. He wasn't trying to keep us apart anymore.
I could get at Mark if I wanted to before they could stop me and hurt him just like he hurt me all year. Then, I could make all my revenge fantasies come true.234Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡyZ5kbe3HOj
Or I could tell his parents about Charlie Day.234Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡFBPufdI2H9
I could tell them all the things he did to me: the hitting, the slapping, the pantsing, the attacks in the school restroom, his whole weird obsession about telling me to take a shower. I could tell them about our drive up the mountains when he tried to stop me from going to the bathroom.
I could ruin him.
And he knew it, too.234Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡA5SJeWwqG6
One way or the other, I could get him back just like he got me.
His dad repeated the question to me this time.
"What's Charlie Day?"
Mark looked scared. He usually tried to intimidate me and stare me down with his death stare to get me to do something he wanted, but this was different. His eyes looked glassy; his skin almost looked pale.
I knew he was hoping I wouldn't tell, and he knew he couldn't stop me if I did.
I had the power now.
This was Charlie Day.
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