classroom. And you know full well what you’re doing.” She turns to me.“I apologize, Melissa.” I’m amazed she doesn’t even look upset. She calmly gives me her pen and heads toward the guy’s desk, leans down, taps her finger on the desktop, and says, “I’ll see you in the couch room, now.” And then she keeps walking.
“Why? What did I do?” Tyler protests, but she just keeps walking, her back to him, like she’s heard it a million times. “What, trying to help and what … what?” Tyler keeps mumbling as he gets up and walks out. On his way, he looks back at me and gives me the finger.
“Fuck you,” I say loudly back, because no little shit like him is going to dick me around. Everyone looks at me now, including Miss.
“Tyler. Go. Now,” Miss says firmly, and points to the door. She gives me a teacherish I’ll-deal-with-you-later disapproval glance and walks out, leaving Sheila the CYC (child and youth counsellor) sitting in the corner in charge.
Unaffected, I start the test. It asks me questions about my past school, about my attitude with teachers, and about my future goals. I take the time to casually glance around the room at the other four students, three guys and one girl. Despite what happened, no one is staring at me or even glancing my way. Not ’cause they’re scared; with the exception of Tyler, they all look like they can hold their own. It’s more like they couldn’t care less if I exist or not. Which is all very fine with me. I don’t talk to anyone that day. Tyler is sent home. Miss tells me that I didn’t really get off to a good start, but she again apologizes about Tyler’s behaviour. At the same time, she says if I use “foul language” in class, I too will be sent home in the future.
Strangely enough, I actually like the school, ’cause I can concentrate, and it’s clear everyone is dealing with their own crap and no one is here to make friends. And that’s exactly fine with me. In fact it’s perfect, ’cause it gives me the hope that finally I might be able to learn something. And maybe it’s possible that I will be a veterinarian and get the life I want.
Thirteen
I knew it would be a big deal when Craig let out word that he hooked up with me. The guys at my regular school usually like me, so since I’ve been with Michael they’ve wondered why I stopped screwing around with them. They would never have guessed it was because I had a boyfriend. They would just joke and say I turned dyke. But now that the word is out I messed around with Craig, Jess tells me that there are at least five guys asking about me. Which is kind of nice. I guess you could say I have status, because before Michael I’d do whatever—sex, blow job, whatever. I’m good at it. At the same time, guys can’t mess me up because I’m cool with everything. I do it ’cause I like it, and so I’m not one of these girls that goes around crying because she thought it meant more than it did. Or the ones who get jealous and possessive, thinking that just because they hook up in the washroom with a guy, it means they’re going out. Those girls end up looking like idiots. They don’t realize that if it doesn’t mean anything to you, then no one can hurt you. That way, you’re in control.
But Ally, she’s different than me. Her situation is that she’ll mess around with guys only to get stuff. If you hear she was with someone, or texted them some raunchy photos of herself, it’s because she’s after something. Like a school assignment. Or weed. Or money. Or once, one guy’s sister’s leather jacket.
Jess doesn’t mess around with anyone, because she likes having a boyfriend. But she’s no angel. She’ll set it up for Ally or some other girls. Her brother is one year older, so his friends will come to her when they’re horny. She’s like a pimp. And she likes all the drama that the hookups create. It gives her power. She’s like peacekeeper and provoker all in one.
Sometimes my counsellor, Eric, likes to make me feel bad about being with so many guys. He’s just too old to understand what happens now. I tell him I don’t do it because of “peer pressure,”