Patch wouldn't shut up during the quiz. Quiz, hah. It was easy to pass one of those things; all you had to do was echo back Coach's sexist bullshit. I'd tried writing down actual information earlier in the year, but I'd given up after my facts--which were more accurate than anything Coach had ever dreamed of spouting--got me a couple of Fs. I'd had to do a ton of extra credit to wipe out those grades, too.
After that, I got the message. Shut the fuck up, little girl, and don't bother boring me with facts because my mind's already made up. Just repeat everything I say and you'll get an A...which, after all, is what colleges look for. Who cares if you've actually learned anything?
Oh, yeah. I was just a little pissed about this. And every quiz just made it more annoying. I really did not need Patch whispering in my ear, least of all in that mock-solicitous tone of his.
"Did you have a rough night?"
I could have told him--though I didn't--that having a car accident that nearly totaled my car and then mysteriously un-happened was preying on my nerves a little. But that was none of his fucking business. The last thing I wanted this creep to know was how rattled I was.
So I tried ignoring him--you know, what parents and teachers always tell you to do to bullies. It doesn't work, of course. Bullies don't think, "Oh, well, she's not interested, so I'll go on to someone else." Their attitude is, "Goddamn it, I'll FORCE you to pay attention to me!"
So I didn't dare wholly ignore the asshole. My car had been destroyed and repaired in seconds; my body--and my life--could be smashed just as easily, and there was no guarantee he'd put either back together so that they worked the way they were supposed to.
"You look so tired, Nora."
Amazing how much "tired" sounded like "weak." And "helpless."
Also, bullies often read someone ignoring them as fear. They're usually right, too.
If there was one thing I couldn't afford to show, it was fear. I'd been silent too long. Never mind that we were taking a quiz and we were supposed to be quiet. And he was crowding me--his fingers brushing at wisps of my hair and lightly touching the skin of my arm as I tried to write, his leg pressing against mine. All of it sending the same signal: I can have you any time that I want. You're mine, bitch.
So I spoke to him. I mentioned that I'd spotted him at the library. I wanted him to know that yeah, I'd noticed what he was doing, no, I didn't like it, and no, I wasn't afraid to call him out on it. I didn't want him to see me as a threat; I was sure he'd take out anyone who was a real danger to him. But someone who was aware of what was going on and who had the guts to say, "Leave me ALONE!" might be more trouble than she was worth.
Of course, then he'd probably move on to some other girl who was even more vulnerable and more terrified than I was. And the cycle would start all over again.
Damn, I hated this.
I got up to turn in the quiz, hoping that Coach wouldn't decided that Patch had been whispering answers to me throughout the quiz. Never mind that I was one of the best students in class and Patch's only contribution to class had been the sexual harassment of yours truly. I was a girl. In Coach's eyes, that meant that I was dumber than Patch by default.
I turned to trudge back to my seat--and got a shock.
Patch looked so...boyish.
I don't mean that he was handsome or had a nice smile, though he was and he did. It was if he'd sloughed off the bad boy jacket and put on a charming-boy-and-ideal-student suit. He looked like every parents' dream date for their daughter.
No one looking at him would think of him as a sexually harassing stalker.
His smile grew just a hair wider as he gazed at me.
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Spitefic: Resolve, Part 1
Date: 2011-06-09 03:05 pm (UTC)After that, I got the message. Shut the fuck up, little girl, and don't bother boring me with facts because my mind's already made up. Just repeat everything I say and you'll get an A...which, after all, is what colleges look for. Who cares if you've actually learned anything?
Oh, yeah. I was just a little pissed about this. And every quiz just made it more annoying. I really did not need Patch whispering in my ear, least of all in that mock-solicitous tone of his.
"Did you have a rough night?"
I could have told him--though I didn't--that having a car accident that nearly totaled my car and then mysteriously un-happened was preying on my nerves a little. But that was none of his fucking business. The last thing I wanted this creep to know was how rattled I was.
So I tried ignoring him--you know, what parents and teachers always tell you to do to bullies. It doesn't work, of course. Bullies don't think, "Oh, well, she's not interested, so I'll go on to someone else." Their attitude is, "Goddamn it, I'll FORCE you to pay attention to me!"
So I didn't dare wholly ignore the asshole. My car had been destroyed and repaired in seconds; my body--and my life--could be smashed just as easily, and there was no guarantee he'd put either back together so that they worked the way they were supposed to.
"You look so tired, Nora."
Amazing how much "tired" sounded like "weak." And "helpless."
Also, bullies often read someone ignoring them as fear. They're usually right, too.
If there was one thing I couldn't afford to show, it was fear. I'd been silent too long. Never mind that we were taking a quiz and we were supposed to be quiet. And he was crowding me--his fingers brushing at wisps of my hair and lightly touching the skin of my arm as I tried to write, his leg pressing against mine. All of it sending the same signal: I can have you any time that I want. You're mine, bitch.
So I spoke to him. I mentioned that I'd spotted him at the library. I wanted him to know that yeah, I'd noticed what he was doing, no, I didn't like it, and no, I wasn't afraid to call him out on it. I didn't want him to see me as a threat; I was sure he'd take out anyone who was a real danger to him. But someone who was aware of what was going on and who had the guts to say, "Leave me ALONE!" might be more trouble than she was worth.
Of course, then he'd probably move on to some other girl who was even more vulnerable and more terrified than I was. And the cycle would start all over again.
Damn, I hated this.
I got up to turn in the quiz, hoping that Coach wouldn't decided that Patch had been whispering answers to me throughout the quiz. Never mind that I was one of the best students in class and Patch's only contribution to class had been the sexual harassment of yours truly. I was a girl. In Coach's eyes, that meant that I was dumber than Patch by default.
I turned to trudge back to my seat--and got a shock.
Patch looked so...boyish.
I don't mean that he was handsome or had a nice smile, though he was and he did. It was if he'd sloughed off the bad boy jacket and put on a charming-boy-and-ideal-student suit. He looked like every parents' dream date for their daughter.
No one looking at him would think of him as a sexually harassing stalker.
His smile grew just a hair wider as he gazed at me.
Okay. That was it. I needed backup.