Bullying Circle

The second hand of the classroom clock kept ticking. I sat at my desk, trying to concentrate on the maths exercise, yet I was unable to write down a single number because I had such clammy hands. My ears felt blocked, my breathing was heavy; it wasn't long before my weekly beating.

The bell rang, stirring me as I awoke from my silent thoughts. Blinking wildly at the blank squared paper, I jotted down some random numbers and thrust the tear-soaked exercise book at the maths teacher as she came round to collect them. I didn't hear her cries of 'why haven't you done any questions?' stuff, nor her cries of angst. I burst through the door, into the playground.

I wish I could embrace the fresh air and beautiful weather I always longed for after an hour in the stuffy maths classroom, but as always there was no intention for me of enjoying it. There was a meeting I had to attend at the bicycle shed across the field; an important one.

I now knew the way after several weekly meetings such as this, so I closed my eyes as I ran through the playground, feeling the usual bumpy ground with long grass blades tickling and brushing against my legs. I didn't open them too wide until I made sure from instinct that I would be approaching the shed from the tarmac path that appeared to that way. I was right, as always. When my eyelids forced themselves open I cringed; the grotesque sight of Georgina Walker was already there along with two of her usual cronies.

"Are you ready Cynthia?" Georgina hissed as she approached me, phlegm spraying from her mouth as she spoke. Her mates tittered among themselves. They knew the outcome of every weekly fight.

"Yeh." I gulped. "Let's go!"

***

My jab; blocked. Her fist; connected. She followed up with a right hook, and I landed on the ground with a sudden bump. Late for lessons, and the teachers yelled as usual, no regard for my injuries.

At 3:20, I arrived home later than usual, but it's the same every Tuesday when Georgina beats me. Today, I was almost punched to death. My younger sister, Joanne, was gawking at me, and with good reason. My face had a swollen cheek and another black eye to go with the one I received last week. My jumper had massive tears and both hands were scarred with crimson red, deep, wide cuts.

"Lost another fight?" Joanne asked, with a hint of arrogance.

"Lost your mind, Jo?" I snapped. I didn't mean to be rude to her, but the pain of fresh injuries made me snap at people.

I forced my way to my bedroom, the only tidy one in the house since Dad left. Gently I sat on my bed aligned on one side of the bedroom wall and with one hand I caressed some extra bruises. With the other hand I reached for my top drawer and pulled out my CD player. My mom was unemployed and we couldn't afford any fancy things like ipods or mp3 players, so I was stuck with this big piece of metal.

I didn't care what others thought, though- it still played music, did it not? I immediately played track 16 of my favourite band- Symphonia- called "Don't let them get you down". Cursing, my mind kept switching to Georgina Walker. I'd let her get me down. I finally decided- it was time to sort it out with people who should know better. Adults.

***

"Mom?"

I peeped round the bedroom door, which the room itself could be compared to a waste barge that they put out to sea. On the bed, which even the covers were barely visible of, was the face-down figure of a beautiful and skinny woman. As she turned over to show she was awake, her drooping face smudged with mascara meant it was another job interview gone wrong.

"What's wrong, Cynthia?" she asked bravely, although she sniffed several times after she said that, gulping back the tears.

I took a deep breath. "Mom...I'm getting bullied. At school. By a girl."

I hadn't been prepared for her reaction. Mom eyes burst open as if a serial killer had landed in the room. Although she didn't say anything, she quickly sprang off my bed and squeezed me tight, allowing me to breathe in her familiar smells of baked tarts and and sponge cakes again. My shoulder began to gradually get wet, and when I realized why I couldn't help getting misty myself. She had been this concerned about me, and it granted her immense gratitude that, despite the recent events, she still cared for us.

Suddenly she pushed me aside and spoke in a harsher, more annoying tone. "For heavens sake, Cynthia. Why didn't you tell me before. Joanne said you've been getting depressed lately, but bullying!?" she was shrieking at this point, looking as if she was going to break down again. Luckily she pulled herself together to reach for the phone book, beseechingly searching through the pages in a hurry.

I was a bit confused at what she was trying to do. "Wh-who are you ringing?" I asked, hoping madly it wasn't the Walker family.

"School, of course. Now hush for a moment, it's ringing." Having dialed the number my mom put the receiver to her ear. "Hello, is this Mortemore High School?...This is Mrs. Franks here...my daughter Cynthia Franks is being bullied at school and I would like to book an appointment with the head to sort this out...tomorrow? Yes, that is fine...thank you."

She slammed the receiver down hard and gave me another quick hug. "I'm glad you told me." was all she said then, not noticing the worried look on my face.

***

The wet and dull morning, in contrast to the sun of yesterday, approached far too quickly. I couldn't help but feel its surrealism- I awoke to my mom's cries because of my reluctance, then I ate my breakfast later than usual. Then suddenly, I found mom pushing me into the Headmistress's office.

One step and I felt boxed in. The headmistress' room, no more than a large closet, felt like a prison. No bars on the single window, but her two potted plants drooping on the sill displayed tinges of brown from lack of attention. Only half a metre away from where I stood a desk as wide as a coffin seemed to take up the majority of free space. The headmistress, a wiry old woman who I regarded as very old-fashioned, glanced up and offered us the seats. The seats were so old and dusty I wondered if anyone within the past four years had placed their bottoms on the crusty cushions.

After we sat down, there was an eerie silence. The head looked at me, expecting me to start despite the fact that it was the adults that started this type of conversation. Finally, she went straight to the point. "So, Cynthia. I've been told that one girl in your class has been bullying you. Now this can be dealt with easily, but-"

"Go on then!" Mom snapped impatiently. The head gave her a dirty look, and she crumbled into shyness. The old woman carried on.

"I need to know more details. First: who?"

It took me a while to register her short question. "Georgina Walker, in my form." I answered after a brief period of silence.

"OK." The headmistress nodded, not even writing anything down. I wondered how long it would be before she forgot everything I said. "Now: Where?"

"The bike shed, past the school fields."

"When?"

"Every Tuesday, after my maths lesson during break. It's a quick time for her to give me a beating."

The sudden change of attitude to the straight-talking head caused another moment of nasty silence. Then she carried on. "Last question: Why?"

This was a tricky question to answer. Suppose she told Georgina what I said? "Erm... Georgina's a tall girl and really outgoing, but all the boys think she's too ugly. So, to get her comeuppance she teases all the smaller, more clever and better-looking kids."

"But why you in particular?"

I took another one of my deep breaths to help me focus. As I spoke, I gave a little smile despite myself. "I'm not that beautiful, so she must think I'm extremely intelligent. Everyone in my class says that's why she picks on me as her punching bag, but to be honest, I don't know the actual answer. All I know is that I fear the girl a lot, and she makes me come to these beatings. Her friends come and watch to make sure I don't back out." When I finished, I bowed my head low felt my mom's eyes on me with a look of pity and unreliability on her own part.

The headmistress nodded again in approval, her face expressionless. "Thank you, Cynthia and Mrs. Franks. Georgina Walker will be called in and I'll phone her parents. Bullying is a major issue for most schools and it is not tolerated at this school either. The matter will be sorted.

I felt assured by her last words:'The matter will be sorted'. I thanked the head and said goodbye to my mom, who had to go for another job interview. With the corridors empty, pupils hopefully too busy in their classes to notice a lone girl here, I skipped all the way to Biology class.

Giving my note to the teacher to explain my absence, I took my seat. My heart was soaring high into space, pleased with my apparent "grassing". I glanced in Georgina Walker's direction. Her hooked nose was being held high into the air as she returned the look, but her pudgy face was filled with both a mixture of bewilderment and anger. I figured that she knew what I'd done, but at the moment I didn't care. I'd done the right thing; she'd get what was coming to her.

So why did I feel so worried?

***

One week later...

The second hand of the classroom clock keeps ticking. My hands are seething with sweat as I don't even bother to write any answers to these new questions of the subject which holds close my next fate. I await my next beating- a worse, harsher punishment- washing me from top to bottom in a sea of dark fear.

I wish I never told. I murmured hard between gritted teeth, desperate to make the tears subside. I wish I never told!