Elsa McQueen

The intro of a story that I might form into a book, once I decide what I want to do with it.

The ground was a lot harder than I remembered. The last time I had been this personal with the pavement was when I was in 4^th grade. A roaring game of kickball had started and I was up for my turn to make contact with the rubber ball but my knees gave way, causing them to meet the dusty, brown ground underneath my brand new Scooby do light up tennis shoes. At that time, running to Mrs. Salmon with the cries of ‘my boo boo’s sting!’ or ‘I got an owie!’ or even ‘Scooby do got dirty!’ was a simple reality. The reality of a nine year olds mind. Unfortunately, I was no longer a child and the dirt ground was replaced by a black top sizzling under the first hot day of May.

Having dirt embedded into the creases of your knee or the plastic Scooby do face on your shoe is a lot different than having small particles of gravel scratched into the pore’s of one’s face. I remembered the slight sting the dirt caused when pressed into the scratches of my nine year old knee but that sting compared to the new burning sensation on my right cheek was nothing. Most pain you feel as a kid is nothing because you grow up and then you find out what real pain, both physical and emotional and how it’s usually always caused by someone else. I was quickly forgetting about the memory of my first painful experience I could recall and now focused on the burning sensation throughout my top coat of skin that the sun was slowing peeling away.

The heat wasn’t helping the culprit behind my current position at all, or at least that’s what I was trying to roll over in my mind as an excuse for today’s punishment. A set of hard knees were currently pressed into my lower back, causing shots of pain up to my shoulders while a voice from above told me that they were going to ‘sew my back talking lips together.’ That was my main problem in life, not my back talking mouth but the individual who was currently telling me she was going to sew it shut.

Everyone has those typical stereotypes in school but in my class, we had a combination of two of the worst ones. The physical bully and the overall-I-am-oh-so-flawlessly-popular-perfect girl. Trudy Maroon was that exact girl, the girl who was currently inflicting pain on my back with her boney knees. Usually when you think of the most popular, primped girl in school you get an image of a figure that is as skinny as a rail, perfect teeth, not a single strand of hair astray, and big eyes to tempt any boy who dare even breathe the same air as she. Trudy had all of that but with a homicidal twist. She was way above my height, at least six foot or so and that wasn’t with a pair of shiny gold stillettos that accented her long tanned legs. On top of her head was flat brown hair that flew down to her waist in pin point straight lines that could only be achieved through torturing the hair folicales with a straightener for hours on end. She had that perfect skinny body, so skinny in fact that I hadn’t a clue how she was so damn powerful. Sometimes I wondered if she was some crazy offspring of the hulk since she seemed to grow ten times stronger whenever anyone pissed her off in anyway. It wasn’t enough that she had the figure of lean goddess but god also bestowed this cruel beauty with an hour glass curve, just enough to accent her thin shape and to make the boys fall to their knees. Trudy was the kind of girl who could get anyone to do anything for her with just a sway of those hips. It was weird to see such a pretty girl act so violently against her fellow species. It was like watching a gazelle turn against its captor, a hungry lion falling prey to some elegant creature, like some ugly demon took over the body of an unfortunate swim suit model and made her do horrid things that should only happen in dreams or any other normal public school.

We had many theories as to why she acted the way she did; everyone who wasn’t in her circle did at least. Whenever Trudy was no where in sight, my locker partner, Danny, and myself would come up with new theories that could possibly be the result of her audacious behavior. We went down the list of childhood beatings, rape, gang affiliation, and even possession of ones soul. We didn’t talk much about the possession of her soul simply because the thought of her once having a soul was absolutely hilarious and highly impossible.

Trudy Maroon pressed her knees farther into my back and I could feel my right arm growing flatter as my body was pressed harder against the black top. I didn’t make a sound even through the numbing pain; I was too use to these beatings to give her any sound to satisfy her lust for violence. I don’t know how I didn’t see the current attack coming. Things like this current situation, my face being pressed against the ground like a block of provolone being shredded on a cheese grater, was so normal in my high school life that being cautious was the farthest thing on my mind anymore.  I was typically used to her insane mood swings ever since she hit puberty in seventh grade.

Today, I had decided to let down my anit-Trudy guard for gym class so I could make an attempt at gaining some participation points and not have to repeat the horrid class.

I didn’t participate much in gym class at all; one look at my sloppy figure would tell you I wasn’t athletic but I had my eyes focused on the hoop a few feet from where I stood on this day, intent on catching the eye of the gym teacher so he’d think I wasn’t a complete bum. I held the ball steady, hands sweating as I mentally overly encouraged myself that I could make a shot with ease. After fives minutes of holding the orange orb above my head and feeling stares on my back, I let it go, sending the ball in flight straight towards the hoop.

Or, that’s what I had intended it to do. Instead, Mr. Basketball of doom hit Trudy Maroon smack dab in the back of her big head causing her amber hair to bounce with the impact. In that breif three second time frame it was as if a wave of obscure silence fell over the paved basketball court. It was a creeping silence that made my stomach gurgle with a sickening anticipation. I stared at Trudy’s back, knowing by the stiffness of her shoulders that she was now tense which was bad news for me. Tense Trudy was a bad Trudy, actually any kind of Trudy was all around bad. I didn’t dare move a single inch, I didn’t even blink because right then, her three little goons who were gathered around her like a pack of vultures shot their dark eyes straight to me causing the anticipation to spread throughout the rest of my insides. Slowly, Trudy’s perfect feminine frame turned around to reveal the hate burning in her big sea blue eyes. She picked up the ball and stalked over to me, swishing those hips side to side as her hair bounced with her movement causing the boys to take a glance her way. It was almost remarkable how just a few small steps could distract a group of boys from their basketball game. Then again, they were teenage boys.

Her feet stopped short in front of me with the basketball almost touching my chest. My eyes were tilted upwards, hers downwards due to the major different in height. Mine didn’t stray from hers until a smile formed across her face. It definitely wasn’t kind in any way what so ever. Her smile was perfect but definitely didn’t give off the vibe like an all American girl should. “You missed.” She commented, shoving the ball forward to make contact with my chest, almost causing me to lose my breath. I hadn’t flinched or at least, I didn’t think I did, I had tried not to. My hands went up fast to grasp the ball to prevent her from pulling it back and beating my chest again with the round object. I wanted to snap back at her so bad but my mouth felt dry, too dry for me to come up with a good comeback at the very moment and I didn’t want to force anything out because that would end in nothing but embarrassment. She turned on her right ankle, that smug smile growing wider as her friends began to giggle and praise her for her negative action.

My eyes watched as she went back to talking to her friends, acting as though she hadn’t just been a complete and total b***h to someone who never caused her harm. What was her deal? Why the hell was she so focused on being such a b***h all the time? My eyes began to squint, forming into an unkind stare directed straight to the back of her head. Anger began bubbling up in me fast and before I could catch myself, my sharp tongue flicked out to spit back the attitude she had given me.

“Actually I didn’t. I hit the right target.” I said sternly, with conviction and for a brief moment I was proud. That was until I saw Trudy turn back around and bolt towards me. In the next instant, Mr. Basketball of doom was out of my hands and I hit the ground before he even came close to bouncing to a halt.

I highly doubt having one’s face scrapped off by gravel black top is a fair punishment for accidentally hitting someone in the head with a ball but if must have been fair to everyone standing around since no one dared move an inch towards the seen to help. Of course, if I was them I probably wouldn’t move either because Trudy would turn on anyone else who interrupted her beating session.

Most of the time, I just laid there and let her hit because I knew no matter what I did, I’d end up on the fucked up end of the stick. If anyone even tried to get free, Trudy’s goons would be around to hold an arm down if she told them to. On rare occasions, I would squirm and make a feeble attempt to get free just so I wouldn’t look like a complete coward or weakling.

My mind began burning along with the sting of the gravel embedded in my cheek and I knew it wouldn’t be long before I’d feel the familiar touch of knuckles against the back of my skull. My head was already hurting due to the heat and I really wasn’t enjoying the thought of having another wave of pain to deal with. This torture was just nonsense and my fingers were aching with anger.

Just do it, show you’re not a whimp. Put everything into it. Worst case scenario, you’ll get punched again.

And just like that, I some how got the guts to rear my head up just as I felt the breeze of her fist coming down for a blow. I moved my head just in time to direct her blow to my left cheek instead of the back of my head. Now not only was I going to look like my right cheek had been mauled but my left would swell up, making it so much more obvious that I was involved with some sort of altercation.

By some magic unseen power, my head didn’t bounce down to hit the ground. Instead, it continued to turned back around as well did my body causing our faces to meet and Trudy’s legs to slide to the ground rather than push into me anymore. My body seemed to lose any bit of hesitation in this moment seeing the surprised look on my feverish enemy. My left hand had been tightly wound up since I had hit the ground and now, my hard fist came in handy.

I swung hard and watched as my knuckles made contacted with her burgundy colored lips, the puffy mass of lower lip being smashed against her perfect teeth and sending her back. I hadn’t intended to hit that hard, I hadn’t intended on sending her flying on her back but I had been so pumped up that adrenaline took the reigns.

She landed on her back, her amber hair sprawling around her head as a gasp from landing hard came from her lips. Hearing her gasp for air, seeing her sprawled out and groaning in pain from my mere punch almost made me smile. Almost.

I didn’t even have time to bask in my victory because just as I had given my amazing knock out hit to Trudy, Mr. Agni, the gym teacher, finally came to see the scene. Of course, he only saw me hit Trudy and being the kind of guy he was, he would think Trudy was just trying to defend herself from me. Like usual.

His hands moved under my armpits and yanked me up to stand on my wobbling legs. They moved to my shoulders quickly to steady me while a sudden wave of dizziness surged through from the heat and the surprise of what I just accomplished. I was still so in shock that I blocked out his raspy voice but I could tell by the tone he was scolding me greatly. My eyes were locked on my right hand which was still tight in a first. I uncoiled my fingers and studied the burgundy lipgloss smudged on my knuckles. I never thought I’d be so happy to see such an ugly color on my skin but I knew where it came from, I knew what my knuckles had done to those pretty perfect lips of hers. “C’mon. You’re going to the principal’s office.” My head jerked up to look at Mr. Agni, not in surprise by what he said but because I had actually heard the full words this time instead of blocking him out. He grabbed my upper left arm and began leading me away, my legs stumbling a little as we went. My back was hurting from the knees that were once pressed there, my right cheek stung with a horrid fever and my left one was throbbing but none of that matter because as I was escorted inside, I could hear crying coming from the black top.

I, Esla McQueen, made Trudy Maroon, the baddest b***h in school, cry.

 

Author's Note

Just tell me what you think.