Chapter 3: Elementary
"One's dignity may be assaulted, vandalized and cruelly mocked, but cannot be taken away unless it is surrendered"
- Morton Kondrake
She focused intently on the feeling of the plastic handles within her control. She could do this. It was Field Day at school and the children were allowed to ride the small tricycles that were normally locked away in the school yard shed. Though it was sturdy and in fair condition, the bike seemed to come loose at every bolt when she peddled. It felt very unsafe and she was afraid of falling. So far, she had only peddled a few feet from the courtyard. The sun was bright and there was a mild, invigorating breeze.
Breathing in deeply through her nose, she forced her trembling legs to move and gently peddled the bike. It inched slowly across the pavement, the world at a halt as she carefully counted the peddles. Five. She smiled and stopped; it was enough. A light perspiration had appeared on her temples and she wiped it away with her sleeve. It was enough for today. A distant gravelly sound carried across the wind, but she only leaned back into her seat and admired her fellow classmates intrepidly riding their tricycles.
"What's wrong , ugly? Too scared to ride a tricycle?" a sneering voice said from behind her, shattering the peaceful moment.
She turned her head slightly and saw Paul's two associates smirking at her.
"She's a loser," said one of them, shaking his dark head at her.
"I think she just needs a little help." said the other, dismounting his tricycle and walked towards her.
Her body seemed to liquefy and the fierce pounding of her heart resounded in her ears. He came around front and gripped both handles of her tricycle, seemingly guiding the bike forward. When he continued to move along the path slowly, she felt slightly calmed. Suddenly, he twisted the handles sharply and she tumbled off the bike. There was a stabbing pain in her knee and it traveled up her body. Her hands scraped along the courtyard tarmac and she screamed as the unclean earth came into contact with her wounds. Her tears mixed with the dirt in a gray pool beneath her face.
They stomachs were gripped with laughter and it only seemed to make the moment even more unbearable. She gripped the small weeds that sprouted in the tarmac's cracks as she struggled to get up, each hiccup causing a quiver in her chest. Their hooting laughter was soon interrupted by the screech of tricycle wheels halting.
"Hey!" he yelled viciously.
His voice only served to further humiliate her and she wiped her face with her fists, smearing dirt across her cheeks and forehead. The cronies turned at the sound of Paul's voice and immediately ran towards their bikes, snickering as they rode away. She carefully stood, limping towards her tricycle. The scrape on her knew had begun a steady discharge of blood, leaving dark trails along her skin. She moved the bike slowly, taking careful steps toward the shed. She looked up at him as she walked past, her eyes holding his. When he did not speak, she looked away and continued her walk. When she turned, his gaze was still on her and she felt warm tears spring in her eyes once more.
She was hoarse from yelling, her muscles sore and her eyes stinging with tears.
"No one's gonna hear you out here, ugly." he told her as he began to unscrew one of the caps from the bottle.
She had gone to the restroom during lunch and they had waited outside the door, grabbing her and covering her mouth before she could say a word. They dragged her to the janitor's storage in the now empty courtyard. Her tears left streaks of clean in the mud caked on her face. One of the boys covered her mouth with his hand as the other poured the bottle of tempera paint over her head, a deep blue staining the surface. She couldn't look up into Paul's face; his staring eyes mortifying. He was leaning against the tulip poplar beside the storage watching his friends execute the torment. While the other boy held fast to her arms, the other sifted through his backpack and procured a scissor without safety edges. He waved it at Paul and grinned. When Paul didn't move he opened and closed the scissor, imitating the action of cutting.
"Don't tell me Paulie has a soft sport for ugly?" the boy said mockingly, twirling the scissor in a circle.
An angry scowl appeared on his face and he strode over to his boy, grabbing the scissors from his hand.
"Don't be ridiculous." Paul said, opening and closing the scissor a few times.
Taking a chunk of hair from the front of her head, he cut off a few inches and proceeded to do so all around. He cut it in a hideous fashion, ripping out the scissor when it became tangled, oblivious to her cries and pleas. He wasn't sure whether it was pity or perhaps even his miniscule sentiment of compassion, but he never cut too close to the scalp where it would be impossible to get a haircut to fix the mess.