1
For the first time in her life, Evelyn Tozier considered skipping school.
It would be so easy, she thought as she lay underneath her floral quilt. It was a quarter ... no, ... seventeen past seven now, according to the alarm clock on her nightstand. It had started burring some time ago, but Evelyn made no attempt to silence it. She didn't have the strength. Dad, I just don't feel well today. I think I should stay home and rest. Her father wouldn't ask any questions, not like he would with Richie, who was known to fake (and quite convincingly) a bellyache from time to time. Evelyn was a good kid who never played hooky. All right, sweetie, you head back to bed. I'll call the school before I leave, and he would send her off with a tender kiss on her forehead. Feel better, okay?
Evelyn turned onto her back and sighed. I should do it, shouldn't I? I don't think I could stand to see him right now, not after what he ... She touched her fingertips to her neck, tracing over the purpling bruises that Patrick had made. They hurt. Are they supposed to hurt so much? No, I don't think so. Otherwise, why would any girl ever want one? (She thought of Desiree for a moment, of that lustful smile she wore as her boyfriend kissed her neck.) No, I bet Patrick did it on purpose. He made sure they would hurt so that I wouldn't easily forget, and now I don't think I ever will, not for as long as I live. From now on, I need to be more careful.
And she had to go to school. Yeah, there was no avoiding that. So pick yourself up and dust yourself off, kid. You've got another busy day ahead of you. She reached out and smacked the top of her alarm clock.
"Richie, get up! You're gonna be late for school!" Then Evelyn got up herself and started getting ready.
Homecoming was right around the corner. After weeks of procrastinating, the senior class finally voted on the fashion themes for spirit week. Unsurprisingly, they recycled the same ideas from last year: Pajama Day, Wacky Hair Day, Twin Day, School Pride Day. Mondays were always the "decade" days. This year, the students of Derry High would be paying homage to the sixties, which, according to Mr. Tozier, was the best decade for fashion. Bright, swirling colors. Floral print. Geometric patterns. Mod. Bohemian. Biker. Beatnik. Evelyn didn't understand any of it ("What's a Twiggy?" she'd asked her parents over dinner), but she was excited to participate. Mrs. Criss kept a lot of her old clothes and was generous enough to let Evelyn borrow an outfit ... as long as she agreed to stay for lunch. "I'm making a quiche!" Mrs. Criss said over the phone.
"Anyway, I'm heading over on Sunday," Evelyn told Hannah-Beth as they walked side by side through the hallway. Evelyn's steps were slower today, heavier, as if she was still half asleep. She was having a hard time matching her friend's pace. "You're more than welcome to tag along."
"Thanks," Hannah-Beth said, "but I already have an outfit. My mom took me thrift store shopping last weekend. I'm going full 'flower child.' That's sixties, right? Or is that from the seventies?"
"I honestly couldn't tell ya." Evelyn sidestepped to avoid an oncoming eighth-grader. "I wouldn't worry about it too much, though. On Monday, I expect most people will be doing some variation of the hippie look." It was the first thing that came to Evelyn's mind, too. She hooked her arm around her friend's neck and smiled (but it wasn't her usual smile, Hannah-Beth noted with a puzzled frown; this one didn't quite reach her eyes). "Trust me, Hannah, you'll look fantastic no matter what you wear."
They cut through the freshman locker area, where Destiny Davis was pinning her daily announcement to the bulletin board while the rest of her cabinet handed out pink flyers to everyone who passed.
"Support the cause!"
"Don't forget to sign the prom petition!"
"Come on, guys, let's stick it to the seniors!"
So far, Destiny had managed to collect thirty-five signatures. A solid start for sure, but Evelyn heard a very troubling rumor on the bus this morning. Allegedly, Destiny was bribing boys, who otherwise wouldn't give a crap about prom, with dates in exchange for their support. In other words, Destiny was pimping out her fellow students for political favors. Evelyn cringed at the thought.
"I can see the headline now: Freshman Forms Prom Prostitution Ring!" And she had to admit, it had a certain ring to it. "Ugh, the school paper will eat that up with a spoon! And the student council really can't afford another high-profile scandal right now ..."
"Her heart's in the right place, though," Hannah-Beth said as they watched another shady backdoor deal take place right in front of them. Sierra Peterson shook Malcolm Macinty's hand, a firm double-pump, and then handed him the clipboard.
Evelyn couldn't bear to watch anymore. She pivoted on her heel and picked up her pace. "Yeah, but that's not the point. It's setting a very dangerous precedent, Hannah. And my name's attached to this proposal, remember. I can't have people thinking I support this kind of behavior. It'll ruin my good reputation." And a reputation is all a woman has, Mrs. Dursey used to say. Evelyn groaned quietly, pulling her books close to her chest. "I'll talk to her tomorrow, nip this whole thing in the bud before it gets out of control. I'd do it now, but ..." She shook her head and muttered, "I'm just not in the mood."
That made Hannah-Beth frown. "Everything okay? You sound kinda tired."
Drained, to be more accurate, and her face looked so pale against her red turtleneck, the one she kept fiddling with whenever she thought nobody was watching. Hannah-Beth tried not to stare (She's probably just cold), but she had to admit, she was starting to get concerned. I hope Denny didn't get her sick. Evelyn hates missing school.
"Hmm?" Evelyn said, blinking at her. "Oh, ... yeah, ... sure, ... everything's fine."
As they went to make the turn into the sophomore locker area, something unusual happened. A sophomore named Sarah Tolleson came out from around the corner and said over her shoulder, "I wouldn't go in there if I were you, Tozier. It's bad news."
It was unusual because in the three years they'd been locker neighbors, Sarah Tolleson had only ever uttered one of three words to Evelyn Tozier: Hi, Bye, or 'Kay.
Evelyn had to do a double-take. "Huh? What do you mean?"
Did someone vandalize her locker again? Martin Davers had last year, after Evelyn caught him and his friends drinking beer in the school parking lot and reported them all to the principal. Later that night, Martin snuck back into the building and spray-painted a particularly crude and offensive word on her locker door. Evelyn didn't care. She was more upset that they were making more work for the janitor, Mr. Marsh. While he repainted her locker (a much lighter shade of green; the school had run out of the original color), Evelyn said to him, "I feel like you're always stuck cleaning up after me. I'm really sorry."
Mr. Marsh told her not to worry about it, said it was his job to clean up children's messes. Then he called Evelyn a good kid ... or had he said girl? Evelyn couldn't remember.
But, thankfully, nobody had vandalized her locker this time around.
"It's Hockstetter," Sarah said. "He's sitting in front of your locker like a total weirdo. I asked him to move outta the way, and he was a real asshole about it, like a major asshole. Anyway, he asked me if I'd seen you, and I said I hadn't, so ..." She carried on with a shrug. "Just giving you a head's up, Tozier. Watch out. Guy's got your number."
Evelyn felt her stomach flip twice, end over end. Overhead, the first warning bell rang. The sound made her jump.
Then Hannah-Beth was behind her, saying, "I thought Patrick was done bothering you."
"Right." Evelyn had said that, but only because she didn't want her friend to worry about it anymore. It seemed so insignificant at the time. Patrick was just some pest back then, annoying but ultimately harmless. She thought he would go away if she ignored him, but ... Now, Evelyn was tugging at the collar of her turtleneck again, pulling it up as high as it could go, wishing she could hide inside it and never come out.
In spite of that, she smiled (but that one didn't reach her eyes either). "Yeah, he is. This is, uh, this is something different."
This is something worse, her eyes said.
"Well, what should we do?" Hannah-Beth asked. "Should we tell an adult or something?"
A nervous laugh fluttered from Evelyn's lips. "What? No, there's no need for that. I can handle it. I'll just, uh, I'll just go straight to class for now. Deal with him later, you know? Really, it's no big deal." She backed away as a few students hurried past, then raised her hand in a quick wave. "I'll see you at lunch, 'kay?"
"Okay, but—" Hannah-Beth bit down on her bottom lip. Evelyn had already spun around and taken off.
Are you sure you're okay?
2
Evelyn shoved her way into the girls' bathroom and ran into the nearest stall.
Was this how Denny Booker felt when he saw Patrick that day? This strange, breathless, light-headed feeling? Evelyn thought she was about to faint—or worse, throw up. She put her hands on either side of the toilet seat and heaved into the bowl twice, but all that came out was a thick wad of spit and mucus. Whoa, her little brother would say, getta load of that loogie! Evelyn made a disgusted sound and flushed the toilet.
Out in the hall, the second warning bell rang. Better hurry, the bell said. Hurry, hurry, or you'll be late!
Evelyn didn't care. It's Thursday. Mrs. Sitz will just think I went to Principal Hellyer's office. I'll go there next, after I've calmed down a bit. Then I'll go straight to second period, and to third after that. With some luck, I should be able to avoid Patrick for the rest of the day ... yeah, ... with some luck ...
She left the stall and went to wash her hands.
"So, did you yak?" a voice asked.
Evelyn looked to her right and saw Marci Espinoza sitting on the window ledge with one foot tucked underneath her; the other, booted, tapped steadily against the vinyl tile. Behind her, the window was open to let out some of her cigarette smoke. She took another quick drag and then patted the spot next to her.
"Have a seat, Tozier. You look like you could use it."
Evelyn considered it for a second. But I really should be ... and she sat down and dropped her backpack at her feet.
"So," Marci asked after a brief silence, "wanna tell me why you're hiding out in the bathroom?"
"I'm not hiding."
The third and final bell rang then, but Evelyn didn't move, just sort of flinched with a sudden awareness. Yeah, she was hiding, all right, like a big ol' coward. Marci's red lips curled into a smirk around her cigarette. She plucked it out and then turned her head to the side, blowing smoke out the window.
"Then why don't you go to class?" she asked.
"I will."
"When?"
"When I feel like it."
Marci nodded slowly, looking her up and down with mild interest. "This wouldn't have anything to do with Patrick Hockstetter camping out in front of your locker, would it? ... or that turtleneck you keep playing with?"
Evelyn's hand fell from her neck, a light flush spreading across her cheeks. Marci put out her cigarette on the windowsill.
"Can I take a look?" she asked. "I won't if you don't want me to."
Evelyn hesitated at first, then nodded.
Marci's fingers were ice-cold as they brushed against her skin. Evelyn shivered and squeezed her eyes shut. It was so embarrassing, exposing herself to some strange girl she hardly knew, but Marci was surprisingly considerate. She pulled the collar down just enough to reveal the bruises underneath, then promptly released it.
"Yikes!" Marci said. "He fuckin' mauled you, kid. What'd you do to piss him off?"
Evelyn's face went red. "Nothing!" she yelled, exploding with anger. "I didn't do anything to deserve this! He had no right to touch me! No right at all!" Her eyes had begun to water with a painful sting, but she refused to let a single tear fall. "I think I hate him," she said in a low, rasping voice. "I've never hated anyone before, but I think I hate him, at least a little bit."
And probably not even that much. Angry as she was, Evelyn didn't have it in her to be spiteful.
"I went to his house," she went on, feeling so foolish and ashamed. "I don't know why I did it." She kept telling herself that it was because of Denny Booker and his missing dog, but now she was starting to think that wasn't entirely true. "I just had to see it, you know? It was like this visceral desire ... no, this need ... I needed to see his house, I needed to look inside it."
Marci scoffed. "Bet it's a real dump."
"It's not, though. It's not at all. It's normal, it's boringly normal, at least on the surface." Evelyn was up all night thinking about it: about that perfect little white house, that cozy kitchen table where Mrs. Hockstetter sat, serving cookies and stale coffee. And Patrick drank it. It was like he didn't even notice. Or maybe he's just used to it. "There's something going on with him. There's something wrong, deeply wrong. I can't tell how much of it is an act ... shit, maybe all of it is, and I'm just too blind to see it ... but it's driving me insane. For some reason, I can't get him out of my head. I think about him even when I don't want to. It's really starting to freak me out."
Silence fell around them. Outside, classes carried on in dull murmurs behind closed doors. Mrs. Sitz was probably taking attendance now. Had Patrick finally found his way to his seat, or was he still waiting by Evelyn's locker?
How long would he wait before he went looking for her?
Maybe he would come bursting through the door right now.
Maybe ...
Evelyn felt her heart speed up again, but it wasn't fear that drove it anymore. Now it was ... something else, something foreign and terrible and frightening in a completely different way. She clasped her hand over her mouth, afraid that she might accidentally vocalize the destructive thoughts forcing their way out of her head:
I want him to find me! Oh my god, I do!
Marci busted out laughing—a loud, booming sound that bounced off the bathroom walls. Evelyn lurched away, mortified.
"My gawd!" Marci cried out. "Huh-hah! Huh-hah! That sonofabitch, that crazy sonofabitch, I can't believe he actually did it again. He attacked you—huh-hah!—he attacked you, and you're sitting here sympathizing with him! HA! HA! HA! I mean, my gawd!" She wiped the tears from her cheeks, her laughter dying off into a content sigh. Then she saw Evelyn's large brown eyes staring back at her. It was like looking at a wounded deer. "Oh ... Oh, I'm sorry, kid. I don't mean to laugh. It's just ... How does he keep pulling this shit off, you know? How the fuck does he do it?" She chuckled a few more times, then apologized for that, too. "You know, if I didn't hate the bastard so much, I'd actually be impressed. God, he's a real piece of work."
It was easy for Marci to laugh now. Hell, some might even call it therapeutic. She'd already endured Patrick Hockstetter's hell and came out the other side of it. With him, two weeks had felt like two years. During that time, she was beaten down, humiliated, and then cruelly abandoned, left to crawl on her hands and knees through the broken glass of her shattered life. She still had the scars; some of the cuts had never fully healed, but ultimately she considered herself lucky. At least she'd kept some of her dignity. Sasha Gunt was still convinced, in some fractured, fucked up part of her mind, that Patrick was actually in love with her. Marci was never that naive.
And, God, kid, I hope you aren't either.
Marci pushed herself to her feet and started toward the door. Her boots made a quiet thump, thump, thump on the vinyl. Evelyn Tozier stayed on the windowsill, staring at the floor with a sober expression.
"I don't want to like him, though," Evelyn said quietly. "I really, really don't. I don't want anything to do with him."
Marci stopped, then sighed. "Yeah, I know, but it's easier to just get it over with."
Because he'll take you whether you want it or not.
"You make it sound like it's inevitable," Evelyn said.
Marci laughed again, but this time there was no humor in it. "Because it is, kid," and she went out the door. "It really is."
3
Evelyn went to the principal's office after that and rattled off her weekly list of demands: new music stands for the band room, vegetarian options at lunch (because who wants to be limited to the salad bar every single day?), and "Some of the girls think it's inhumane and, frankly, sexist to make them pay for tampons and sanitary napkins at school. Mallory Stone says, and I quote, 'I shouldn't have to waddle around with blood running down my leg while I struggle to find a quarter. If boys had periods, the school would be giving that shit away.' Please excuse the profanity."
Principal Hellyer's coffee went down the wrong pipe, sending him into a coughing fit.
"Okay," he said, wiping up the spill on his desk. "Anything else?"
"Yes, just one more thing."
Evelyn turned in her statement for Henry's expulsion hearing. It was seven pages at first, handwritten, then later condensed and printed into four pages using the library's word processor. Evelyn asked to borrow the principal's stapler before handing it in. He thought four pages was a bit excessive, but he supposed it was far more tolerable than listening to her grandstand for hours on the subject. Evelyn didn't entirely disagree. In a way, her statement almost felt like a love letter, and you don't read a love letter in person. No, you scribble out your name, shove it in their locker, and then get the hell out of there before somebody sees you.
"On second thought," Evelyn said, swinging back into the principal's office, "is there a way I can make my statement anonymous?"
Principal Hellyer had the phone pressed against his ear. "I'm sorry, what was that?"
Evelyn blushed. "Never mind."
The embarrassment wore off by the time she made it to second period. Victor Criss wondered why she was lugging around all her books, but he didn't ask. Evelyn didn't talk to him either, except to say hello. She was still pretty pissed about what happened the other day.
You should've told me Vic, she later wrote in a note. I had a right to know!
What difference does it make now? You weren't even home.
It makes all the difference! You LIED to me! You lied right to my face!
I was doing you a favor, okay? He was drunk.
I've seen Henry drunk before.
Not like that you haven't! He was wasted. Totally out of it. And so were you if I remember correctly. Who knows what would've happened if he'd actually found you.
Evelyn's mouth closed as she read that; then she crumpled up the paper and threw it away.
After school, she tutored Scottie Matthews in reading. Scottie had dyslexia, so Evelyn made him a little bookmark to help him focus on one line of text at a time. It helped a lot, but Scottie said he would be too embarrassed to actually use it during class.
"I don't want anyone to know I struggle," he said and pushed the bookmark across the table.
Evelyn pushed it back. "But they already know you struggle, Scottie. They can hear you stumbling over your words, can't they? This will help with that. And I don't think anyone will tease you for trying to improve yourself."
"Sure they will," Scottie said, sneering at her. "They tease me about everything." Then he slammed the book shut and shoved it at her before storming out of the library.
Evelyn stayed at the table, lamenting the cruelty of her peers. Then she packed everything up and headed home, fully aware that she was being followed.
This was originally going to be longer, but the second half didn't fit well with the first, so I decided to split it into two separate chapters. The good news is that part's almost done and should be up sometime next week!
Thanks for reading!