Margarette (Violet) (6 page)

Is she losing her mind, or is this evidence of a nightmarish
dream? Even worse, it could have been a baited hook… from a human hunter. Whatever
it is, wherever the damn shoes came from… she knows they weren’t there before.

She is truly alone, though. Paulie had left as
soon as he heard the football team exit their locker room. After some time she gives
in to her doubts and approaches the shoes. They seem alright. She has no socks,
but screw it. She puts them on and realizes they are men’s size, but given her
current streak of luck she is not about to start cursing. She just ties the
shoes quickly and leaves the gym, trying to escape without being seen.

Luckily the hallways are empty. Her plan is to
escape the back way, around the football field before practice starts. No way
is she leaving through the front of the school. She reaches the doors that lead
to the football field and peeks through.

Outside, the sunlight shines on the school grounds
through the line of trees. She wants to sprint directly into the woods, but a
large chain link fence acts as the bars of a cage. Margarette sticks her head through
the edge of the door, and sees the field blessedly empty still. She pushes the
door open and briskly walks out in her pleated cheerleading outfit, her borrowed
red shoes flashing and flickering in the light. Seeing no one, she sprints
across the open field, hoping to hide behind the field house. As she nears her
goal she runs full on in a sprint and smacks into a girl who appears around the
edge of the smaller building.

Shit
! Both girls go down in a cartoon-like
cloud of dust. Margarette’s butt smacks on the hard concrete walkway and she hears
the other girl curse. Embarrassed, she looks at the girl and recognizes Sharon.

Sharon has never said a word to her the whole time
Margarette has been at this school, but everyone knows who Sharon is. In
contrast, up and until last week Margarette was an unknown. Margaret hops up
and grabs Sharon’s arm to help her up, without thinking about who she was and
what this could mean.

Sharon looks at her with annoyance and shakes off
Margarette’s arm as she stands on her feet. “You stupid bitch.”

Margarette says, “I’m sorry, I….”

“Who the frick are you? You’re not a cheerleader.
Whose uniform are you wearing?” Sharon looks at her up and down with disdain,
and her eyes suddenly widen with recognition. She mouths the name
Margarette
,
but it looks like she says
Violet
.

Sharon’s fierce eyes glimmer as her face changes
to an angry twisted stare. Her long dark hair falls over her shoulders as if a
stylist had just fixed it. Its color matches Margarette’s, but other than that
Margarette has no clue how May could have mistaken her for Sharon. The shorts
that Sharon wears are so short that they ride up higher than the fabric on her
crotch, showing off the perfect tan on her long legs. She wears a black metal t-shirt,
and her earlobes sparkle with the diamond earrings that Tommy gave her.

“You’re the little whore.” She pauses for dramatic
influence, and Margarette freezes at the venom in the other girl’s voice.

“Nothing happened,” Margarette says quickly, not
wanting to mention Tommy to further anger the other girl. She adds to herself,
I
wish I wasn’t here, I wish I wasn’t here
…. The words ripple through her
mind and echo as Sharon shakes her head.

“I didn’t even believe it until now. Those parties
are full of little stories about little people like you.”

Margarette says nothing, still frozen.

“Tommy was mine. I can’t believe he stuck it in a
little harlot like you. Your dirty little hole is puss-filled sore on his dick.”

“What the…? Where’d you get that? That’s fricking
nasty weird.” Margarette’s nose scrunches as she tries to forget the visual.

“Frick that… you’re a freaking whore, accept it.
Accept that you’re dirt for everyone to walk on.”

Margarette wonders if Sharon had rehearsed this conversation,
possibly in front of a mirror, given the coordination in her hand gestures. Her
previous embarrassment and surprise at meeting the other girl in these
circumstances quickly dissipate, making room for dislike and revulsion.

“Quit calling me a whore you ignorant witch. I…
never
…
touched him.”

Margarette’s eyes flash a beautiful soft golden
brown, which would make anyone see the honesty in her words. But in this case her
eyes make Sharon even angrier. “I can smell him on you,” the infuriated girl says.

Sharon pauses as if contemplating her statement,
as Margarette squints knowing that that’s impossible. She literally just
stepped out of the shower.

“Frick, even if what you say is true and you didn’t
do anything, the whole school believes that you did,” Sharon adds.

“I don’t care.”

“Well,
I
do,” Sharon snaps. “You know what
this can do to me? Did you ever think about that?”

“Why would I? This is my life. I never really cared
to be noticed by anyone.”

“I’m going to destroy you,” Sharon says, and it
sounds freaky evil.

“
What
?”

“I will. I have to.”

“Just leave it alone. School’s almost out; there
are only a few weeks left.”

“You won’t make it. Not in those shoes.”

As they talk, three girls walk up behind Sharon. To
Margarette’s horror, she sees Alice and Julie with one other semi-popular girl
named Becca. All are staring at Margarette.

“What is she wearing?” Julie asks.

They immediately surround her taking turns calling
her a whore and slut as the entire football team jogs behind them in route to the
field. Margarette tries to defend herself at first, and then ignore them, but
she can’t even begin to challenge them as the four of them band together. She
looks around for an escape.

Sharon leans in. “Watch this,” she whispers her
petty intentions in Margarette’s ear, and then walks up to a football player
named Mikey. She grabs him and presses her palm against his crotch almost
aggressively.

Margarette flinches but then remembers he’s
probably wearing a cup. Indeed he looks like he’s enjoying himself. He begins
to talk as she pushes her bare leg against him and kisses his lips. A murmur erupts
behind Margarette as the three other girls watch Sharon.

A random football guy calls out, “Whoa… frick. Do
you see that?”

A slightly less random football guy replies,
“Frick yeah. Tommy’s going to flip out.”

Margarette’s seen enough. She turns back to leave,
hoping all eyes are on Sharon. As she does, she thinks she sees Alice look
upset. What, from Sharon kissing Mikey? No time to figure it out. She wants to
make a dash down the concrete path.

But Julie stands in her way, stopping Margarette
in her tracks. “Are you done here?” Julie asks. “Ready to go home?”

“Get the frick out of my way,” warns Margarette.

“Don’t you want to watch what you did?”

“What
I
did? Like I’m going to feel
responsible. Shut up. You have no idea what I’ll do to you.” She shakes and her
emotions take over; she can barely control herself. Her nose flares red in
anger.

“Are you crying?” Julie asks.

All of the girls turn back to look at Margarette
except for Sharon who still has Mikey’s tongue in her mouth.

“Am
I
crying? Are
you
crying?”

“Why would I be crying?” Julie is lost. “I said are
you
crying?” she repeats.

“Am
I
crying? Are
you
crying?”
Margarette returns, almost enjoying being this obnoxious.

“Wha…” Julie’s jaw drops. “No, I’m not crying.”

Alice fights to conceal a chuckle at Julie’s
expense and Margarette’s ability to manipulate her.

“Why not?” Margarette asks. “I’d cry if I were
you.”

“Why would I?” Julie asks as she starts to recant
current events.

“I’d cry if I was born like you,” Margarette
replies, and pushes Julie to the side, turning her around. Sharon finally pulls
back from Mikey’s face and a line of spit drips from his mouth into hers.

“What the frick?” Margarette hears Julie call
behind her, indignantly.

“Exactly,” she says over her shoulder.

But Julie reaches out and grabs Margarette’s arm,
digging her claws into her.

“You’re just weird,” Julie says as she grips her
arm. “No one will ever want you.”

Margarette shakes off Julie’s grip and smiles
coldly. She fires into Julie’s ear, barely opening her gritted teeth. “
Look
at yourself. Look at Alice. Look at the way she looks down at you. If I was
her, the only reason I’d keep you around is to make myself look better
.”

Julie hisses, and takes a second to reply. “Is
that why
you’re
with her?”

They lock eyes. Margarette says, “I’m not someone
she’d use like she does
you
.”

“Just because you kind of got pretty this year doesn’t
change a thing.” Julie slips an accidental compliment that explains much about
her disdain and mistreatment.

Margarette smiles dismissively as Alice approaches
them, and raises her voice to normal level. “And I… don’t care.”

Alice says suddenly, her voice a little pained,
“Hey Margarette… I didn’t want to leave you at the party.”

“But you did,” Margarette reminds her.

Sharon walks up to Margarette, parting the girls.
“Do you like my idea, you little whore? I’m going to have sex with everyone
Tommy hates. He’s going to blame you and I don’t ever have to deal with him
again.”

Margarette just blinks, a blank expression on her
face.

“Everyone loves me and every guy wants to frick
me,” Sharon muses.

“Cheap thrills draw crowds,” Margarette replies.

“Nothing I do is cheap,” says Sharon.

“There’s nothing to say to that,” Margarette
shrugs, and again starts to walk away.

“You got that right, bitch,” Sharon ends as
Margarette finally gets away from them, walking on the side of the football
field.

As Margarette puts some distance between them, she
mutters, “I fricking hate her.” Some weird repressed memory surfaces of
Margarette’s grandmother, when she was still alive, telling Margarette not to
hate. The thought shakes her and she doesn’t know if she wants to smile or cry.
At least now that she’s alone she feels relief that she doesn’t have to perform
for those bitches or live up to their expectations.

In spite of what the girls wanted, Margarette refuses
to put her head down. Instead, she spins around in her short skirt, fanning out
the pleats. She struts away as the other girls call her a whore and a slut,
while the football players joke and call out asking for her number. Margarette
smiles out of nowhere with an eerie delight, as she considers giving them her
house number and imagining the whole team hooking up with her drunken mother. Her
mood lifts, and even the red low tops seem to fit a little better as she passes
the middle of the field.

The parking lot is just on the other side.
Margarette walks right through the football field directly through the practice
and the players start ignoring the coach.

“Damn it, Coyotes!” The coach screams.

Some of them remain distracted and the coach
ultimately has to blow a whistle. Mikey gets sacked into the ground as the play
goes off with one out-of-place cheerleader crossing the line of scrimmage.

Margarette makes it to the bleachers pretending
nothing out of the ordinary is happening behind her. The guys stare as she sashays
her way out of the field and into the parking lot. The boys on the field start
howling like dogs until the coach turns and smacks one of them in the head with
a clipboard. Then all of the players start clapping, except for Mikey, and only
because he got the wind knocked out of him.

It looks good for an exit, but she doesn’t leave.
There are too many people in the parking lot for her to just walk out, so she
hides under the bleachers. There she crawls through the bars supporting the
seats and sits by the rows of empty fuel barrels that contain gas used for the
lawnmowers. The field attendant keeps the barrels covered with faded blue tarps
that are unraveling at the edges, wrapped in elastic cords, to protect them
from the weather. They are placed at different heights, with old school banners
on top, affording her some privacy.

She crumples hidden behind of two barrels set further
back from the rest, under the bleachers. She feels almost safe tucked within the
supporting structure and the barrels, and stays there for almost an hour as the
field empties around her. Alone, the adrenaline wears off and she finally cries.
She doesn’t make a sound as the drops stream down her face. Her hands grasp at
the tears as if she could push them back in, but her eyes flood through her
fingers.

Tommy walks up the bleachers and sits down right
over Margarette’s hiding place unaware that she is there. She dips her head and
drops even further down to the ground realizing it is him. Then to her utmost
surprise, she hears what sounds like faint sobs.
Tommy is crying
.

Her heart sinks, crushing the air in her lungs.
She slowly gets up and moves from the striped shadows of the stairs back from
where she came. She knocks an unused paper cup next to her feet.

Margarette closes her eyes and grits her teeth;
Tommy stops making noise. When she looks up again, the bench is empty. She
quietly turns around and continues to move to the end of the bleachers. She
twists her body around the edge of the structure to check the coast is clear,
but there he is.

“It’s you,” Tommy says.

“Me?” Margarette asks.

Tommy advances on her, his eyes traveling down her
body, noting her outfit. Their blue seems to reflect the cobalt of her stolen
uniform and it disarms Margarette for a second. “How long have you been here?”

“I didn’t hear you crying.” She regrets saying
that instantly.

Tommy looks away, but doesn’t say anything about
that. Instead, after a pause he says, “I came to tell her we didn’t do
anything.”

“Oh,” she whispers, assuming he means Sharon.

“Do you think she’d believe that we didn’t do
anything?”

“I really don’t know how to answer that.”

Margarette thinks back about her little after-school
encounter today. The way Sharon acted, there is no way anyone could tell if the
promiscuous girl would understand, or even how she would react to whatever
Tommy told her. Margarette isn’t sure how serious Sharon was with Mikey, so she
decides not to even mention it. Telling him about her conversation with Sharon
wouldn’t do much. If he knew Sharon was thinking of having sex with all of the
boys, he wouldn’t know what to do about it. She looks in his eyes for a second,
but can’t tell him a word. She changes tactics.

“Tommy, what if she doesn’t believe you? I mean,
would you believe
her
if people said…?”

“They already have,” Tommy says, and his voice
sounds far away. He moves under the bleachers with Margarette into the striped
shadows.

There’s a long pause.

Finally Margarette says, “Maybe it’s not true.”

“I fricking walked up to her in his Jeep,” Tommy
says, shaking. “People came and got me to go see it.”

Tommy closes his eyes and the scene flashes before
his eyes.

Mikey’s black Jeep had barely provided
concealment. “Suck, baby, suck,” Mikey had said.

Sharon had made a noise that sounded like,
“Mmmf mmmmf.”

“What?” Mikey asked.

“Shut up,” Sharon said.

“Oh frick.”

Tommy had seen it all.

Margarette realizes that that’s why he was crying,
and feels terrible for him. He seems like a nice guy.

They sit quietly under the bleachers in the
shadows of the seats above, leaning against the fuel crates. Tommy moves next
to her, so close that from the side it looks like they are holding hands.

At length, Margarette asks, “That just happened
like right after practice?”

“Yeah… or no, Mikey must have left practice
early.” His head lowers so she can’t see his eyes.

“I’m sorry. That must have been terrible.”

Tommy puts his head down on Margarette’s shoulder
and starts crying again, but so quietly that she doesn’t know he’s crying until
a sob shakes his frame softly. She almost crumbles under his weight and sits
against the tarp covering the barrels.

“I’m so sorry,” is all she can say.

“I don’t understand. I just drove you home.”

“I don’t know. I don’t have a bad reputation, or a
reputation for that matter. I was quiet. I never spoke. I think they needed to
hear something. So they invented something.”

Tommy puts his hands on her shoulders and she
feels a tear drop on her neck. She can’t tell who is holding the other up. His
breath flickers like a child crying, and she feels sorry that all she has for
him is pity. His arms are too heavy for her and they slide back onto the barrel
before he catches his weight and stands back. She doesn’t know what to do or
why he is so close to her. She feels like pushing him off of her, but the man
is crying, and deep down a part of her is satisfied that he’s leaning on her
for emotional support. Tommy Gallager, who Alice believes would never approach
a girl like Margarette.

Margarette’s internal debate is going on
full-rage.

He’s not exactly what she expected. Unfortunately,
she didn’t expect much to begin with.

If she lets him have her, then she’s being used.
If she doesn’t sleep with him, then she’s a scared chicken shit virgin.

If she fricks him she’s a true slut in a small
town. Wait… that’s what everyone already thinks.

Better than not being known at all; better than
dying a nobody.

No, that’s not right.

Besides, in a year no one will ever really
remember her anyway.

Frick it. He can be mine for a while
.

“What are you thinking, Margarette?”

She sits up quickly as if afraid he had heard her
thinking, and looks at him with her head tilted to the side. Her expression
softens. “Tommy…” she begins.

“Yeah?”

“What do you know about me?”

“What do you mean?”

“About me… what do you know?”

“Well,” he says, and looks up as if thinking. “For
one, you’re beautiful.”

They are mostly cloaked in the shade of the
bleachers so she can’t see his face clearly. She squints, but has to assume he’s
flattering her. The football field is almost completely empty. They are alone
other than a shoeless boy walking across the field behind them. There is no one
else.

Margarette smiles and sees in Tommy’s eyes how
hard he is trying. She just needs him to say a word or make a gesture to let
her know he wants her.

“Why would you think that?” she asks. “I’m not….”

“I used to watch you before at your locker.”

“I don’t think so.”

“You had a purple binder.”

“It was”—she acknowledges the color at first but
then switches her response—“a popular color some years ago.”

“It was you. You didn’t smile like other girls.”

“What was I?”

“You had this crazy calm like nothing would
surprise you. I never saw you giggle or stare.”

Thoughts flood from a different time and she
blinks them away. “I was sad.”

He continues like he didn’t hear her. “I liked
watching. You were so delicate with each step. It was like watching a ghost in
slow motion.”

“Well, thanks,” she says, only a little miffed at
the comparison.

Tommy looks like he isn’t sure if that was sarcastic
or not. He just asks, “Have you seen yourself? You are so beautiful. That’s why
she’s so jealous. She wouldn’t care if you weren’t. I wouldn’t if it wasn’t
you.”

“You’re horrible.”

“Me?” He raises his eyebrow. “You know she gave me
her ring finger size?”

“Seriously?”

“In the first three months….”

Margarette snickers knowing it would kill Sharon
to know that they were talking about her.

“She said she wanted to help me keep it a surprise
later on,” Tommy continues. “Now it’s been almost two years and it’s not going
to happen. No bent knee, even with the hints.”

“Do you love her?”

He takes a deep breath. “Not like I should. No, I
think I knew I would screw things up with her, but I wouldn’t have done
anything with anyone else. You, Margarette.” His voice drops at the end and it
sounds like
Violet
.

“Who says you’re going to do anything with me?”

“I meant when I took you home.”

“I know what you meant.”

“Yeah.”

“Tommy, well… you know how everyone thinks we had
sex,” she says in a higher tone, with the sharp hint of intent.

“Yeah.”

“And well, I’m just not sure we can convince
anyone that didn’t happen.” Her voice has turned sultry and she doesn’t know
how to turn it back off.

Tommy doesn’t seem to notice. “We
have
to
be able to.”

“Well… I mean, what if we can’t? What if you and I
spent the next few weeks trying to convince them and it doesn’t work?”

Tommy’s hands slide to her and wrap around her
waist. His chin touches the top of her head as he towers above her. She feels
his breathing sync with hers, and she feels something stir in her belly. But then
the harmony stops as he inhales to answer her question.

“I don’t know what to do then,” he says.

Margarette takes a second before she continues. “I’m
not saying that we have to do anything, but she’s already gotten revenge. Would
you take her back now?”

“No. You’re right. I can’t kiss her after seeing
that. I’ll never get that out of my head.”

“Well, there’s that, and she’s never going to
believe you. She’ll always think about me riding you, or whatever bullshit she
imagines, when you have sex with her.”

“I’ll never have sex with her again. That dude is
gritty.” He moves nearer to Margarette.

“It doesn’t seem fair that she’s blaming you for
something you really didn’t do.”

“I know.”

“What I’m trying to say is you’re already getting
punished for something you didn’t do…” she trails off and bites her lower lip.

She knows there is something wrong with what she’s
saying, and that there could be consequences. It doesn’t really matter at that
moment. She’s never been what she’s wanted to be. Everything she wears is old
and out of fashion. She feels cheap then; worse even considering the outfit she’s
in.

And she feels nothing could replace that pain
better than the excitement she feels trembling on the cusp of revenge.

“… So it’s like you can have sex with someone and
it doesn’t count,” she concludes in a whisper. Her words slip softly past his
ears. She waits for a while for him to answer, and thinks he might not have
heard her, or understood what she meant.

But she feels his hand press against her and she
has her answer. She wants him, but only to satisfy her need to be contrary, to
be known and to feel powerful. She feels like she is using him, even.

Margarette moves back to the shadows by one of the
bleachers supports, pulling Tommy with her. She lifts herself and sits back on
one of the fuel tanks with the skirt tucked underneath her so her bare skin
doesn’t touch the edge. She feels a chill tickle across her body. It only lasts
a heartbeat, but every hair in the chill’s path stands up.

Tommy steps forward and she cradles him between
her legs. His hand slides down her waist and grips her leg under her thigh,
lifting it. Her shoe braces against the barrel, keeping her leg boosted up.
Then his hand moves up her skirt, quickly gliding up her bare legs, pulling her
forward to the edge. She slides back almost slipping and grabs the back of his
neck.

She brings his face close to hers, and he comes
pliantly, as if under a spell. He moves forward as if to kiss her, but she
pulls back.

“You know this doesn’t really mean anything,” she
whispers.

“She’s never going to forgive me either way.”

“No, you’re never going to forgive
her
.”

“That’s not why I’m here.”

His voice is sweet when he says it, and Margarette
smiles. She leans forward and kisses his cheek. “You’re mine to play with now.”

“Wait, what?”

“Do you think you can handle me?”

Faintly his voice cracks. “Yeah?”

Margarette slowly pulls up his shirt with a coy
smile, then leans in and bites his chest below his nipple. He grips her legs
instantly, but then drops his hands off her.

“Take your pants off,” she commands.

“I’m not sure we should be doing this here,” he
protests weakly, but doesn’t sound like he’s convinced that they shouldn’t.

“Take your pants off now,” she insists. “Don’t do
this for her. You do this for me.”

She unbuckles the belt for him and pulls on the
button until it pops, and then slides his pants down as he just stares,
powerless to stop her. She reaches into his pants and grips him hard. Tommy
breathes in when she leans into his chest expecting another bite, but this time
it doesn’t hurt when her lips press against his body. She tightens her grip and
feels him harden as she kisses his chest. She leans back and blows, making him
twitch and arch his chest to her.

Margarette leans back in the short cheer skirt. She
brings her other leg up on the barrel, brushing her knee against his hip, then
lies on the flat of her back. He steps closer and she looks to the side. They are
near the field house far from the school, out of sight from everyone.
Margarette doesn’t want to look back at him because she can’t keep her lip from
trembling. She feels his long fingers glide under the elastic of her damp gym shorts
and black satin panties. He pulls them down while she lifts her hips, and her
underwear ends at her knees. Tommy helps to partially free her, the shorts and
panties still looped through one leg.

He leans forward to kiss her, but she’s too far
back. Instead he kisses her neck, gently pressing his tongue against her as his
lips move over her skin. He slides further down, kissing her chest over the
fabric of the uniform, and then lifts the hem of her top piece, exposing her
belly. He bends down, kissing her breastplate and ribs, her abs and belly
button.

Deep down she knows it’s not right, but it feels
good to be there doing the wrong thing.

Tommy smiles like a young boy and reaches into his
back pocket retrieving a condom in a purple wrapper.

He slides down the top of his boxers and tries to
rip open the condom. She reaches up to grip his head, bringing his lips down
between her legs. He leans forward into her without using his arms and her eyes
roll back in her head as she feels his tongue on her clit.
Oh, mmmf
. His
breath is hot on her as she grips his hair tugging him forward. He begins to
softly lick her and her hips rise and fall meeting his strokes.

The condom wrapper almost slips in his hands, but
he gets it open, and then goes down on her again while sliding it on. She feels
like she’s hovering in the air trying to balance on the flat barrel lid. She
shifts lower and her skirt flips up on her chest, and all she can see is the
top of his blond head through the pleats. She gasps for a breath of air and he
thinks it’s a moan. The bright lights of late day sun shimmer on them through
the seats above them and she can see the dust dance in the rays.