AN: The abuse in this chapter is more graphic than what I've presented thus far. While I feel like it still remains within the T rating, I acknowledge that the line is blurred. Keeping in mind that I've not written Magnus's death yet, I can say with nearly 100% certainty that this is the most graphic Broken will get, and I will say with 100% certainty that the abuse shown is necessary for the story I'm trying to tell. It's not meant for shock factor or to be edgy. There is a point, but before a character can be rebuilt they must be thoroughly deconstructed.
You have been warned.
"What did she do to you?" Matilda asked.
"I don't want to talk about it," Miss Honey said. "It's too horrible."
~x~
Jenny spent the rest of the day coming up with a plan of attack and the next two gathering the courage to enact it. If Lonnie noticed that she was even quieter than normal he didn't mention it, and Jenny was eternally grateful for his understanding. Over half her life had been spent bending over backwards in an attempt to appease her aunt, and while Jenny was rarely successful she never did anything that she thought might make her life more difficult. Going out with Lonnie—even if accompanied by his parents—felt dangerously like rebellion. No one knew better than Jenny how her aunt dealt with rebellious children.
If she were to have any chance of success she would have to ask when Aunt Trunchbull was in a good mood. After finally deciding to go through with her request, Jenny spent an entire afternoon cleaning the house top to bottom while Aunt Trunchbull was still at work, skiving off her homework to do so. She'd gotten used to such chores over the last two years, but never all at once. By the time she was ready to start supper Jenny's slender shoulders ached, and her hands were raw and chapped from scrubbing.
Gritting her teeth in determination, Jenny plowed onward. Lonnie was the only friend she'd ever had, the only friend she was likely to have. He never made her feel worthless, and when they were together Jenny could almost forget how terrible her situation really was. She owed him so much, and though she knew she could never repay the kindness he'd given her, she could at least do this.
The meal consisted of broiled strip steak, mashed potatoes, and green beans—relatively simple but hearty, with the added benefit of being one of her aunt's favorites. Jenny had done a two-layer chocolate cake the night before that she could serve as dessert. Hopefully it would be enough to make a difference.
"What's all this for?" Aunt Trunchbull asked once she came home, her eyes narrowing suspiciously.
"N-nothing, Aunt Trunchbull," Jenny stammered. She clutched her hands behind her back to keep from wringing them, praying that her anxiety wasn't too obvious.
"Hmph." Aunt Trunchbull sat down at the table, somehow making even that appear menacing. "Well, what are you waiting for? Hurry up and serve!"
Jenny hastened to do as she was bid, making sure her aunt had a generous portion while taking little for herself. Aunt Trunchbull didn't starve her, exactly, but the snide comments she made when Jenny reached for seconds made the girl feel more self-conscious than she already was. Tonight had to be perfect; spending an evening hungry would be worth it if she could just do this one thing.
"H-how was work?" Jenny asked, trying to fill the suffocating silence that pervaded through the dining room.
Aunt Trunchbull let out a noise that was somewhere between a laugh and a snort. "Miserable. Brats these days, wouldn't know the meaning of discipline if it walked up and kicked them in the ass. It never would have been allowed in my day. The whole system is rubbish. Bring back the rod, I say, bring back the stocks and the irons. That'd sort the little hellions out soon enough."
Trying to push back the mental image what her aunt would do if she were actually allowed to beat the children in her care, Jenny said, "Surely the Chokey would, er, sort them out?"
Aunt Trunchbull set her knife and fork down and studied Jenny carefully. "You're very inquisitive tonight, maggot. I thought I taught you that children were to be seen and not heard."
"I'm just…just curious about your method," Jenny said quickly as her heart began to race. "I heard one of the teachers say that the students who come from Cruncham Elementary are better behaved than any other school they knew. Y-you talk about discipline a lot, but don't other schools discipline their students?"
The lie did its trick, and Aunt Trunchbull resumed eating. "Those bleeding hearts? Ha! As if writing lines or detention accomplishes anything—and don't get me started on suspensions! If anything, the system rewards the little criminals for misbehavior. I won't stand for it, not in my school. You've got to make the lesson stick." She stabbed her meat as she emphasized the word.
"Nothing good was ever accomplished without a little blood, sweat, and tears shed along the way," Aunt Trunchbull said, her smile widening at Jenny's obvious discomfort. "Now hurry up and get me a piece of cake!"
Head spinning from the rapid change of subject matter, Jenny did as she was told before spending the rest of the meal in silence. This actually worked in her favor as Aunt Trunchbull, apparently feeling nostalgic, decided to regale tales of difficult students she had dealt with in the past. The memory of humiliating small children seemed to brighten her mood, although Jenny sincerely hoped that she was exaggerating.
As supper drew to a close Jenny took an enormous risk fetching her aunt a glass of brandy without being asked. Aunt Trunchbull wasn't much of a drinker and only partook during holidays, special occasions, or when she was in an exceptionally good mood. Jenny hoped the alcohol would induce some sort of Pavlovian response and bring out her aunt's better nature, or at least loosen her inhibitions.
Jenny watched anxiously as Aunt Trunchbull held the glass a shade longer than normal, before shrugging her massive shoulders. "To discipline!" she said jovially, drinking the entire thing in one gulp and gesturing for another.
"To discipline," Jenny echoed quietly. She refilled the tumbler and put the brandy away. She wanted Aunt Trunchbull relaxed, not drunk. Out of the corner of her eye, Jenny watched her aunt settle back contentedly in her chair, nursing her drink. It was the calmest Jenny had seen her all week, and there would be no better time than now to make good on her promise to Lonnie.
"Um, Aunt Trunchbull?" Jenny said.
"Oh, for God's sake, do you never shut up?" Aunt Trunchbull said, although her voice lacked any real malice. "What do you want?"
"I…I've been…" Jenny's courage flagged, and she swallowed loudly. For Lonnie, she reminded herself. Remember you're doing this for Lonnie. Somewhere she found the strength to look her aunt right in the eye. "I've been invited out."
Aunt Trunchbull froze, her glass halfway to her lips. "What?"
"I've been invited to a baseball game later in the summer," Jenny said, quavering only a little. "And…well, s-sports require discipline, and…" her voice trailed off as her aunt set down her glass, the tendons on the back of her hands visibly protruding.
"I…I thought it would be good to learn."
"Participating insports requires discipline," Aunt Trunchbull said. "Watching them takes all the effort of a tick sucking the blood off a mangy dog. Who invited you to this nonsense?"
"Just one of my classmates…"
"Which classmate?" Aunt Trunchbull demanded.
Jenny wished she could lie so badly that it hurt. But even if she thought she could get away with it, she had no other friends, no one else that she could even pretend liked her enough to want to spend time with her.
"His name is Lonnie," Jenny said.
"Lonnie…? You mean Laurence Thompson?" Aunt Trunchbull said.
"Y-yes, Aunt Trunchbull."
Aunt Trunchbull's eyes bulged and her face flushed scarlet as she swelled up like an over-inflated balloon. Jenny cringed, waiting for the moment when her temper would finally burst.
Instead her aunt took a deep breath and let it out slowly through her nose. She fixed Jenny with a glare that was stony hard, her black eyes colder than the Northern Sea. "Well," she said in a clipped tone, "we shall see about that. Bring me the phone book."
"I-I'll tell him you said no," Jenny said. "You don't have to call—"
"I said bring me the phone book."
Jenny almost ran out of the dining room. A part of her contemplated calling Lonnie herself, but she quickly quashed that thought. She didn't know his number, and she couldn't have managed it without Aunt Trunchbull noticing. There was no choice but let her aunt have her way.
Feeling utterly powerless, Jenny brought the phone book back to Aunt Trunchbull and stood with her hands clenched into fists to keep them from shaking as her aunt made a great show of flipping through the pages.
"I remember Laurence quite well," Aunt Trunchbull said conversationally. "Why am I not surprised that you would keep company with that filth? Ah, yes, here we are, Mr. Theodore Thompson. I recall having a stimulating conversation with him after his good-for-nothing son ran home telling outrageous tales."
It was like someone had reached inside Jenny and squeezed all of the air out of her lungs. She could hardly breathe, let alone ask what her aunt planned to do next.
"314 West Maple Street," Aunt Trunchbull continued. "A bit of a drive, I'll admit, but if the blight isn't eradicated immediately who knows how far it'll spread."
"You're going to his house?" Jenny asked, horrified.
A smirk cut across Aunt Trunchbull's face and she grabbed Jenny by the nape of the neck. "Yes, and you're coming with me."
~x~
Jenny spent the drive to Lonnie's home wondering how things could have gone so wrong so quickly. She never thought in a million years that Aunt Trunchbull would do something like this. Somehow, Jenny had underestimated her aunt, and now she was going to pay the price.
Aunt Trunchbull pulled into the driveway of a small, squat house with a slightly overgrown lawn. She cut the ignition, and Jenny would have sworn she could hear the beating of her own heart.
"Out," Aunt Trunchbull commanded.
Reluctantly Jenny unbuckled her seatbelt and exited the car. Aunt Trunchbull's vice-like grip clasped around her shoulder and frog-marched to the door. She rapped sharply before settling back with militaristic rigidity.
A woman came to the door with a confused look on her face. She had Lonnie's wide mouth, with strands of silver threading her dark hair and laugh lines crinkling at the corner of her eyes.
"Good evening. May I help you?" she asked.
"Hello. Mrs. Thompson, I presume?" Aunt Trunchbull said.
"Yes…and you're that Trunchbull woman, aren't you? I remember you from last year," Lonnie's mother squinted her eyes, and her gaze flickered to Jenny. "And you must be Jenny! Lonnie's spoken so much about you! Come in, come in."
Mrs. Thompson opened the door and allowed them inside her home, patting Jenny fondly on the head as she passed. The contact made Jenny flinch, and her stomach did a summersault when Lonnie peered his head around the corner.
"Jenny?" he asked, and a humongous grin spread across his face. "Didja ask? Why didn't you call before coming over?"
"Yes, I would have had something ready," his mother said, gently scolding. She grabbed a handful of newspaper off of the living room couch where she had been clipping coupons and gestured for them to sit. "Could I get you a glass of water? Or milk, maybe? I did up a batch of my grandmother's gingersnap cookies. I don't like to brag, but I think they came out quite nicely. Didn't they, dear?"
"Yep," Lonnie said, bobbing his head in agreement. "Maybe you could give Jenny the recipe. She's real good at baking, too."
"No, thank you. I plan for this to be a quick visit," Aunt Trunchbull said, giving Jenny a glare that made her wilt. "I was told this evening that my niece has been invited to a...baseball game." Her nose crinkled in distaste. "Is this true?"
"Oh, yes," Mrs. Thompson said. "It was Ted's idea. He'd be able to tell you more if he were home, but they've moved him to the night shift at the factory. I don't know much about the game myself, never saw the point of sports."
"Obviously," Aunt Trunchbull said, lip curling as she gave a once-over to Mrs. Thompson's rotund frame. "Well, I'm here to tell you Jennifer shan't be going."
"Oh, it's nothing but a bit of fun," Mrs. Thompson protested. "Lonnie's told us so much about little Jenny here, and we're so glad how she's been helping him with his school work. I assure you Ted will be there for the entire date."
"Mom!" Lonnie yelped, jumping suddenly to his feet while Jenny felt the blood drain out of her face.
"Sorry, sorry," Mrs. Thompson laughed. She winked conspicuously to Aunt Trunchbull. "I made him promise not to have a girlfriend until he was at least sixteen, and he's always been so good about minding his mother."
Aunt Trunchbull glared at her in stony silence, deflating some of Mrs. Thompson's enthusiasm. Jenny could feel her aunt shaking with the effort it took to keep calm, but when she spoke each word was icy cold. "I don't think you understand," she said frigidly. "In fact, I think you incapable of understanding. So long as Jennifer lives under my roof she will not go anywhere with your son. Because of his influence, she has lied to me, stolen from the very house she lives in, and conspired against my authority. I am convinced that what I've discovered tonight is but the tip of a foul, rebellious iceberg, and it is well within my rights as her guardian to ground her immediately and indefinitely."
"But Miss Trunchbull…" Lonnie protested.
"Silence!" Aunt Trunchbull commanded. "I don't know what role you played in this, but I came here tonight to tell you that it ends immediately. I've spent too long weeding out Jennifer's delinquent nature for you to sow the seed of dissention and malcontent!" She jerked on Jenny's arm harshly. "Get up. We're leaving."
"Wait just a minute," Mrs. Thompson said, twin spots of color on her cheeks. "I don't know what your problem is, but you have no right to speak to my son that way!"
"The problem, Mrs. Thompson, is that since her father's suicide Jennifer has shown herself to be unstable and easily persuaded into risky behavior. Without a firm hand guiding her, she's destined to meet the same end. I am responsible for her wellbeing, and it is obvious that this…this date will undo nearly seven years of progress. Now, if you'll excuse us, I must bid you goodnight. Don't bother getting up. I'm more than capable of seeing myself out."
~x~
More than once in her young life Jenny had found herself wondering if there would come a time when she would die by Aunt Trunchbull's hand. It was easy to imagine not being treated in time after a too-forceful blow, or her aunt locking her in the cellar and forgetting her there. Despite her overactive and at times morbid imagination, never did she think there would come a time when her aunt would murder her on purpose.
During the entire ride home, Jenny was sure that Aunt Trunchbull was going to kill her.
"Inside," Aunt Trunchbull said once they returned to the Red House, her voice like steel.
Jenny couldn't muster a response as she rushed to do as she was told. On their way inside, Aunt Trunchbull paused to grab her riding crop. She pushed Jenny into the living room near the fireplace, and Jenny was grateful that it was late enough in the year that no blaze was going. Jenny cowered as close to the wall as she could while Aunt Trunchbull paced back and forth, tapping her riding crop in her hand.
"I thought it would be another year or two yet before we had this conversation," she began, "but once again, your deceitful nature shows itself prematurely. Stand up straight! You look like an abandoned dog."
Jenny tried to do what she was told, but she was so afraid that she felt like finding a deserted hole and hiding in it forever.
"Pathetic," Aunt Trunchbull muttered. "Completely pathetic. How long have you been talking to that boy?"
"I-I don't know…"
Quick as a snake, Aunt Trunchbull spun around and hit her riding crop against the wall, a hair-breadth from Jenny's face. Jenny flinched away from it, but there was no escape as Aunt Trunchbull leaned in closer and grabbed the front of her shirt. "We can do this the easy way or the hard way," she snarled. "Whichever you choose, I will have answers, and I will have them tonight. How long?!"
"A-A year," Jenny gasped. "M-maybe a l-l-little longer."
"A year, she says. A bloody year! You, the festering puddle of puke who's frightened of her own shadow, had the audacity to defy me for an entire year!" Aunt Trunchbull drew back suddenly, outwardly calm, though Jenny could see the storm raging in her eyes.
"I should have expected this. I should have remembered that little girls take longer to break than little boys. Upstairs, bedroom. Now."
"What…?"
Jenny's head snapped back as the sting of the riding crop struck her cheek, hard enough to make Aunt Trunchbull's opinion known, but not hard enough to leave a lasting mark. Jenny shuffled upstairs to her bedroom, risking fugitive glances to her aunt's hulking figure. Could she make it to the front door in time? Could she possibly escape whatever hell Aunt Trunchbull was about to put her through? She knew where Lonnie lived now, and his mother seemed nice. Maybe she would let Jenny stay…
"Hurry up, maggot! I haven't got all night!"
No. There was no escape. There never was.
Once they reached Jenny's bedroom, Aunt Trunchbull grabbed a fistful of Jenny's hair and drug her over to the large vanity. The full-length mirror had once belonged to Jenny's paternal grandmother, and the beautiful carved wood made it Jenny's favorite piece of furniture in the entire house. Aunt Trunchbull easily could have taken it to herself, but she held it in distain, saying a vanity was only for the vain.
With one swoop of the arms, Aunt Trunchbull swept all of Jenny's curios onto the floor and planted her dead center in front of the mirror. "Just as a maggot must cocoon itself before it can transition into a fly, every child goes through a period of transition before adolescence in which they foolishly believe that they are mature enough to be considered an adult."
Jenny wasn't entirely sure if maggots made cocoons, but it seemed safest to nod anyway.
"Ideas begin to dart through their dull little brains. Rebellious, stupid ideas that if not corrected immediately will evolve into dangerous notions that eventually lead to the reckless behavior so often seen in teenagers. Once fully developed, these behaviors are almost impossible to derail, leading them to become gangsters, thugs, and low-life criminals suited for nothing but a life behind bars. And all of this could be prevented by refusing to coddle the half-wits when they're small enough to squash beneath your feet!"
Without warning, Aunt Trunchbull ripped Jenny's shirt off of her back. She gasped, suddenly exposed, and tried to cover herself with her hands, but Aunt Trunchbull was able to manhandle her into submission, grabbing Jenny's torso with one arm while pulling her pants down over her hips with the other.
Aunt Trunchbull had not seen her naked for years, and Jenny's newly developed sense of modesty drove her to fight back against the hold. A backhanded slap across the face caused Jenny's glasses to fall off of her face and startled her into being still for only a moment. That was all Aunt Trunchbull needed to turn her around so that she was looking at herself in the mirror.
"Girls in particular," she panted, a crazed look dancing in her eyes, "seem to believe in the ridiculous notion of love, that Prince Charming will come riding on a white horse and whisk them off to the fairytale land of happily ever after. They are blind, just as you are! Boys are after one thing, Jenny, and I can assure you that it's not love!"
Jenny stifled a sob as her aunt shook her viciously. "Just look at this," Aunt Trunchbull spat. "What sort of person would find this to be attractive?"
Jenny forced herself to look into the full-length mirror. One skinny arm covered her bare chest, while the other tried vainly to hide her most private of places. Cold and disgust made her convulse violently, but no matter how she slumped her shoulders or crossed her legs she could not hide her shame. This was vile. She was vile for being unable to stop it. Jenny could not stand to see her terrified, useless figure for more than a few seconds before she dropped her gaze.
"I said look!" her aunt snarled, grabbing Jenny's arms and pulling them by her side. The pain of Aunt Trunchbull's iron grip was nothing compared to the twisting horror in her stomach. Her aunt's touch made Jenny's skin crawl, and it was all she could do to keep from throwing up.
"Why in the name of God would anybody want this?"
Again, Jenny looked at herself. A plain round face hid behind strands of greasy brown hair, doing nothing to compliment an underfed, gangly body that had none of the desired curves. An unsightly thatch of curly, dark hair had begun to grow between her legs, only adding to her ugliness. Unhealthily pale skin was marked with bruises on her biceps and shoulders where Aunt Trunchbull liked to grab most. Although she could not see it in the mirror, Jenny could not forget the small scar on her right index finger from where she'd cut herself on a broken piece of glass all those years ago.
"They wouldn't," she whispered as her vision went blurry.
"Speak up! I can't hear your infernal mumbling!"
"They…they wouldn't," Jenny said, voice cracking as tears slid down her face.
"They wouldn't," agreed Aunt Trunchbull, lips curling into a cruel smile. "Which begs the question, why would this particular boy want you?"
"He doesn't…"
"Silence! What possible reason would any male be interested in you unless you threw yourself at them?"
"I-I haven't…"
"Did you like it, Jen? Are you so pathetically desperate that you would spread your legs for every hormone-addled nymphomaniac who gives you a second glance?" Aunt Trunchbull leaned down and hissed in her ear, "At least a whore is paid. I raised you better than this. You are contemptible, Jennifer Honey, and you will pay for tarnishing my good name."
"I haven't done anything!" Jenny cried.
The grip on her arms tightened. "Even if you haven't, you were going to. It was only a matter of time. I saw how you looked at that boy. Do you actually think he loves you?"
Jenny remembered how Lonnie had smiled at her that night and thought maybe, just maybe, he did.
"Well he does not! And do you know why that is, Jenny? It's because you are unlovable. I've never seen such a worthless, pathetic child, and let me tell you, I have had the misfortune of instructing hundreds of miserable brats in my lifetime. But you? You take the cake. You are the Queen of Cowardice, the Duchess of Dimwits, the Patron Saint of Stupidity." Aunt Trunchbull threw Jenny to the ground in disgust.
"Why in God's great name do you think anyone could ever love you?!" Aunt Trunchbull shouted, practically frothing at the mouth with rage. When Jenny didn't answer, she kicked her niece savagely in the ribs. "Answer me! I will not be disrespected by the likes of you!"
Pain exploded in Jenny's side, and she felt something pop. The blow left her gasping for air and unable to do as she was commanded. Further incised by this slight, Aunt Trunchbull lashed out again and again. It was all Jenny could do to curl her naked form into a tiny ball and protect her head with her hands.
As the beating continued, Aunt Trunchbull launched into a vicious diatribe explaining point by point all the reasons Jenny was not and would never be loved. The words somehow hurt worse than the blows, because Jenny knew it was all true. Lonnie didn't love her. Lonnie didn't even like her. He was simply using her, and Jenny was allowing herself to be used. This proved she was a fool—a weak, desperate fool who would give up the illusion of self-respect for a bit of attention.
She was, in a word, pathetic, and it was Aunt Trunchbull's duty to put a stop to whatever nonsense she had deluded herself with.
"You will break off relations with this boy," Aunt Trunchbull spat. "Or I will be forced to take matters into my own hands. Do you understand?"
The thought of Aunt Trunchbull getting anywhere near Lonnie terrified her, but Jenny couldn't answer fast enough. Aunt Trunchbull grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her.
"I said do you understand?!"
"Y-yes, Aunt Trunchbull," Jenny gasped. With a final snort of derision, she was thrown against her bed and allowed to slump to the ground.
"I don't think I need to tell you what will happen if I hear of you speaking to one another again," Aunt Trunchbull said dangerously. "Now get yourself cleaned up and go to bed. I expect you to make me breakfast in the morning."
~x~
In spite of the growing heat, the next day Jenny opted to wear pants and a long-sleeve shirt to school. She was grateful she did not have gym, or else she would have been forced to cut class to keep the lurid purple bruises that peppered her arms hidden. The pain in her side made it nearly impossible to take deep breaths, but if she moved slowly and carefully, doing everything in her power not to be jostled as she walked up and down the hallways, she could pretend that she was okay.
Aunt Trunchbull had the foresight not to hit her face hard enough to leave a mark. Jenny didn't understand how her aunt could fly into such rages and still control herself enough to make sure she wasn't caught. At least if she'd left a black eye Jenny would have deluded herself into thinking she had a friend for a few days longer.
"Hey, Jenny, are you okay?" Lonnie asked in his usual, slow way. It was the last recess of the day, and it was a minor miracle she'd been able to avoid him that long, although she'd been forced to spend lunch in the girl's bathroom to manage it. "You don't look so good. Are you getting sick?"
"No," Jenny breathed. She couldn't stand to look at his earnest face, so she focused her gaze on a crack in the ground, wishing it would open up and swallow her whole.
"Oh. I missed you at lunch today. I'm sorry about last night. You shoulda seen my mom once your aunt left. I've never seen her so mad."
Jenny almost made the mistake of saying I missed you, too, but managed to stop herself in time. "I should go."
"Why?" The plaintive question cut her to the core, and Jenny's eyes misted over. She blinked furiously to clear her vision. She didn't cry anymore, not unless she was safely alone where no one could criticize her weakness. "I brought my baseball cards," Lonnie said. "I wanted to show you even if you can't come with me. I got one of George Brett my dad says might be worth a lot of money someday."
"I can't," Jenny said miserably. "Lonnie, I can't be friends with you anymore."
The silence was deafening. Finally Jenny worked up enough courage to look at him. Confusion and betrayal warred for purchase on his face as he stared at her slack-jawed. It was clear he didn't comprehend what she was saying, and Jenny felt like the worst person in the world for hurting him like this.
"But…but you sit by me at lunch. You help me with my homework when everyone else just calls me stupid. You remembered my birthday when even the teacher forgot."
"I'm sorry," Jenny whispered hoarsely. He didn't deserve this. Maybe he didn't love her, but it was clear by his expression that he cared for her a great deal. Jenny wished she could explain, but of course she could not. Lonnie was a kind, simple soul, but he was not bright. Even if Jenny thought he could understand the decision was Aunt Trunchbull's, she couldn't trust him to keep quiet. His innocence was too far removed from the reality that Jenny lived.
Finally Lonnie seemed to realize what Jenny was saying. His cheeks flushed bright red with anger, and hurt tears filled his eyes. "I thought you were my friend!" he shouted, before pushing Jenny hard enough that she fell to the ground.
Jenny landed awkwardly on her injured ribs, and had to bite her tongue to keep from crying out. Even so, one of their classmates saw what had happened. Someone shouted that they were going to get the teacher, and before Jenny knew what was going on, Lonnie was being escorted to the principal's office, where he would surely be punished for fighting on school grounds.
Jenny clutched her side as Ruth Burrell helped her sit up. She tried to blink away her blurred vision, not realizing until Opal Hendricks handed over her glasses that they had been knocked off her face. With shaking hands, Jenny took them, but even then the world was fuzzy. She didn't want to cry, but she couldn't stop a tear from streaking down her face, and once one got loose there was no stopping the rest.
"You can stay with us, if you want," Ruth offered. "Stupid Lonnie Thompson's nothing more than a big bully. I hope he gets detention."
"I wish he'd get the Chokey, but they don't have one here," Opal sniffed disapprovingly. "I don't get why you hang out with him."
This was too much. Jenny pulled herself away and rushed to the other side of the playground. There was a small spot between two buildings where older students sometimes snuck cigarettes, just big enough for one or two people to hide. Jenny stayed there until the bell rang, weeping bitterly. Her bruised side ached, but that was nothing compared to the hurt on the inside.
Books spoke of being heartbroken, but it felt like hers had been shattered, ripped out of her chest, and then trodden on for good measure. Jenny was sure it would never be made whole again, and it was her own fault. What she said to Lonnie had been cruel, no better than the awful rhetoric Aunt Trunchbull spouted at her on a daily basis. Jenny knew what, and she had spoken the words anyway.
It was no wonder everyone hated her, and when she realized she would be eating lunch alone once more, Jenny began to hate herself.