After that I sat out night after night in front of my house, staring at the sky, wondering where things went wrong.
Obviously — in utero.
But beyond that, why couldn't we just be friends? Why couldn't he be mine? I tried to be friends with him. Who knew I was doing it that wrong.
Outside under the night sky was a welcomed relief because it was quiet and free and I could look at their house without feeling judged. The heartbreak with Brandon kind of set me up for more failures. Not huge ones — just normal teen-like stuff, I guess.
That next Monday I went into class and everyone was whispering, laughing, looking my direction, then facing their little cliques and laughing some more.
"No way that happened. Who told you that?" a tall lanky guy, Evan, snickered.
A girl nodded. "Yup, it's true. Heard it from my brother. She really tried to do it. Guess CS also stands for cock-sucker."
At that moment I wasn't even aware who they were talking about, but It became clear that CS stood for corn shucker and apparently cock-sucker — both terms meant for me.
BB sat behind me as usual and leaned in as the bell rang. "Hey cock — I mean corn-shucker, is it true you tried to suck off that nerd Brandon?" The others laughed as she continued. "That's so sad. Even that weird kid didn't want to be touched by you. Never seen a guy turn down a BJ. If you're that desperate, Evan will let you do it."
He laughed and shook his head. A lot of the "cool" kids joined in a chant calling me cock-sucker. BB took the lead and said, "corn-shucking cock-sucker," and shoved my head down with a wet gulk sound, like I was choking on a dick.
Idon't know if it was all the bullying piling up, or if it was Brandon's rejection, or maybe a mix of everything — but I saw red.
I stood up and pounced on her. Choking, scratching, slapping her over and over. I yelled curses I never thought I'd direct at anyone other than me.
"You stupid fucking bitch! I'll kill you, you ugly whore. I'll kill you! I slammed her head over and over into the floor. I think I might have killed her if the teacher hadn't intervened. He grabbed the phone on the wall — the emergency line — and dialed. "Class fight. Send someone, now!" Security rushed in and dragged me off her.
I looked at my teacher and all over the class as they pulled my flailing body away. "Fuck all of you. Especially you!" I looked at the teacher. "You watched them bother me day after day! Ever since I got here and did nothing! But when I get mad you call security on me? Fuck you!"
That day was brutal. My voice was hoarse. My head throbbed. Adrenaline made everything unreal — I'd never gotten so openly mad. I was always submissive and quiet; you could hear it in how my voice cracked when I yelled. I stood there catching my breath as BB wailed on the floor cowering — claw marks all over her face, handprints forming bruises, hair ripped out in dry tufts as she pleaded for her mom.
I caught sight of my face in the classroom window reflection and I looked just like everyone's eyes reflected: wide, manic eyes, heaving chest, teeth bared like a wild animal.
The kids looked shocked, scared, unnerved as security took me away.
I remember my last words before they hauled me to detention — a dry little mutter as they dragged me down the hall:
"Bitch."
And that was that.
Now here's where it gets messy. News of the fight spread like wildfire. Every clique had something to say: the gaming nerds, the music nerds, the cool kids, the delinquents, the jocks, the alternatives — the usual parade of assholes. You get the point.
Word even trickled up to the PTA. Apparently BB's parents had connections in the music industry, and my little circus act reached Lynn's employer.
Yeah. They didn't want to be associated with "the mother of such a brutal, violent, vulgar girl."
Can you believe that? I got it from her. Like mother, like daughter. Authentic genetics, proof of lineage—am I right?
So they let Lynn go. "Generous" enough to give her unemployment and a few weeks to vacate because, technically, the house was owned by the music company. It wasn't ours to keep.
And just like that — we were gone. Hadn't even been there six full months.
Lynn was furious. For the first time in a while she put hands on me, but…I'd grown a little backbone since our last fight.
"It's not my fault! They'd been bothering me since I got there! Then they said I was trying to suck—Brandon!"
"Well weren't you?! You basically forced yourself on him. Everything that's fucking happening is because of you, Rhea! Take some accountability." She yelled, before running her hand down her face and muttering " I should've aborted you."
And I half-wished she had.
"You should've! Then I wouldn't have had to deal with this twisted family! No wonder my dad left you! I'd leave too! You are insane." I glared at her, with an angry scowl. "I hate you!" The scream ripped out of me so hard I cough and gagged afterward.
Screaming really fucking hurts.
Lynn played victim for a moment, then exploded in anger..
She slapped me.
And I slapped her back.
Don't ask me how—it just happened. Instinct, pure instinct.
Next thing I know, we're grabbing each other's hair, clawing, digging nails into skin. She raked her hand across my face, so I rammed my head into hers. And then—of course—Reginald decided to finally crawl out of his cave due to the commotion? Maybe.
Don't know. Don't care.
"What the hell are you doing? That's our mom!" he barked, like he hadn't been ignoring and talking shit about her for years.
And then he punched me. Full-grown, twenty-one-year-old man, throwing his weight into a thirteen-year-old girl. It knocked me into the floor—breathless. But I didn't back down. It was like every time I got hit it made me want to get back up. It made stronger.
I grabbed the first thing near me—one of those big-ass storm flashlights—and swung it like brass knuckles.
And he fell into the floor. I began hitting him over and over with it.
I was yelling, Lynn was screaming, Michael jumped in, and it turned into this messy, ugly brawl. Honestly, it's a blur. All I really remember is the sound of my own voice, the hoarse screams, like some kind of war cry I didn't even know I had in me.
All I recall later is waking up sore, my throat raw, my head pounding like a drum.
But I defended myself—so progress.
We moved to a different neighborhood after that. It wasn't bad. A downgrade, yeah, from the big fancy community with the two clubhouses and houses that looked like mini-mansions, but still—it wasn't trash.
And the best part? It was in the same area as my school. Which meant I could walk in with my head high, like I wasn't running, like I wasn't embarrassed, because I wasn't.
I didn't want any misconceptions or rumors.
I'm here.
I was done being the submissive, traumatized kid. I realized if I stayed small, if I kept my head down, people would just keep picking me apart. No one was gonna stand up for me. So I had to stand up for myself.
That first morning back after suspension—surprised they didn't expel me honestly.
I could feel the eyes on me. Kids from my homeroom whispered during breakfast, trying to be sneaky. BB was absent.
"The hell are you looking at?" I snapped. And just like that, they jerked their heads back down.
You don't understand how much I loved that.
Putting them in their place.
Making them respect me.
Throughout the day, I was bold, loud, aggressive. I didn't move out of the way for anybody.
They moved for me. And that energy? God, it was invigorating. Like I was finally somebody. Somebody who mattered.
By lunchtime, I guess people had noticed. A group of girls—seventh and eighth graders—eyed me across the cafeteria. One of them finally called out.
"Hey, pigeon- feet."
My fists clenched instantly. I glared at her. "Rhea."
"What?" She blinked, confusion dripping off her face like I'd grown another head. The other girls laughed.
"Are you deaf?" I pressed. I tilted my head, mocking Her. "Or are you just slow?"
That got her attention. She stood up, strutting like she owned the place. Jeggings. A T-shirt tied in the back that said SEXY. Hair yanked into a high ponytail, mouth curled into a sneer. She stopped right in front of me.
"Who the hell do you think you are, talking to me like that?"
"You bitch," I shot back without blinking, narrowing my eyes. "So what are you gonna do?"
I wasn't scared. Not even close. Honestly? I was itching for it. Fighting felt good now. Fighting was some twisted form of therapy for me. Fighting made me feel powerful. So if she swung, I was ready to swing harder.
But she didn't.
The whole cafeteria went silent. Every eye locked on us in anticipation for another fight. And then—she laughed. Bursting out like I'd just told the funniest joke. She threw her hands up in mock surrender.
"Chill. I'm only joking."
She gave me an approving look.
"I like you. You've got balls, Rhea."
She nodded, turned back toward her table, and then, almost as an afterthought, waved me over. "Wanna sit with us?"
Now, normally, I would've said no. But I didn't have anywhere else to sit, and if they tried anything, I swore to myself I'd fuck them up on the spot. So I rolled my eyes like I didn't care and walked over. Sat down with them.
The girl grinned. "I'm Sonja. This is Gabby, Beatrice—but call her Raven, and Mercedes."
I looked at them, taking each one in.
Gabby was tan, a little chubby, short, rocking glasses and loose brown curls, tucked back. She was double-tasking—texting with one hand, eating with the other. She looked up long enough to mutter, "Yo," before going back to whatever had her attention. She had her ears pierce— three in each ear.
Beatrice, well Raven, was tall, pale, With two lip rings on each side. They called them "snake bites". She had blue eyes, her hair dyed pitch black with blonde roots peaking out. Headphones in, but she gave me a small nod, and smile.
And Mercedes—she had that rich, deep skin tone, her coils slicked back into a sharp ponytail. She playfully mimed a little "beep-beep" motion with her hand, like she was in a car, swaying her hips side to side in her seat as she winked at me.
These girls weren't just a table of randoms. They were a clique. A force. And for some reason they were inviting me in.
From that moment forward, they became the biggest part of my life. My new orbit. My world.
And the motto we all lived by?
Fuck everyone else.
Why?
Because we said so.