Page 61 of Back To You

“Well, I’m sure it all didn’t stop there,” Drew says, alluding to the bullying. As a teacher, she knows all about the dangers and patterns of it. It usually doesn’t just go away.

“Nope,” I say, accentuating the “p”, leaning my head back on the car seat. I let go of their hands holding mine. “The rumor circled and faded when something more interesting came along. The rumor would resurface every time I got a good part in the school’s musicals or plays, but the damage was already done.” While I was a target,I wasn’t a good one. I didn’t react the way they wanted me to, but little did they know I was just too scared to react. I didn’t scream or cry or beg them to stop. I just took it. I took every shoulder check in the hallway, every trip over someone’s foot, all the whispers when I walked by, all the times I walked into a room and everyone pretended I was invisible.

I wished I was.

Every day.

But being too scared to react just made them try harder.

So hard that teachers started to notice, but I wouldn’t let them do anything. Too scared that it would just make it all worse.

I sigh. “I was terrified to go to school because I didn’t know what to expect when I got there, but I was more terrified to stay home and explain to my parents what was happening.”

“And let me guess, you didn’t want to be a problem or a burden for your parents,” Drew rhetorically asks, leaning her head back next to mine. A small, sad, knowing smile on her face.

“You might not believe this, but I was really good at not taking up space when I was a kid.” I go for self-deprecating humor, but it doesn’t warrant the reaction I thought it would.

“You deserve to take up space, Ann,” Drew reassures, and I didn’t realize how much I needed to hear it.

I don’t like how I’ve felt about myself these last 24 hours, ever since Luke told me about running into Grant. I don’t like thinking that the confidence I’ve grown is fake or forced because I’m not the girl who needs to play a different role to feel like I deserve to be here.

I’m done feeling that way.

“I like you better when you take up space hitting grown men’s trucks with baseball bats,” Mia adds, making us all smile.

“I just didn’t need to be reminded that I was meant to be seen and not heard, or that they didn’t even want me in the first place,” I explain, resisting the urge to flinch at my own words. I’m so used to hearing them in my own head, but I didn’t remember how harsh they were when said aloud.

“Their loss, becausewewant you,” Mia replies, her head falling onto my shoulder as she leans back.

“Good, because you’re stuck with me now,” I joke, but I mean every word. I make a mental note to talk to both of them—after I walk them through this mess—about therapy and the process that comes with it. Both of them, their husbands too, are huge advocates for it after how much they found it helped them.

Tonight showed me that if I want to be done with these feelings, I have a lot of work to put in and a lot of shit to trudge up. Not only with the bullying and the stuff with Luke, but the shit with my parents too.

I don’t want to let it affect me so much anymore, and it’s way too heavy to keep carrying around.

Drew asks, “So, what does all of this have to do with you and Luke?”

The smile on my face quickly fades, but my walls are already down, might as well stomp all over them, so I couldn’t build them back up even if I wanted to.

“There was a party the night before everyone left for college. I only went because Luke wanted to.”

“So, to clarify, you and Luke did date?” Mia asks, and I realize I haven’t explained the history Luke and I have.

“Long story short, we met in first grade, grew up together, became close friends, and started dating in highschool. He asked to be my boyfriend one night when we snuck out to walk on the beach by the lake. He gave me a rose, and we had our first kiss, and blah, blah, blah. The rest is history.”

“Aw, is that why you got the rose tattoo on your hip when we went out for Drew’s birthday two years ago?” Mia’s voice is high and hopeful.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I reply too quickly, which I am realizing I say a lot when I don’t want to answer questions. “Anyway,” I continue, “we went to this party and Devin and the other girls came up to Luke and me and said they wanted to talk. Something about wanting to spend time with me before we all left for school, so I told Luke I’d be back and went off with them.”

“Why don’t I like where this is going?” I hear Mia ask, but it’s more to herself than anyone else.

I should’ve known better than to go with them, to believe they wanted to spend time with me. I was naive to think they wanted to apologize, and I know that now.

Maybe it’s why I’ve been so stubborn, so embarrassed, to tell anyone about all of this. I spent four years being the target of these four girls—and they knew exactly how to hurt me because they were my friends first—yet going with them was like giving them permission to let them hurt me that night.

They were the ones who taught me that allowing yourself to get close to someone gives them all the power to hurt you.

“Once they got me away from Luke, Devin told me they wanted to show me something. Apparently, the night before, she and Penelope went to the house where all the hockey guys were. Penelope was dating the guy who was hosting, and, well, Luke was on the hockeyteam, and—” I pause because I’ve never had to put this next part into words outside my head before. “He hooked up with Devin. She showed me a video of her on his lap, and they were kissing.”

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