Chapter Seven
Ode to Archery
You try to destroy me,
make me feel unwelcome
in this world.
Why do I deserve this?
You give me reasons
to think I am
inferior.
All based on my exterior.
I want to know
what makes you better than me.
I want to know
why you target me.
Bullseye.
^^^
I cross my legs under my butt as I drop my notebook onto my lap. I flip through the filled pages until I reach a blank one. Pretty soon I’ll need to start a new one.
A ping pong ball flies past me narrowly missing my face. “Sorry about that!” A slinky guy jogs past me to retrieve the ball.
“It’s okay.” Sitting so close to the table, I expect to be in the danger zone. I don’t mind. This is my favorite chair to write in while in the quad.
I readjust my focus, snapping the pen to a ready to write position, and the words begin to glide across the paper, my handwriting bubbly and almost childlike. My handwriting tends to change based on my mood. I can go from puffy and fun to sloppy and difficult to read from one page to the next depending on what I’m writing.
After a few sentences, I glance at the people around me. A couple of students are studying together, another has her nose in a book, and I avoid eye contact with the couple kissing in the corner. No one cares what anyone else is doing. Their eyes are on their own paper, as it should be. Student A doesn’t seem to be in competition with Student B while Student C fades into the background. We’re all here focused on our own stuff. I like it.
That kiss with Jesse—my first real kiss—sure inspired me. I manage to write an entire poem within minutes of sitting down. Even a day later I can still feel his lips on mine, see his eyes twinkling at me as he smiles. I want to kiss him again, but we didn’t even make plans to see each other again. Are we going to just keep running into each other or go out on an official date sometime?
Maybe the kiss was too good to be true. I suppose he could have gone back to his dorm and thought about what a pain his sister is, and will be, if we start something up. I don’t know if I want to deal with her. But Jesse, oh Jesse, I think about him all the time. I definitely have a crush on him, despite what I tell Janna.
I shake the thought of him out of my mind, putting my focus back on my notebook. I have a class in forty minutes, which gives me some time to write. Right as I’m about to begin writing, someone interrupts me.
“What’s this?” Olivia stands in front of me, one hand on her hip, the other with a pointing finger toward my notebook.
I close my notebook and shove the pen in my bag. “Nothing.” I don’t need to explain anything to her or answer any of her questions. I should simply stand up and walk away from her but I don’t. She towers over me, making me feel weak and small, which is her goal, I’m sure.
“I highly doubt that.” She reaches down toward me, and before I realize what she’s doing, she snatches my poetry notebook out of my lap. My most private thoughts are in Olivia’s hands. She has access to my pleasure and my pain. This is a nightmare.
“Give it back.” I mutter the words, afraid to raise my voice at her. My demand sounds more like a question, and I know very well she won’t do as I ask. “Give it back.” I repeat myself, slightly louder, but my voice cracking.
“What?” She opens the first page, glances at the words, and smirks. “A book of poems? How very grade school of you.”
I want to flip the insult on her and point out how juvenile she’s being, but that’s what she wants. The thing about not having a lot of friends and people making fun of you is that you get to know how those people operate. Olivia, she wants me to react. She craves confrontation, like a zombie searching for a brain to eat. Maybe if she ate mine, she’d actually have one herself.
“That notebook doesn’t belong to you. I want it back.” I jump out of my chair to snatch it back, but I’m not quick enough. She rips a few pages out, then hands the notebook back to me. “I’ll keep these.” She waves them in front of me like a fan.
“Those belong to me.”
“What do you plan on doing about it? Are you going to run and tell a teacher? News flash: you’re in college now. You can’t run to anybody for help. You’re on your own.”
She’s right. I don’t plan on tattling on her about it. If I did, the staff would laugh at me, tell me to grow up. Nothing would happen. I never bothered to seek out punishment for Kaitlyn Manwell or Michelle Evans when they photoshopped a picture of me into a unicorn dog. That’s what it sounds like. My face, floppy ears, and a horn on my head. I cried in the bathroom when they spent a full Biology period calling me names and snorting like I were a pig that day we had a substitute teacher. I took it. I dealt with it. It’s what I do.
I want my paper back. I have a copy of everything in the notebook, except for what I wrote today. I always transfer my poems to a document on my laptop. I want people to read my words one day. But not her. She doesn’t deserve to.
“Roses are red,” Olivia says as she pretends to read off a page. “Violets are blue.”
I look around and while only moments ago I didn’t care people weren’t paying attention to me, now I wish they were. Maybe someone could stop her. I should stop her, but I’m frozen in my chair. I’ve never responded to the people treating me like crap. My mom would tell me kids were being kids and deal with it. So I did. I locked myself in my bedroom and wrote poetry, clinging to the few people who accepted me. The fact that a few decent people existed in the world made those four years of high school slightly more bearable. When Kaitlyn or Michelle made things bad for me, I sought out the Tinas, how few there were. But they’re not here right now. They can’t help me. It’s me. Olivia against me.
“Roses are red, violets are blue,” she begins again. “Violet is fat like a cow, and she loves to moo.” She draws out the word moo like she’s the cow. Deep inside I know she’s being immature and is acting like a fool, but I just want this to be over.
The grin across her face makes me sick to my stomach. Should I say something? What would I say? If I respond, I’m feeding into her. I could get up and walk away. If I do that, I think she’ll follow me. That’s what they did in grade school and high school. What would Janna do?
Janna would probably stick up for herself. Maybe even punch her. I won’t be violent. It’s not in my nature. Could I say something, though? What words could possibly affect someone like her? I remember what I promised myself. I didn’t say anything when she plastered my naked body on the internet. I stood there as she threatened me to stay away from Jesse. I’m disappointing myself by allowing this to happen. I mean, what can she do if I simply respond to her? If I don’t touch her, if I only stand up for myself with words, what can she really do? What would she do?
Jesse doesn’t seem to be scared of her, not in the least. Janna never told me to steer clear, either. I’ll never know what will happen if I don’t do it.
“What were you like in high school, Olivia?” I’m shaking so much and it’s apparent in my voice. I need to control myself, prove to her that I can stand on my own. Talking about her should make this easier. That’s what she wants anyway, isn’t it? For everyone to love her and make her the center of attention.
She curls up her nose and cocks her head as the paper crunches in her hand, destroying my poem. “What do you mean? I was popular, unlike you who probably ate your lunch on the cafeteria floor, or even worse, in the library.”
I ate in the library all the time. I also maintained a high grade point average. I may not be the beauty, but I have the brains. I may be down on myself about my looks, but I’ll never downplay my intelligence.
“Were you the one that made fun of all the people less popular than you? You would make them feel bad until they ran into the bathroom crying. No matter how much you tore people down you didn’t care because it made you feel on top of the world?”
“I…”
She doesn’t know what to say to me. I can’t believe I am calling her out on her shenanigans, and neither can she. “I’ll let you in on a secret, Olivia. You’re right. This is college. And if you haven’t noticed, you’re the only one acting like this.” My voice raises, and I’m sweating through my shirt. “No one here cares who the most popular person is or if I write poetry. They could give two craps about how you wear your hair or whose bed you slept in last night. Wake up, Olivia. Be an adult.”
The start of a slow clap snaps me out of my sudden adrenaline rush that gave me a backbone, which eventually leads into an all out applause. Everyone in the student center is on their feet, praising my speech.
Olivia stares at me in horror, her cheeks so red I’d burn my hand if I touched them. She shreds the paper in her hand and tosses the remnants in my face. “You’re going to pay for this you little bitch.”
I stand tall as she walks away, ignoring my ink-filled paper that hit my cheeks. I want to collapse, but I don’t. I turn the other way and head straight to Janna’s dorm.
“Dude, I can’t believe you said that to her!”
Janna sucks in her cigarette and blows out the smoke, and I wave it away with my shaking hand. It’s been twenty minutes and I’m still on edge, scared she’s going to knock on Janna’s door to confront me or come over a loud speaker and read some of my innermost thoughts from a journal she possibly stole from years ago. I know that’s far-fetched, but I can’t help but think the worst.
“Sorry. Does this bother you?”
What gave it away? My flying hand or the times I covered my nose with my hand? “No. It’s fine.” After my confrontation with Olivia the last thing I want to do is start things with Janna. I like her. A lot. I guess I’d consider her my best friend. Janna may be different than me, but I think that’s what I like about her. We’re salt and vinegar, sugar and spice, peanut butter and jelly. We may be opposites, but we fit together, like best friends should.
She squashes the cigarette out on the window sill. “I’ll put it out. I can tell it bothers you.”
I’m pleased she decides to do this. The fact that she reads me without me having to actually say anything is important in a relationship. Things may be sticky with Olivia, but I have a friend in Janna.
“So what did she do? She really just left?”
“Well, she told me to watch out, whatever that means.” But what it could mean frightens me. After the College Slam fiasco, I don’t know what she’s capable of. I don’t want to be the most popular person on campus but I don’t want people to act like I don’t exist, either. I’m going to be walking this campus for the next four years. I want them to be pleasant. How could she destroy me? Plastering my ass all over social media was pretty gutsy, but I truly believe she wants to do more. I have to stay positive. Maybe if I pretend she doesn’t affect me, she won’t. “I mean, what can she really do?”
“Exactly.” She hops off the window sill. “Not much. She’s a freshman, like us. No one really gives a flying fuck about any of us. Shit, you kissing her brother probably will make you more popular than any shit she tries to pull.”
“First, it was one kiss and let’s leave Jesse out of this. Two, I don’t care about popularity. I never did.” Through all of it—the kids spitting in my hair, spreading rumors about me, laughing when I kept my nose in a book instead of being athletic—I didn’t wish the opposite for one second. That meant I had to be like them, and I didn’t want that.
“Well, well. You really think it was one kiss with him? He is fine, and if you can get with him, I recommend it.”
“So you’re in the business of recommending people I sleep with?” I’m not sure how comfortable I am with where this conversation is going. Do I think Jesse is good looking? Of course. Do I want to date him? I wouldn’t be against it. But despite how I feel, I can’t get past his sister. I can’t put up with daily criticism from her to be with him.
“No, not at all. I’m only saying if I were to make a recommendation, he’d be on the list.”
“Was he really that popular in school?” I want to know about him, everything she knows.
“He wasn’t just that popular, Violet. He was the most popular. Olivia was too, but for much different reasons.”
That’s an easy observation to make. People like Olivia get under my skin to such a degree I’d rather an alien live inside me than any ounce of the meanness in girls like that. Considering how much I despise horror movies, that’s a pretty bold statement.
I hop onto her bed and pull her pillow against my chest. “Tell me about him. Her, too. How are they so different? And how did they end up at the same college?”
“I don’t know a whole lot, just what I heard around school. Both their parents aren’t involved in their lives. They’ve been fostered most of their lives. They dealt with it differently, I guess. Jesse became stronger, and Olivia found the only way to deal with it by being mean to everyone else, I guess.”
“What happened with their parents?”
Janna shrugs. “I’m not sure. That’s where the details get fuzzy. Some say they died when they were young, others say they’re junkies and in and out of jail. No one knows for sure. But their foster parents are loaded, which is how they both got in here. I don’t think Olivia would have without financial bribery. Jesse’s just smart.”
I can’t imagine my parents not being around. Their attention may be focused more on Rose now, but that doesn’t change how much my parents love me. We have our ups and downs, sure. What family doesn’t? What Jesse and Olivia have been through, though, I can’t even imagine that. Whether their parents are here on Earth or not, it doesn’t sound as though it’s been easy.
My phone dings, altering me I have class in five minutes. “Shoot! I have to race across campus for my writing class. Catch up later?”
Janna smiles, and I know she’s proud of me. “You bet.”
I fought with my parents regarding my Creative Writing course. They argued it wasn’t beneficial in any way. They want me to focus on the courses needed to complete my degree. Allowing me to take one writing course a year was my compromise. I’d earn my degree in business, but they had to agree to this. It took a lot of convincing until I threatened to not even attend college. Not even a community college. I’d freelance and have to live with them until I could find a gig to make enough money to be out on my own.
They gave in.
I’m not proud of how I came to be in this class, but they didn’t leave me any other option. I’ll work my four years in college, graduate, maybe even secure a job in the corporate world, but my writing, I need it. Words on the page are like air to me. I need them to breathe.
A month into this course, though, and I’m struggling. Professor Howard isn’t just tough—he’s relentless. My A and B report cards can’t compare to this class. I took honors courses in high school, but they weren’t this tough. I spent high school considering myself a talented writer. The people in this class amaze me and put me to shame. Janna tells me to suck it up, though, and keep writing.
Today Professor Howard has assigned us to write a poem, and I finally feel as though it’s my time to shine. I’ve forced a short story and a character sketch out over the past few weeks not wanting to stake a claim to it. Both came back marked up with so much red I thought my paper was bleeding. Not this time.
I finish my work well before class is over. The fact that others struggle with this eases my apprehension a bit. The short stories took me well out of my comfort zone and the poetry is out of theirs. I feel good about what I’ve written, tossing it on Professor Howard’s desk with pride.
“Finished so soon?” He eyeballs my paper, no doubt thinking back to the other few assignments I’ve turned in and how I struggled with them. He’s probably already given me a failing grade, or a D at best, in his mind.
“Yes. I’m more of a poet than a novelist.” My voice doesn’t waver.
“I see.” He picks up the paper with one hand and slides his reading glasses on with the other. When I don’t move, he glances up at me. “Please take your seat, Ms. Duncan.”
I float outside my body wondering if anyone heard him. I walked up with so much certainty, and he blew me down with a simple statement. I sigh, turn, and go back to my seat.
Everyone else has their head down, pen writing. I love that this professor doesn’t allow laptops in the room. He wants us to write everything longhand, which is my preferred way to write. Being able to touch the pen to paper brings more heart to my pieces rather than punching the cold keys of a keyboard. I look up at Professor Howard’s desk, and he’s already put my poem down and is writing in a notebook. I guess I didn’t leave a lasting impression on him. Sigh.
I don’t feel like writing anymore right now. My teacher’s reaction brings me down, slicing a knife through my confidence. Maybe I’ll head to the quad later and write there. I seem to write some of my best stuff curled up on the bean bag chair observing those around me. I pull out my phone, keeping my eye on everyone around me, especially my instructor. My phone fits between the sheets of my notebook. I manage to type a text to Janna checking if she’s still hanging out in her room and wants company later.
She replies back that she’s with Paul again. Paul’s nice, but I don’t think he’s the best influence on Janna. I don’t know how much Janna drank before she came to college, but I can’t imagine it was this much. She’s out with him almost every single night. She still claims they aren’t a couple, but I know they’re sleeping together. Sex, drugs, and alcohol seem to run her life right now. If she’s not careful, her grades will slip. She doesn’t seem too concerned about it, so maybe I shouldn’t be. I just don’t want to see her fail.
As I’m about to text her back to suggest meeting in the quad at seven tonight, Jesse sneaks in with a text.
Good morning, beautiful.
I’m blushing and reread the words over and over again. Beautiful. He can’t mean that. It’s just something people say. Like, “You look nice today.” Or “I like that shirt.” I’m not what people refer to as beautiful. I have never been. Janna, she’s gorgeous with her almond eyes and petite figure. My slight overbite and pear-shaped body doesn’t draw much attention. At least not the positive kind.
I’m not beautiful.
I type the words and hover over the send button before hitting it.
Yes, you are. Accept the compliment.
I half smile, thinking of my dad telling me I was pretty when all the boys barked at me at the park that time. “Those boys are crazy and don’t know what they’re talking about. They’re the ugly ones, the ones who do things like that. Don’t forget it.” He hugged me tightly, pulling me into the crook of his arm. He wouldn’t let me go until I said I was pretty. I said the words, but I never believed it.
Okay. Thank you.
What else could I say? Nothing, that’s what. He asks to meet me tonight. I’m eager to see him again, and I haven’t yet asked Janna to the quad. I text him back that I’d love to see him, and we agree on a place to meet. I want to squeal with excitement, but hold back when I remember I’m in class.
I shove my phone in my backpack and I can’t sit still. Why can’t it be seven-thirty already? I have almost nine hours until I see Jesse again.
Professor Howard dismisses us as the class ends. I snatch up my backpack, ready to run to my next class. Even after a month of being here I still don’t have the best way to get to my next class without being a minute or two late.
“Ms. Duncan, could I have a minute, please?”
My professor’s voice stops me in my tracks. Why does he need me to stay? Did I do something wrong? I wrote my poem and handed it in. That was the assignment. Did he think it was that horrible that I need to rewrite it? My heart races, pumping against my chest at a pounding force, as I toss my bag on my shoulder and hop down to his desk.
“Yes, Professor Howard?”
He takes his reading glasses off and picks up my poem. “This is a fine piece of work, Violet.”
His words catch me by surprise, and my shock is apparent on my face.
“Don’t sell yourself short. The fiction may not be your strong suit, but you’ve got something here. What’s your major?”
“Business.”
“Not Creative Writing? Because that’s what it should be.”
He thinks this even after my horrible character sketch and painfully bad stories? Based on my one poem? “Well, my parents don’t think I can make a living on that.”
“You can’t. Not right away. It takes a lot of hard work, but what doesn’t? You can write poetry and work in the publishing industry. You can obtain a degree for your writing and still find work somewhere within that field.”
He’s waiting for me to say something. I already had this argument with my parents and I am not about to have it with him. Unless I can afford college all by myself, business is what I’m aiming for. It’s boring, and not what I love, but I am sure I can write on the side and still work, just like he said, with a business degree.
“Look. There’s a poetry contest being sponsored by the school. I’d like you to enter this.”
I swallow so hard I almost choke on my tonsils. “You what?” This is the first time I’ve ever been asked to compete in anything.
“This poem. It’s touching, heartbreaking, and everything the world needs right now.” He slides a drawer open and pulls out a sheet of paper, handing it to me. “Here’s the information. Consider entering.”
I take the paper from him and glance over it. I can’t comprehend anything that’s written on it. I’m in too much shock to even try.
“Please, think about it.”
I fold the piece of paper in half two times and slide it into my back pocket. “Sure thing.”