The Princess & Her Alphaholes by Renee O’Roark

Chapter Two

Berta Thornby

Sixth grade, age 11

Alexandra Hale

Giving myself one last look as I left my bedroom, I tiptoed passed Alyssa’s room. She’d been gone for a few months now, but it still felt like she was right there. Ready to come out and look at me with those half-vacant eyes, her hair looking like it had gone through a blender. I wrapped my hand around the still healing scars on my arm and eased by her closed door, slinking against the wall.

It was the first day of sixth grade. The first day of middle school. I was no longer a child! It finally felt like I was growing up. I grabbed my backpack at the bottom of the stairs and stopped in the kitchen where my mom and stepdad were waiting.

Mom hugged me tightly before pushing me in front of the fridge for the obligatory first day picture. I rolled my eyes but allowed her to take it.

“Isidro,” my stepfather yelled. “You’re going to miss the bus.”

Although I held my position, my eyes shifted so I was looking toward the hall, as opposed to at my mother, who was blinding me with the flash. Issy came around the corner, grabbing his bag and slinging it over his shoulder as I had mine. His steps faltered when he saw Mom taking pictures.

He winked at me before heading into the kitchen. “I’m not going to miss the bus.” He paused by my side long enough for my mother to take three rapid fire photos. He grabbed a bagel and stuffed it in his mouth, then grabbed a cream cheese packet in one hand and my hand in his other.

I waved at my family and allowed Issy to drag me out the door and up the long driveway. He pocketed the cream cheese as we went so he could take the bagel out. “You ready?” he asked me.

I nodded. I was so ready for this. He grinned as we stopped at the end of the driveway where the two neighbor boys stood waiting. Wade smiled at me much like Issy did. It was friendly, in that older brother sort of way. Azlan’s smile was different. Perhaps it was his whole expression. Like it was a smile he was trained to give. But behind it was something else.

The other kids at school said it was unsettling. Scary. I thought it was just Azlan.

Azlan handed me a muffin and I smiled. His head tilted, his smile changing a little. Becoming a bit broader? Then he pet my hair like one might a dog. I was always under the impression Azlan wasn’t sure how to interact with people. He tended to regard most people somewhere between a stray animal and a horrible being.

The bus came and Issy pushed me on first. I chose a seat and he sat behind me. Wade joined Issy and Azlan joined me. The ride to school was quiet and uneventful. There were thirteen stops between our house and the middle school. And the middle school was dropped off first. I got out and waved at the boys as they watched me through the widow.

I backed away, still waving, and ran into someone. I turned and apologized. The girl, someone I didn’t recognize, stared at me. Her lips pursed. She was nearly a head taller than me. I wasn’t overly short, but most people were taller than me by an inch or two.

This girl looked like she should be attending the high school.

“I’m really sorry,” I said again, offering her a smile. I turned and headed toward the school when it became clear that she wasn’t going to respond.

Jules was waiting for me in homeroom. I was so thankful that she was going to be there. We’d met when we were eight. She had been the new kid and we’d instantly gravitated to each other.

“Xan!” she exclaimed as I took my seat next to her. “I love your hair. Why do you always have to have such perfect hair?!”

I giggled, swatting her hand away. Really, I hadn’t done anything special with my hair. It was back in an elastic. The chestnut locks always had loose ringlets that people seemed to fawn over, like they’d been a choice.

“How’s your brother?” Jules asked.

I grinned at her. It was no secret she’d had a crush on Issy since we were kids. You know, as much as an eight-year-old can crush on someone. “He’s fine.” I shrugged. “Issy is Issy.”

Jules nodded. “I hear that there’s a new girl starting.”

“Oh?”

She nodded again. “Not a good one. This is her eighth school since second grade. And not because she’s a military brat. Because she keeps getting kicked out for her behavior.”

“I hear that she broke the principal’s leg,” Danny said from behind us.

Jules and I glanced back at him.

“I also heard that she set fire to the library three schools ago.”

Jules and I looked at each other. We didn’t need to speak to know that we would be steering clear of whoever this girl was.

The teacher, Ms. Doughty, walked in, clapping her hands to get our attention like we were preschoolers. Most of the class rolled their eyes. Behind her was the girl I’d bumped into when I was waving at the boys on the bus.

Dread curled in my stomach. Oh, no.

“Class. We have a new student. Berta Thornby hails from Riverton Park. Let’s show her a warm welcome.”

No one spoke. Berta’s eyes scanned the room. And settled on me.

I felt Jules look at me as Berta stared. Other students started peeking in my direction. I swallowed and reassured myself that it wasn’t like I’d be sharing a lot of classes with her. We’d gotten to pick our classes over the summer. She was a transfer. It was likely that she’d gotten stuck with whatever class had available seats. It should be easy to avoid her.

As it turned out, three of my six classes were shared with Berta. Two of which she managed to snag a seat next to me. I was sure she enjoyed the way I squirmed uncomfortably. But it wasn’t until the end of the day when I realized that she had truly set her sights on me.

I hadn’t shared my last class with her, for which I was immensely grateful. I was so sure I’d be home free. All I needed to do was get to the busses.

But she’d been waiting. I wasn’t sure how it had happened. Somehow, I’d been tripped. When I had fallen, Berta was crouched on the ground in such a way that my face had slammed off her knee. And I came away with a bloody nose.

“I’m really sorry,” she said, mocking my words from earlier.

I got to my feet, lifting my sleeve to cover my nose so blood wouldn’t drip everywhere. I had a choice to make. Go to the nurse, chance missing the bus and possibly have to report the incident, which would only lead to more trouble with Berta. Or just wait for the bus and keep my head back.

“It was an accident,” I said, getting to my feet. I smiled at her through my hand. Trying like hell to smooth the ripple in the water.

As I hurried for the busses, her laughter followed me. I quickly hopped on, accepting some paper towels from the bus driver, and chose a seat in the middle. When the boys surrounded me, looking at all the blood that covered my clothing and my hands and the paper towels, there was a silent chill that swept over the bus. No one spoke as they studied me.

“I tripped,” I told them warily. “No big deal.”

* * *

None of them bought it.

It started with little things. Mostly tripping me when I wasn’t looking. So, when I started looking down to make sure I wasn’t walking into a trap of some kind, she started opening locker doors in my face. Or classroom doors. Sometimes, she’d just walk in front of me and slam me into a locker on her way by.

Lunch often ended with food in my lap, chocolate milk over my head. So by the end of the day, I smelled like an uncleaned kitchen.

The little things turned into bigger things. During gym, she’d run into me so hard I’d skid across the ground, getting floor burned. She’d throw a dodge ball at me so hard it would leave a bruise. Once, it hit me so hard I landed on my back, smacking my head on the floor. I lost consciousness for a minute. Berta ended up with detention.

This only fueled her to go harder.

By the end of September, I started trying to find reasons not to go to school. My whole body ached from the abuse she was putting me through. And although I knew I needed to tell someone, the nurse at the very least, it was only going to egg her on.

One morning, I hid in the back of the closet in the spare room. If my mother didn’t find me, she couldn’t make me go to school. Every time she called for me, I tried to fold in on myself to be smaller. Even if she opened the closet door, she shouldn’t be able to see me.

I heard the front door shut, my mother’s voice fading with it. I sighed but then the closet door opened. I peeked up to see Issy standing there looking at me with a brow raised. Of course, he’d know where to find me. This was one of the places he used to hide me to keep me from having to see my nightmare of a father.

“So… when you told me it was nothing, you didn’t really mean that. Did you?” he asked.

Swallowing, I just stared. I didn’t want anyone else getting involved. It would only make Berta try harder.

The front door opened. Whatever look I gave him must have convinced him to shut the door. But he joined me in the closet, sitting on the ground on the wall perpendicular to me. “Tell me,” he said quietly.

I shook my head. He couldn’t see it, but he repeated the request as if he could. I felt his hand on my ankle.

“There’s a bully at school,” I told him.

He squeezed my ankle. But I didn’t tell him any more. Eventually he left me to my hiding spot and left the house. I heard him tell my mom that I’d probably already gone down to the bus. She must have believed him.

The squeal of the bus brakes came. The strained sound of the engine moving on followed. Then my mother’s car engine and my stepfather’s, too.

I remained in the closet for most of the day. Issy came home and with him were Wade and Azlan. Issy pulled me out of the closet and sat me on the bed in the spare room.

“So, I talked to some of the kids on the bus. Sounds like more than just a bully, Xan,” Issy said.

“Don’t do anything,” I said. “You’ll only make it worse.”

“You only have so long to get it under control,” Azlan said in that quiet, smooth voice of his. It was the kind of voice that made everyone, even adults, shiver. Because there was a hidden threat in it. And you knew, just by looking at him, that he'd make good on that threat. “Or I will.”

And there was the threat.

The bullying went on for months. I kept telling the boys that I was handling it. I even managed to hide most of the evidence.

It culminated when Berta pushed me off the balance beam in gym class. It was only three feet from the floor and there was a padded mat below it. But I’d fallen in such a way that I’d had my breath knocked out of me. And she’d landed on top of me, as if she’d fallen, too. And she didn’t get up as she ‘accidentally’ kept her forearm over my throat, preventing me from taking in breath.

I left for home nearly hysterical that day. Somehow, I prevented my breakdown until after the bus had dropped us at the end of our driveway. And then I lost it and told them everything.

Berta didn’t return to school the next day. I was so relieved, I didn’t even ask about her.