This Year at Home (A Short Story) Read Free

Grace were there too. “Pugly got a makeover.”
    I blanked for a moment, then remembered Mom’s words. Stay composed . I tapped my hand nervously.
    Oh! My phone! It was my chance to catch him. I pressed Record. “Don’t call me Pugly.”
    “What was that…Pugly?” Derrick laughed.
    I hid my phone behind the books I was holding. “I said, don’t call me Pugly. It isn’t funny.”
    He started barking at me, just as he had since third grade. Oh, how I hated him!
    The old me would cower, hold back tears, and wish things were different. The new me knew wishful thinking wouldn’t stop him. He couldn’t get to me. I wasn’t useless anymore.
    I eyed my phone. It was recording.
    I looked at him. “I told you not to call me Pugly. It isn’t my name.”
    “Pugly’s mad,” he said as his friends chuckled. But Emmy pointed at my arms. “Uh, Derrick, she’s recording you. Behind her books.”
    Derrick, who was twice my size, knocked my books out of my arms. “Give me that!”
    I held onto my phone and pointed it at him. “I told Derrick not to call me Pugly twice. He’s still doing it, and his friends are laughing.”
    Derrick’s friends froze. Emmy, who was almost my height, kicked at my hand. Her black miniskirt rode up, exposing too much leg. Realizing her underwear was about to be on display, she pulled down on her skirt and lost her balance. Her ballerina flats hit the air and missed my phone.
    Derrick grabbed at my phone. “Drop it!”
    “No!” I switched it to my other hand.
    Emmy kicked again and hit my hand.
    My phone dropped.
    I bent down to pick it up, but Grace—who was next to Emmy—snatched my phone like a vulture seizing a fresh kill.
    “Pugly,” Derrick said as if nothing had happened.
    “Give me my phone back!”
    Derrick barked again.
    My arm swung up, and a crack sounded.
    His face turned radish red.
    Did I just do that? My hand was shaking.
    Derrick seemed to be in shock. While the redness faded, there was still a small splotch on his cheek. He stood there in silence, waiting for something to happen.
    “Damn, Derrick. She slapped you! You got smacked by a girl!” It was the same boy who had worn the baseball cap during the driveway incident at my house. The incident Mom witnessed, after the first harassment complaint.
    Emmy scowled at me. “You weren’t doing anything wrong, Derrick. You were just walking down the hall when she went psycho.”
    “What’s going on here?” Mrs. Walker had taught Freshman Biology for the past five years. “Why is there a crowd?”
    A small crowd had formed behind Mrs. Walker, their heads craning outside the classroom door to catch a glimpse of the commotion.
    “Nothing,” Derrick answered.
    “We were just walking down the hall when she freaked out,” Emmy piped in.
    “I didn’t freak out.” I steadied my voice. “They were calling me names.”
    “We weren’t,” Derrick said. “We wouldn’t do that. She’s lying because she hit me.”
    I kept my eyes on Mrs. Walker. “Grace has my phone. It has a video of Derrick harassing me. They knocked it out of my hands.”
    “Is that true, Grace?” Mrs. Walker asked. “Teasing is against our no-tolerance policy, as is hitting.”
    Grace didn’t say anything. She looked to Emmy, her forehead slightly creased. I knew that look. Grace was my ex-best friend.
    I eyed Grace’s hands. They were empty!
    I scanned the crowd for some sign of my phone. Paige was watching Derrick and Grace, her eyes squinted in disgust. What a dummy I was, for assuming Paige and the other kids didn’t care.
    “Grace, answer me,” Mrs. Walker said. “Class is about to begin.”
    Nobody said anything.
    “Then go to the office. Derrick, Emmy, Grace.” She pointed to me. “Rebecca, you too.”
    Mrs. Walker looked past me. “And you, behind her, did you see what happened?”
    Somebody was behind me? I hadn’t heard anyone there.
    “I did,” said a low voice. It sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place it.
    “What