The middle girl, I noticed, was indeed the blonde bitch who had it out for me. The other girls in the picture were the two dark-haired ones who hung near her that first day, when she’d accused me of being Ollie’s newest toy.
“Yeah,” I said, pointing to the middle of the picture. “That’s her.”
Bobbi shook her head slightly. “That’s Brittany Pots. For whatever reason, she’s the queen bee around here.” She put away her phone.
“Are you friends with her?” I didn’t want to call Brittany any names or say something I’d later regret.
“No.” Bobbi shook her head. “And the only reason I have that picture is because Brittany and her friends ran a poll on her Facebook profile to see who had the ugliest dress.” Her shoulders rose and fell once, mostly hidden beneath a sweater that was a few sizes too big. “Spoiler alert, it was me. I’m still pissed about it, all these months later.”
I personally thought they all looked beautiful at the time of the picture, but that was neither here nor there. It seemed Brittany was able to do whatever she wanted when she wanted; the principal’s stance on bullying sure didn’t seem to affect her at all.
“So,” I said, lowering my voice even though we were alone and the choir room’s doors were shut, “she’s kind of a bitch.”
Bobbi let out a laugh. “Forget the kind of part. Still, somehow everyone loves her. The teachers, the underclassmen, the boys—especially the boys, but I hear that’s because she…” Her cheeks flushed, and she had to break eye contact.
“She what?”
“Let’s just say, her skills with her tongue are pretty much legendary.”
Oh.
Oh.
Well of course the boys are going to love her, then. That didn’t surprise me. And knowing she was a good two-faced liar with her teachers and the other faculty here was also unsurprising. Brittany got away with everything she did and said because she was up their asses and fake to them. Ugh.
Brittany Pots. Well, at least I had a name to the face now. At least I knew who I was dealing with—the queen bitch of the school everyone worshipped.
“Has anyone ever stood up to her before?” I asked.
“Not really. Most everyone who’s not in her inner circle either wants to be, so they put up with her shit, or they want to hook up with her.” Bobbi sighed. “It’s just not worth it. I ignore her when I can, because I know if I ever brought anything up to a teacher, they’d just take her side automatically.”
“That sucks.”
“I feel like that’s how it is in every school,” Bobbi said. “Not like I’ve been to a bunch of schools, but it’s what I like to assume.”
“You’re probably right,” I said quietly. In my old school there were the popular kids—mostly jocks and the kids who were funny enough to earn their friendship—and then everyone else. The bandos, the nerds, the outcasts. Every school had cliques.
I checked the time again.
Bobbi was about to say something else—and as much as I’d love to stick around and hear all the gossip involving Brittany, maybe prepare myself for what she had in store for me—I said, “Sorry, I have to go. I have another meeting I can’t miss.” I stood, went to grab my bag and my jacket—both of which were on the chair on my other side.
“Oh, okay.” Bobbi gave me a smile, but her smile looked…well, a bit sad. She set down the sheet music on her chair as she stood up with me, watching as I shrugged on my coat and hauled the straps over my shoulders. “I think you should stay in choir. You still need some practice, but you catch on fast.”
I laughed at that. Her compliment sounded genuine, but I really didn’t think me and choir were good fits. Still, they’d probably force me to take something else, and I had no idea what else I would enjoy, so maybe I should just suck it up. After all, it was only one semester, and then I’d be graduating and only seeing Midpark in the rearview mirror.
“Thanks,” I said, grinning, “I’ll keep that in mind.” I gave her a short wave before exiting the choir room, heading down halls that were jam-packed during the day. Now, they were eerily empty, my footsteps echoing the only sound I heard. I zipped up my coat and headed out, into the brisk January.
It was nicer weather for a winter month than the weather I was used to—we always got more snow, not to mention wind chills that made you regret ever coming outside. And leaving your bed, for that matter. Midpark rested in a more southern state. It might be chilly here, but they had it good.
I didn’t tell my mom where I was going, which was probably stupid, but if I told her exactly who I was meeting, well, she’d probably freak out. I didn’t want to worry her needlessly; I wanted…well, I literally just wanted to make sure we were safe.
Although…with everything that happened with Vaughn and his brother, I wanted to know stuff about them, too. If Vaughn was even safe to be around. If I was surrounded by liars and killers and kidnappers, or if it was all in my head and that anxious brain of mine.
Really, I wanted the truth, which no one wanted to give me flat-out.
I had my phone in my hands, the directions to the diner where we were meeting on its screen. I kept my head down, glancing both ways before crossing any roads, heading away from the school. It’d take me a long while to walk home, but it wasn’t like I could call my mom and tell her to pick me up. I’d make do.
The man I was meeting was someone named Jacob Hall. He had a background in blue, although he clearly wasn’t working for the police anymore if he was a private investigator. His reviews were mostly good; no outright awful ones. Most said he went above and beyond what they’d expected of him, which seemed like a good thing.
Of course, I had no idea how expensive he was to hire, but one step at a time.
My feet took me across town, to a small diner that looked so out of place in Midpark. Its style screamed fifties, although everything looked updated and well-kept. It was one of those places that tried to look old, but it wasn’t really. A single-story eatery with most of its booths on the outer edges, where the floor-to-ceiling windows were. The kitchen was in the back center, just behind the counter, where leather-covered stools were.
The moment I walked in, I had to pause to take it all in. The checkered tiles on the floor looked freshly-waxed, the red leather on the stools and booths new and clean. The register sitting on the counter looked old, but its steel was shiny and fresh.
Okay, who was I kidding? With the vibe this place gave off—and the jukebox in the corner of the diner—this place was freaking cute. I loved it.
I turned off my phone and slid it in my coat’s pocket, glancing around. The last email he’d sent me told me he’d be waiting in the corner booth, and indeed there was a man sipping coffee in the furthest booth.
Holding my head up high, I hoped, fucking prayed, I looked like a serious potential client and not some silly high schooler who was in way over her head. The latter was true, but still. I didn’t want to be laughed out of the diner.
As I walked to the furthest booth, I shrugged off my backpack, setting it on the floor behind me. It was an odd time, so most of the booths were empty; too early for dinner. Still seemed rather late for coffee, but I knew my mom drank it at all hours of the day. I, myself, couldn’t stand the taste, even with a bunch of added sugar and cream to nullify the bitterness. Also hated the smell, go figure.