Riley

Chapter fourteen: Bullies

Mrs. Towers' two hours of art history succeeded in their easy task of undermining the class' interest in just two minutes. A record that she, Mrs. Heller - the math teacher - and Mr. Johnson - the geography teacher - proudly held.

Her explanation was dull, didactic and uninvolving, one hundred and twenty minutes of boredom. Riley spent them drawing on her notepad, the few notes she took having to share half the page with cute doodles. While they were a tragedy for Sally, she fell asleep several times on the desk and, if not for the ringing of the bell, would have come home with a bad grade.

"That was a close call," Sally told her gratefully. "She's the one who would deserve a bad grade."

Riley merely nodded.

"Do you need to go to the bathroom?" she then asked her.

"Yes, although I'm not sure," she replied.

"Great, so I'll keep you company and make sure you do what you need to do," she added confidently.

"Did my mother ask you to do that?" asked her as Riley stood up.

Sally stood up and smiled at her. "You already know the answer."

They went to the bathroom, a straight hallway with four doors on the left and two long sinks on the right with a rectangular soap dispenser dividing them. With rapt eyes, Riley saw the far door open, told her friend, "I'll be right back," and ran in there.

Sally did not have time to respond that her friend had already disappeared. "Typical Riley," she thought with a smile. She walked over to one of the sinks and washed her hands convinced she had them dirty, even though she had not picked up a pencil since the beginning of the day.

She turned off the faucet and heard laughter and contented squeals that became less and less muffled. She could distinguish the types of voices: high, low, shrill and hoarse. It was a group of girls, of this Sally was certain. Wiping her hands on the teal sweatshirt of Once I Was Here - a rock band she often listened to on her iPod - and the denim skirt, she turned her gaze toward the exit. As she had been expecting, the small group materialized.

Five girls. Two tall, skinny ones wearing a gray sweatshirt and black pants; one of average height with a red cap on her head, a black sweatshirt very loose dark blue jeans, and two short ones (almost as tall as she was) chubby identical in every way: black sweaters, blue jeans, and white shoes.

Sally recognized them all and began to fidget. She was looking at the small group of eighth-grade bullies who were targeting sixth-graders. The reason was a mystery, she only knew that they took pleasure in doing so.

"Well, look who it is!" said the girl of average height to her colleagues. "Sally Halley! The rocker!"

Nervously and without indulging in any smiles, Sally waved. "Hello, Katrine. Hello you too girls."

Katrine brought her to herself as if she were her friend, then put her arm over her shoulder. She spoke in her bossy tone, "We were just looking for you, you know."

"Really?" she asked in a confident voice.

She observed that her "colleagues" did not move out of her field of vision; fortunately, they were all still there.

"We need some advice," began one of the short two, then continued the other, "we're looking for someone to... steal the snack."

She looked at the two doors at the back, both closed and with red markers marked OCCUPIED.

Sally began to break out in a cold sweat. "Riley, please DON'T GET OUT NOW," she thought.

Sally did not flinch; she maintained that air of complicity. "I don't know... And then what do you need me for?"