Boring Girls(47)

One afternoon I was in the school bathroom, washing my hands, when the door swung open and in walked Brandi. I immediately looked away from her, back to my reflection. My stomach jittered. I was pissed at myself. All of last year I hadn’t had any problems with her. In fact, she hadn’t spoken to me in such a long time that I felt stupid for reacting to her at all. But I couldn’t help it. She paused, and to distract myself I pulled out my lipstick and focused on my reflection, leaning forwards and applying more of it to my lips.

“It doesn’t really help,” she said.

I rubbed my lips together and didn’t look at her.

“The lipstick,” she said, in a mock-helpful tone. “It really doesn’t help you look any better.”

I turned to her. She stood there, with her eyes wide, trying to make herself look innocent, but she had a pleased smirk.

“You don’t think so?” I had never had such prolonged eye contact with her, and I was pleased to find that my fear was subsiding. I stared at her, and she boldly met my gaze.

“You’re still f*cking ugly. No lipstick or hair dye is ever going to help you with that.” She grinned, folded her arms, and waited for my response.

I tucked my lipstick back into my skirt pocket. “You know, you haven’t spoken to me in a really long time. What’s inspired you today?”

“I’m just trying to give you some tips.”

I didn’t respond to that, just stared at her, and to my pleasure I saw her falter for a second. “Don’t you have anything to say for yourself?” she finally said.

“Sure,” I said. “I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about you.” I smiled. “Ever since that day after exams, I’ve thought about you a lot.” I took a step towards her, maintaining eye contact. “I’ve even had some really nice fantasies about you.”

“Oh, really?” Brandi was starting to look a little upset, a little uncomfortable, but she managed to retain the smug tone. “What are you, a dyke now too? An ugly dyke?”

“Oh, no. Not those kind of fantasies.” I grinned and she swallowed. I felt a rush of joy realizing that I was scaring her. “Very, very different ones. You bitch.”

“You’re crazy,” she fumbled, breaking our eye contact and rolling her eyes. She tried to paste the smirk back on her face.

I took another step towards her, still grinning. “What’s wrong, Brandi?” I said. “Don’t you want to know what I think about? Don’t you want to know what goes through my ugly head?” I was really enjoying this. Her growing discomfort made my heartbeat pick up. I almost felt giddy. “I dare you to push me. I dare you to touch me again,” I pressed. “Try it. Just f*cking try it. Like you did before.”

At this, she attempted to rally. Smirk gone, her face turning red, she returned my gaze. “Maybe I will.”

I felt like I was dancing, like my body was buzzing. “Then do it, you stupid bitch,” I laughed. My face was starting to hurt, but I couldn’t stop smiling. I reached my hands out to her as if I was inviting her to hug me. “I’m here right now, Brandi. I want you to,” I said.

“You’re f*cking crazy and this isn’t worth my time,” she said, beginning to turn towards the door. Immediately I darted at her and grabbed her blonde ponytail in my hand. She cried out in shock. I yanked her head back and put my mouth close to her ear.

“Don’t f*ck with me again,” I hissed. “Because I will kill you. Get it? I’m not kidding. I will cut your throat.”

“Leave me alone,” she howled, and I jerked her hair, silencing her.

“No. You leave me alone. I don’t bother you, do I? I never have. So give me the same respect. Because I will cut your throat, Brandi. I’m sick of you. And watching you die would make me very happy.” I was full of shit, of course, but I relished in feeling her body trembling with fear, in the stench of her sweat beginning to show beneath the coconut perfume. “I’ll cut your head off and wrap it in a sheet,” I said, resisting a very strong urge to lick her earlobe. I imagined how horrified she would be if I did that, out of nowhere.

Brandi twisted and pulled herself away from me, and I let her go. She whirled to face me, one hand rubbing her sore head, cheeks scarlet, a light sheen of sweat glinting on her forehead.

“You’re psycho,” she stumbled, trying to collect herself. I was pleased to see no trace of smirk or sarcasm in her tone, and absently nodded in agreement, continuing to smile at her.