Prologue
IMOGEN
Standing in the locker room, wrapped in my towel after my shower, I keep my head down with my long dark hair covering my face so that Quinn doesn’t see what her words are doing to me.
I can’t let her see me cry; I can’t let her see that this time her words are striking like a whip flaying my soul to pieces.
Tears are pouring from my eyes, rolling down my face, adding to the puddle at my feet, starting at my toes curling in.
I feel my body slowly shrink in on itself, wanting to be as small as possible and not seen.
Quinn has always hated me, ever since I moved with my family from California to Illinois for a better life eight years ago; what a fucking joke that turned out to be.
Dad kept drinking until he found the bottom of the bottle and died, and Mom decided to drown herself in work, forgetting she even had children.
My siblings and I banded together, sharing in cooking and cleaning, always looking out for each other, but that changed when my older brother graduated two years ago and went off to college back in California, leaving just my younger sister, Elodie, and me to fend for ourselves.
I haven’t told Elodie yet, but after I graduate this year, I am off to New York for art school and a more accepting community of my choice “in lifestyle” as Mom puts it.
“Why are you always checking me out in the showers, you stupid bitch. You need to keep away from me, you ugly fucking dyke! I told my daddy about you, and he’s going to file a restraining order against you.
He says that we don’t need people like you in our schools.
” Whipping her long blond hair behind her shoulder, she just keeps going on and on about me being a Chinese spy and how I’m a lesbo who always showers when she does after swimming.
It’s the same shit, just a different day.
I’ve asked Quinn why she hates me so much, but she’s never given me an answer that made sense.
Her crew, as she calls them, just encourages her.
Hell, half the school has taken to shunning me, not that I’m complaining about that.
I’d rather be ignored than constantly have racial slurs shouted at me.
Today is hitting me hard, contemplating why I even bother anymore.
The loud silence all around me has me peeking through my hair.
That’s when I notice that the girls have cleared out, and it’s just me and Ms. Quill with a look of pity and pain aimed directly at me.
Using the edge of my towel, I take a minute to wipe my face before turning to face my locker to get dressed, only to see that my bra and panties aren’t where they should be.
Fucking fantastic! It’s only second period, I chose to wear a skirt today, and my t-shirt is white.
My only saving grace is that my black skirt is long and I have a black cardigan to cover up with, but if it gets hot or some asshole decides to mess with my skirt, I’m screwed.
I can only pray to whatever God that’s listening that everyone will leave me alone for the rest of the day.
Once I’m dressed, Ms. Quill speaks, “Imogen, are you okay? I’m sorry I didn’t enter the locker room earlier to put a stop to Quinn’s assault.
” Sitting on a bench, she reaches out to grab my hand to pull me down to sit with her, “Imogen, I hope that you know that you can come to me with anything. You are a bright and beautiful young lady who has so much to give to the world through your art. I will also be filing a complaint with the principal about today. This is unacceptable behavior for Ms. Miller, and she will be dealt with accordingly.” Nodding my head to let Ms. Quill know that I’ve heard her, she continues, “Imogen, I also want you to know that your sexuality is yours and no one should be able to strip you of that, despite what people say.” Squeezing my hand one last time, she gets up, leaving me with my thoughts.
I would love to prove to Quinn and everyone else just how wrong they are about me.
You know, like you see in movies where the dorky teenager shows up at the high school reunion in a high-fashion dress looking really hot, I would flaunt my money, and everyone would be envious and wondering who she is.
I would strut up to Quinn and say, “Remember me, bitch, who’s laughing now?
” turn and walk away. Petty? Sure, but at least she would see that I’m not anything like what she says about me.