Adventures in the Mirrorverse

Part 2: Winslow

I eyed the clock again, disfavourably. I didn't need this shit, didn't need to be sitting in class while the seconds crawled down to lunchtime. And I didn't need this class, with that in-your-face do-gooder Mister Stick-Up-The-Ass Gladly. In my opinion, he spent far too much time watching what we were doing. I couldn't get away with anything in that goddamn class.

I'd tried calling him 'Mr G' once, and he'd cut me off at the knees. Me.

"Ms Hebert," he'd lectured me in that goddamn aggravating gentle-but-firm tone he used for talking with 'trouble' students, "if you want to earn respect in life, you must learn to give respect. And we start by addressing one another in a respectful manner. If I were to address our good Principal Blackwell as 'yo, beeyatch!', that would be a sign that I did not respect her."

He had paused to allow the laughter to die down, a light smile on his lips. I wanted to wipe it off his face. He was making the class laugh while talking to me. That was almost as bad as them actually laughing at me.

"And so," he had concluded, "it is only proper and respectful for you to refer to me as 'Mr Gladly', and to the other teachers and staff by their full surnames, using an appropriate honorific. Do you understand?"

"Yeah, I understand," I had replied grudgingly. He had raised one eyebrow slightly, and I had hastily added, "Mr Gladly."

This wasn't me surrendering or him winning or any shit like that, you understand. When Mr Gladly - shit, he had me doing it now - when the G-bitch explained something like this, and the student pretended not to understand, that student got to write lines. I was sick and tired of writing lines. Especially since he made me do them all in pencil, after the one time he caught me photocopying a finished sheet.

So yeah, I was sick of the class, I was sick of the teacher, I was sick of the school, I was sick of Brockton Fucking Bay. I was destined for bigger things.

And yet, there I was, stuck in class with all of the know-nothing sheeple. The universe owed me. And I was going to collect. Looking around the class, I selected my target, just as the bell rang.

Madison hurried up the steps ahead of me. She obviously didn't realise I was there, which was her bad luck. After all, it wasn't like I hadn't done this before.

I did see her stop and look back for just a moment, but I was a flight below her, and she didn't look down over the rail. Gotta be smarter than that, Mads.

I watched my lunch money disappear into the third floor girls' bathrooms, then followed her in. By the time I got in there, she was in a stall; I leaned against the sinks and waited, arms crossed. Several girls entered, glanced at me then looked away.

That was the way it should be; Winslow might be a squeaky-clean school, heavy on rules enforcement, but Dad controlled the Dockworkers' Collective with an iron hand, and had a hand in several others. If he said someone didn't work, that someone didn't work. And so, in my first month or so at Winslow, I had made a point of finding out whose parents were members of which union or collective. Then I had made it clear to them that if they crossed me, their dads didn't work.

Some had disbelieved me; I had spoken to Dad, and a few guys got laid off, or transferred to ass-end jobs. Fathers of people at Winslow. After that, no-one crossed me.

Except Emma.

Emma was my big disappointment in life. We'd been best friends since grade school; her dad was an industrial relations lawyer, and he'd collaborated with Dad on a few matters that had made them more than a bit of money. Which was why I was attending Winslow, and not some shithole like Arcadia.

But Emma was here too. Sometime in the summer break between middle school and junior high, she'd gone all soft, grown a conscience. She was the one who spoiled my fun, way too many times. I couldn't frighten her with my Dad, and I couldn't have her beaten up; anyone who tried that got their asses royally kicked by Sophia Hess.

Sophia was the other thorn in my side. Emma had obviously met her over summer break, and a more sickeningly nice person you could never hope to push down an elevator shaft. She had a good word for everyone, but she wasn't a pushover like you'd think. Apparently she took the idea of 'turn the other cheek' not all that seriously, and was quite good at looking after herself. I'd never tried conclusions with her, and I didn't like my chances if I did. It was really irritating; if only there'd been some white-supremacist gang in town, I could've gotten Dad to sic them on her. But there wasn't, so meh.

The other girls finished up and got out, fast. When Madison opened the stall door, there was just me and her in the bathrooms, just the way I wanted it. I stepped forward, pushing her back into the stall.

"Madison, hi," I greeted her, a wide smile on my face. "Just the person I was looking for. I forgot my lunch money, so I'm gonna need to borrow yours."

"Taylor," she ventured. "Look, I don't have any lunch money, I brought my own lunch today, see?"

She opened her bag, and I did see the lunch in there. It looked like a nice one; a pita wrap, juice, a banana.

"No, no, no, no, no," I admonished her, shaking her by the shoulders like a rag doll. "That's not the way it works. The way it works is, you bring money in and give it to me, so I can buy something for me. I don't want your lunch. And apparently nor do you."

In front of her eyes, I pulled out the pita wrap and opened it, spilling the contents into the toilet bowl. The pita bread I tore up and dropped in there as well. Next, I got her juice out, opened it up, and took a good long drink. Then I poured the rest of it over her head. It got in her hair, over her top, and even on her skirt. Finally, I got out the banana.

She was crying by now; have I mentioned how much I hate crybabies and wimps? No time at all for them.

I was just about to start peeling the banana – I was going to smear it all over her face and hair – when I heard a most unwelcome voice.

"That's enough, Taylor. Let her go."

I looked around. Emma stood there, leaning on one side of the stall door way. Sophia leaned on the other side.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Emma. Can't you just mind your own fucking business for once?"

She ignored me, looking past me to Madison.

"Come on out, Mads," she urged the petite girl. "She won't stop you."

Madison ducked out past me, giving me one last frightened glance on the way past.

"Come on," Emma told her. "Let's go get you cleaned up. I'll buy you lunch."

"You won't be able to hide behind them forever, Clements," I called out. "I'll get back to you."

Sophia gave me a flat stare. "Why don't you just shut your mouth, Taylor," she advised.

"Fuck you, Hess," I replied venomously. "None of your goddamn business."

She gave me a steady stare, then glanced behind her. "You're gonna stay in here for the next few minutes," she stated. "Come out before then, I'll be waiting."

I waited. There wasn't much else I could do. In the meantime, I ate Madison's banana. What the hell; it was a free banana.

And I got mad. Emma and Sophia had barged in on my god-given right to extract satisfaction from Madison for my missing lunch money. What right did they have? Fucking seriously?

I ranted and raved; I may have sworn a bit. I know I kicked my bag across the bathroom floor.

The worst bit was, I could have stopped them from taking her away. But I couldn't do that. I couldn't show them what I could do. I needed to keep the secret just a little longer.

As I raged, the bugs emerged from every nook and cranny. They covered the walls, the ceiling, the floor. Highly venomous insects alighted on my arms, covered my face, until just my eyes were visible.

My anger turned to laughter, echoing harshly from the white tiles. I would show them. I would show them all.

The Hive Queen would rule.

End of Part 2