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"She thinks she's such a shit," someone says with a bitter southern twang.
"Don't be salty, Tracy. It's not her fault she has her hooks in your man," another girl responds with a teasing giggle.
"Tracy just can't get over the fact that Carter prefers them angelic instead of slutty," a third voice states, but my interest in whatever they are talking about is only piqued at the mention of Carter's name.
Through the small slit of the door, I manage to see the reflection of the three girls in the mirror. It’s Tracy Hollis and her two minions, Becky and Karen. Since middle school, they’ve been in most of my classes, but have barely said a word to me otherwise. However, they weren’t as stingy with their dirty looks and sneers through the years—especially Tracy.
"Oh please! If I wanted Carter Hayes, I'd have him. I'm just so over Miss Goody Two Shoes already. I mean, who does she think she’s fooling? Everyone knows Valentina Rossi must be a total freak in the sheets for her to have the three hottest guys in our school drooling after her."
"You sound bitter, Tracy,” Becky provokes as she freshens up her pink bubble gum lip gloss with a new coat.
"I’m not bitter, bitch! I’m fed up. Fuck her and wherever she came from! I mean, why do girls like us, who own up to our sexuality, get called ho's when little miss perfect is probably tag teamed by all three guys every night, and no one even bats an eye? It’s fucking disgusting."
"Oh I don't know. If Carter, Logan, and Quaid asked if I was up for a little four-way fun, I might be up for it," Karen teases.
"Girl, so would I. I mean damn...! Did you see Logan in class today? Every time he opens his mouth, I needed a cold shower. His voice alone gets me wet," Becky adds with a swoon, making me fist both hands in jealousy.
"I'm more of a Quaid girl myself. He looks like he could bench press me without breaking a sweat."
"You both can keep them. I'm all about that brooding smoldering look Carter is about. I swear he could give me an orgasm just by looking at me," Tracy singsongs as she fixes her double D’s in the mirror.
All three girls burst out laughing, while I feel like I’m going to be sick.
"Guess we'll never know because Valentina has them all wrapped around her bitchy finger. God, I hate her," Tracy adds with a snarl to her lips.
"You just hate her because you wish you were her."
"That is the stupidest thing I've heard, Becky. I would not trade places with that bitch for all money in the world. She's boring as fuck. I don't see the appeal. She is so extra."
"You're extra," Karen goads, knocking her hips with Becky’s.
“You know what? Screw you guys! You're supposed to have my back!”
"And we do. That's why we’re being real with you, ho! You will never get a chance with Carter the same way me and Karen will never get our shot with Logan and Quaid. Like it or not, they’re taken. Even if it is with the same girl."
"For now maybe,” Tracy seethes. “But sooner or later, they'll see that their little love square is just too crowded, and either two of them back out, or all of them will. You mark my words. Valentina may think she’s all that, but she's going to lose her charm, and they will kick her to the curb so fast, the bitch’s head will spin."
"And I bet you'll be there to take her place,” Karen coos.
"For Carter, you better believe it. And if you bitches have any sense, you'll start making your move on Logan and Quaid, too. It's only a question of time."
Another slew of giggles ensues as I squirm in my seat, gritting my teeth hard enough I’m sure I’m seconds away from chipping a tooth. A part of me wants to rush out and slam Tracy's pretty face against the bathroom mirror and slap the cocky confident smirks off Becky and Karen.
Only self-preservation keeps me rooted to my spot. They’re three, and though I might be fast, I know I can't tackle all of them at once. Rage and anger may fuel my desire to rip their heads off, but it's common sense that keeps me in my stall, silent as a church mouse.
These girls don’t know me. They don't know the first thing about me. Yet here they are, talking trash like they have a clue about what goes on in my personal life. I’m fuming, when suddenly, another thought crosses my mind, leaving me more dishearten than enraged. Does everyone in school feel this way? That I'm just some Goody Two-Shoes, who behind closed doors, is secretly some kind of deviant? The thought is unsettling.
After I make sure I’m finally alone in the bathroom, I get out of the stall and wash my hands, looking at my reflection through the mirror.
Is that what they see when they look at me?
These troubled thoughts haunt me even more as I make my way outside. It’s almost as if the blinders have been pulled up from my eyes, and I’m seeing for the first time people’s reaction to me. As I walk through the halls, I notice some kids looking at me and whispering in each other’s ears. My skin heats up with their lingering looks and taunting sneers. When I finally reach the double doors that lead to Crestview High’s quad, I take a deep breath, hoping it’s enough to clean away the toxic energy. But as I try to find a spot somewhere with a shade, the same glowers follow me, their hushed whispers, prickling my skin.
How had I never noticed this before?
The answer to that question comes at me like a slap to the face, leaving me winded. I never noticed what anyone else thought about me, because all I’ve ever had eyes for were them—my three best friends and the loves of my life. They are my whole world, and everything else just lacks luster.
Even if I want to defend myself against such cruel gossip and vile speculation, there really is no use denying what we four share is only friendship. The proof we are something more is in the way our eyes meet across a room, or the simple touches we try to sneak in when we think no one is looking. It’s in the way our bodies shift to each other like magnets or our breaths halt when we are just mere inches away from each other. They are all signs of intimacy and love, and I’m the idiot who could ever think no one else was none the wiser.
