Chris opened a door, which looked like another mirror, and lead me into a room with multiple guns, knives, and, you guessed it, mirrors. "Wow," I said, both with fright and curiosity. "This place is… big?"
He handed me a large white belt, fully equipped with multiple pockets that where filled with who-knows-whats. I put it across my waist and adjusted it to the point that it was comfortable- which was never. It was heavy as fuck, and I was pretty sure that there were several things in it which could kill me.
Don't think I'm ignorant. Chris told me about what he did. He told me about how he took over the family 'business' after his father passed on. I knew that at every moment I breathed, his men were probably killing off someone else's men. Did it affect me? Not too much. I knew that with the money he had, there had to be a catch. I didn't mind.
He told me it all last Saturday night, two days after he gave me the job.
"So, this doesn't disturb you?" he asked.
I shrugged it off. "I'm used to being involved in the drug ring," I commented. "When I was fifteen, I took a trip with my friends to Coney Island. When I came back, my parents and sister were shot," I told him. "The police just called it 'gang related violence.' "
"Oh," he said quietly. "I'm sorry."
"It's okay," I said, unable to fake a smile. "That was, like, two years ago. Almost three."
So the fact that the room I currently stood in carried dozens of violent weapons on the wall didn't shock me as much as it would other seventeen year old girl. I'm not saying I wasn't caught off guard, but I was freaked out.
Chris proceeded to fill my utility belt with various weapons as my arms were extended outward to let him. "You'll eventually get used to the weight this carries. I think you can handle it."
"Whoo-pee," I muttered.
"Don't worry," he said, instructing me to put my arms down. "You look great."
I observed myself carefully in the mirror in front of me and had a sudden urge to sing Bad Romance. Rah-rah-rah-ah-ah…
"Beth?" he said, snapping his fingers in front of my face. "Anyone alive?"
"Yeah," I said, taking of the sunglasses. "Hey, Chris, can I ask you something?"
"Sure," he said, adjusting my belt.
"Why are you so sure that Hit-Girl and Kick-Ass go to Westwood High?"
He smirked and looked my in the eye through the mirror. "I knew you'd ask eventually. Kick-Ass checked up on his MySpace two or three times at the school; we checked the IP address. He managed to scramble his home's."
"Oh."
"And I have reason to believe that Hit-Girl and Kick-Ass know each other personally, so they'd stay close," he added.
I shrugged. "Okay."
"Plus, Westwood High's actually a middle and high school," he said. "As you may have already figured out."
"Yeah. How old is Hit-Girl supposed to be again?" I asked.
"No official numbers. The same goes for Kick-Ass. However, we estimate eleven and seventeen."
"So HG's like… in the sixth grade? How am I supposed to socialize with sixth graders."
Chris smirked. "I told you before. School sports. Because of her age, she'll be put in Junior Varsity. However, you'll often have meetings and practices at the same time. Look for whoever might seem exceptionally gifted. She doesn't like being shown up."
"She like to show off," I said, taking a note. "Got it."
The next day at school didn't start off as nonchalantly as I would have hoped for. The moment I stepped into the building, people began whispering and avoiding eye contact with me. A few guys snickered at me, and I rolled my eyes.
"Beth," Marty said, catching up with me. "Alright!" he said, raising his hand and expecting me to give him a high five.
I stared at him. "What are you talking about?"
"I never would have thought that I would be friends with someone on the list."
"What list?" I asked. I stared him down again. "I said, what list?"
He suddenly grew nervous. "I- I figured that- th-" He pulled out a list, and I snatched it out of his hands.
It was a computer printout with the title THE LIST. I looked at it curiously before reading it down. Various features, such as 'best tits' and 'hottest legs' were listed along with the name of a girl next to each one. I scanned it down a second time and found my name next to 'most fuckable'.
"It might see- seem demeaning, but that actually translates in guy talk as 'overall best'."
His words phased me. "Who wrote this list?"
"I- I'm not sure. S- some of the more popular guys, I think."
I turned around and saw several broad-shouldered, dim-witted football players talking amongst themselves. I walked up to them, balled up the list, and threw it to the biggest one's head. "Who the fuck do you think you are?" I said with a monotone voice. The guys stared at me, then several others' eyes followed. "I asked you a question, moron."
"You're coming up to one of the biggest guys in school," one guy said, "And you're calling him a moron?"
I nodded. "You're right. He's just a fat-ass. You're the moron," I said. "You all think you can write a list that demeans girls and then just get away with it?"
I awaited an answer, but they only smirked at first. One finally confronted me. "I think we all started on the wrong foot," he said. "My name's Andrew, and you are…"
"Miss Most Fuckable," I said. "The bunch of you better get rid of this list from whatever website you have it on. Immediately."
"And who are you say that?" Andrew asked, crossing his arms.
I smiled and looked back at Marty to see his reaction to the situation. Dave and Todd had met up with him, and all three stared at me. I saw Dave mouthing 'no' to me. He knew. "You guys," I said, turning back to the jocks, "better not mess with me," I suggested.
"I don't-"
I kicked him square in the chest, knocking him into another one. The other five guys stared before I kneed one, hit one in the elbow, broke someone's nose, and the final two ran off.
Dave shook his head disapprovingly; Todd and Marty applauded with excitement. I received mixed reviews from the other students. Some seemed excited at the show, others appeared frightened.
You don't actually expect me to say that I just went to class as if the teachers didn't care, do you? Within the next five minutes, I was brought in to the principal's office. I sat down next to a younger student.
She was in junior high and sat with her arms crossed. The teachers left us alone to make some phone calls.
A quick moment of silence passed. "What are you in for?" I asked her.
She looked at me. "I threatened a kid for whispering behind me," she said. "You?"
"Attacked a group of footballers for calling me 'most fuckable' on some list," I said.
"Cool," she said with a laugh. "I'm Mindy."
"Beth," I said, smiling. "How-"
"Miss Daniels?" Mr. Jenkins, the assistant principal called out. "We've got your father on the phone."
"Who now?" I asked. I waved goodbye to Mindy and followed Mr. Jenkins. He gave me the phone and watched me as if I was going to steal it. "Hello?" I asked into the phone.
"Beth, you're not supposed to be attracting attention," Chris said sternly.
I giggled into the phone. Mr. Jerkins looked at me, and I forced a frown. "Yes, daddy," I said, withholding my laughter.
He paused. "Okay, okay," he said, "I get that this is funny, but seriously, you need to not attract attention. What did you do?"
"Attacked a group of footballers," I said calmly.
"God, you're- did anyone die?"
"No. I broke some kid's nose, but that's it."
He sighed. "Fine. Just don't get in any more trouble. I don't want to have to replace you."
I pouted. "Okay, daddy." I hung up the phone.
"Two Saturday detentions," Mr. Jenkins. "You'll report to the library at 8AM and will stay until 1PM."
"Yes, sir," I agreed.
"Now get on to class. We don't need you in more trouble."
"Yes, sir," I said again.
On my way out, I made eye contact with Mindy. "I'll see you around?" I asked.
"Mindy?" the assistant principal called out.
Mindy stood up and smiled at me. "Probably in detention."