Play the game to win… but actually win

Pt.4

It had been a weird day at school. You could always tell when gossip of the worst kind was brewing in school. When the buzz is about you, the air gets thick, and the feeling of drowning in open air engulfs you. The worst part is your peers watching you, all your friends turn into strangers, and everyone takes pride in watching you drown; they like to see you suffocate publicly from the unknown to you but the well-known to them. The harder you try to ignore it, the thicker the air gets, the louder the silence gets, and the more ear-piercing the passing chuckles and looks get.

I spent the majority of the school day trying to ignore “it” because the more concerned I looked, the more excited everyone got, keeping me in the unknown. I tried my best to talk to anyone to keep my mind off the dark fog circulating around me, but in that environment, it was every man for himself. I had been marked, tainted, and damned by “it.” Then, the worst part of the day came, lunchtime. Lunchtime in school was quite similar to the wild. A gazelle in the wild-caught grazing alone would eventually be monitored by predators, circled, and eventually eaten. This is what lunchtime was like standing in line, everyone being sure to stay far away from me, so I had one to turn to, no escape. They made sure to monitor my demeanor to see if I was weak enough to succumb to the mounting pressure. A spectacle in a sense, I was on display for everyone’s enjoyment but my own.

I grabbed my tray and walked to my seat; I thought about every step. “Don’t look afraid, just walk” went rapidly through my mind.

…….

Earlier that week, Andrea asked me how I would feel about coming to her house for a sleepover; it was still a mystery to everyone why I could never hang out with them but would constantly see me online with other people. The truth was, I was only allowed to hang out with my dad’s girlfriends’ nieces and nephews, but I was never going to admit to anyone the lack of freedom I actually had. I kept her at bay by saying I was busy with my dad or family on weekends, but she still seemed to be plotting something. She became increasingly jealous of anyone who wanted to befriend me and would attempt to intimidate me into not having any other friends by creating arguments with anyone who came near.

It was easy to ignore Andrea since we didn’t have many classes together, but the classes we did have together, she was insufferable. My teachers took a liking to me, and my ability to showcase my academic ability over time provoked Andrea enough to try to intimidate me by calling me a “white girl” and “nerd.” But that didn’t deter me, and she could see that her determination to see me fail was no match to what my dad would do if he saw me with bad grades. I couldn’t have fathomed Andrea’s plan for me, but it would soon emerge.

One of the classes Andrea and I shared was English History; though this was one of my favorite classes, Andreas’ persistent and constant need for my attention during this class made the one hour and forty-five-minute class feel like an eternity. I thought that sitting in front of the class would deter her from sitting near me, but I was wrong; she took a seat directly behind me.

On this day, we had a substitute, and as the saying goes, “When the cats are away, the mice play.” With no work assigned, we spent the whole class talking, and the substitute spent the entire class reading a newspaper. It was a group of us talking, and suddenly Andrea asked, “Has anyone thought about being with a girl before?” though she asked the group, but her eyes were fixated on me.

It was now 2010, and I was in the 10th grade; homosexuality had not yet become socially acceptable. There were mixed reactions, some mortified at the thought, some questioning and like mentos in a Pepsi; a roar of teenage girls talking over each other erupted, but Andreas’s pinning gaze never shifted from me. The group settled, and no one noticed I didn’t answer, but Andrea did. The girls’ voices became louder and louder; I assessed the situation and hoped that no one noticed, and if they did notice, I so desperately wished they wouldn’t want my input. The conversation fizzled, and suddenly, Andrea, still locked in on me, asked, “So, Taisja, what do you think?”; without any thought, I said, “Ew, that’s gross; I would never do something like that,” and laughed it off. Though some people felt the same, my answer seemed to be what mattered most, and all eyes were on me. Little did I know this would start a domino effect of unfortunate events.

Slowly but surely, Andrea started to cut off all communication with me. First, the conversations stopped, then she moved her seat in the classes we had together, and then she changed her seating at lunch. Her plan was to isolate me, and everyone started to follow suit. I didn’t know her influence was this great, but I soon learned. Eventually, total isolation came, and fear of going against her made my peers turn against me. Slowly but surely, everyone distanced themselves from me, and her plan had worked. After months of silence and being ostracized, I was looking forward to winter break; after 4 weeks of not seeing each other, I assumed things would return to normal.

I didn’t tell Seth about what was happening for fear I may be seen as a loser in his eyes, and then he’d really leave me for someone else. I couldn’t tell my dad because his answer to any social drama was followed by his assumption that I wanted to be popular and that I should be more focused on school. School and work were the only places I truly had peace from home, no one monitoring me and no one constantly looking for me to mess up, but now it had become the main source of stress, and in fact, people now couldn’t wait to see me succumb to the pressure. The winter break weeks had passed by in seconds, and in the blink of an eye, I was back in school. To my chagrin, nothing had changed; absence made the hate of my peers grow exponentially.

Returning from the break, the cold shoulder from everyone had become so familiar that it didn’t give me as much anxiety, but the loneliness made the 7 hours school days insufferable. I had planned to speak to Andrea, but knowing her need for volatility made me reconsider. If I tried to talk to her with others around, she would use the moment to make a spectacle out of me, and that public humiliation would turn the cold shoulder into a point-and-laugh WorldStar moment; she might have even tried to fight me.

I needed an opportunity to approach her, and to my surprise, the moment came.

I had been in the girl’s bathroom, and she had come alone. I stayed longer at the sink washing my hands, hoping no one else came in the bathroom before I could speak with her. She came to the sink, and I looked over at her. From her demeanor, I could tell she was waiting for me to say something. I asked in a docile tone, “Hey…. Can we talk?” As she went to answer, a bunch of girls from our class came into the bathroom loud and raving, and once they saw us talking, the noise fell silent.
Andrea looked around and retreated away from what she intended to say; she made eye contact with every girl as if to confirm her disposition with them and assure them the “hate train” was still on the tracks. “GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME; I DON’T WANT TO TALK TO YOU” I took a step back, and the other girls gleaming in contentment started to giggle and run into the stalls.

The exact moment I didn’t want to happen just exploded in my face, and I thought it couldn’t get much worse than this.

I focused on my plan to spend time with Seth, knowing that the time I spent with him would involve sex as if I wasn’t going through enough; the pressure of losing my virginity was still at the forefront of my mind. I tried ballparking how much time would actually be needed to do “the act.” I thought to myself: 45 minutes for talking and watching TV, maybe 20 minutes for kissing since I was scared and needed to convince myself that I really wanted to, an hour to have sex, and whatever came after sex. After my calculations, I realized I would roughly need about 3 to 4 hours, leaning more toward 4 since I needed a time cushion in case something didn’t go according to plan.

My math teacher was a West African man who barely spoke English, so it was no surprise that most students who had him as a math teacher were failing math. To avoid losing funding, since my school was a newer private school that relied heavily on funding based on students’ academic success, failing students would lead to our school closing.

In lieu of our funding getting cut, my principal decided to integrate Saturday school for any students failing math. The program was temporary but was to remain until grades improved. The classes were every Saturday from 8 a.m. to 12 p.m., and I saw this as an opportunity.

Slowly but surely, I started to fail my math class; though having dyslexia and ADHD made school a lot harder in many ways, I just decided to try less hard in the class. Eventually, my grade dropped to a C- and my grandmother got a call from my principal explaining that I needed to start Saturday school as a preemptive measure to avoid failing my class.

My dad never liked the part of being a parent when he had to “really” be a parent. Though he put emphasis on good grades and focusing on school, this part of him came from his insecurity. Growing up, he also had dyslexia and ADHD, but in the 70s, there were no actual names for learning disorders; he was deemed mentally ratardid and placed in a special education classroom with non-verbal students with autism. Due to being ridiculed and bullied, he dropped out of school to pursue a life of drug/alcohol abuse, partying, violence, dog fighting/breeding, and women whom he wouldn’t respect enough to not verbally and mentally abuse.

My grandmother relayed the news of my grade dropping to my dad, hoping he would be upset. To my surprise and hers, he insisted I start Saturday school immediately. I knew failing my class in hopes I would be allowed to attend Saturday school was a risk, but it was a calculated risk that worked in my favor. I decided to attend the first few Saturdays to make my face seen by the teacher, but I sat in the back of the class and kept quiet to gauge how much the teacher noticed each student and to find any inconsistencies to take advantage of. I noticed the teacher didn’t really care much about anyone’s attendance since we weren’t required to attend; it was just a “strong suggestion,” and attendance wasn’t kept. The proof of attendance was determined by the student’s grade and signing the attendance paper that no one ever looked at.

After gathering all the information I needed to ensure the plan would work, I made a plan with Seth to “hang out.” The goal was to skip Saturday school; I had found a girl in my class to sign the paper for me as long as I gave her two dollars that following Monday, and all I had to do was act “normal” leaving out the door so my dad or grandmother wouldn’t sense any suspicion. At least, I thought that’s how things would go until all hell broke loose.

It was a Monday morning; I was high off life, and knowing I would finally get a moment with Seth had me nervous but exhilarated. News broke out in the school that Tasha stole Jalencia’s iPod.

Tasha was a 5’5 brown-skinned girl from my neighborhood; my dad knew her whole family from his early drug days. Her parents were known crack cocaine addicts in our neighborhood, and you knew they were all related based on the signature tooth. The whole family had only a single front tooth and looked very downtrodden when you saw them due to the poverty brought on by the drug abuse. My dad always told me to be kind to her because he knew the extent to which she was suffering. When I met Tasha, she was 9 months pregnant and going into the 9th grade; she was very alluring because of her quick wit and constant comedy. They always say the best comics are the ones with genuine pain. Tasha would come to my house sporadically when she wanted to just talk on the step or pass by. We usually would travel to school together, but I didn’t see her often since we hung out in different friend groups. After the birth of her baby, Tasha came out as a lesbian and never really spoke about her child’s father. In our neighborhood, it was said the father of her child was actually her father, but no one could confirm that, and I never cared to ask.

When the news came to me about Tasha stealing Jalencia’s iPod, I thought nothing of it and tried to keep myself far away from it. But chaos and evil has a way of claiming bystanders, and the further I tried to stay away from it, unbeknownst to me, the more I’d be involved. By the end of the school day, Tasha approached me and said, “Hey, don’t let anyone talk bad about me, okay?” and with uncertainty as to what business it was of mine, I replied, “Okay.”

Tuesday came, and word got out that Tasha was suspended because they found Jalencia’s iPod inside Tasha’s girlfriend’s bra in their attempt to sneak it out of the school.

Wednesday came, and in English class, we were assigned to break into groups for a class project. With the class split into two parts, I was in a group with Jalencia, Beth, and some other girls. The girls and Jalencia knew that I knew Tasha, and for the entirety of the class, they pressed and pressed to get me to divulge what I knew about the issue and my thoughts. I stayed silent, and my dismissal of the topic made the group uncomfortable.

From across the room, I could feel Andrea peering at me, with her eyes focused on me; I felt the heat from her glare warm up my face. I was unsure why she was staring since she had demanded that I leave her alone and, up to this moment, didn’t acknowledge my existence. But her focus on me was a need for concern.

Thursday came and brought all hell with it. The morning went as normal, or so I thought. As I walked through the hall, I came across Andrea whispering in Tasha’s ear, and as I walked past them, Tasha gave the most terrifying look. I could see the rage behind her eyes and the look of evil gratification in Andreas’ eyes. Again came the thick air… the air of impending doom. I was very unaware of what was happening and what I had done to involve myself in whatever was happening. It wasn’t the look of Tasha that had my mind spiraling; it was the pure evil gratification in Andreas’ eyes that let me know she had started a fire with the intention to burn me at the stake. I spent the day trying to talk to Tasha, and it’s like instinctually, she knew when I was approaching, and with speed, she would push past me. I knew whatever Andrea said had just unlocked Pandora’s box of hell.

Dismissal came, and by this time, everyone was privy to what was about to happen except me. As I boarded the bus, I felt a knot in my stomach that I couldn’t shake. As I took my seat on the back of the bus, I saw a group of my classmates look on the bus as if they were looking for someone. To confirm my fear, I heard someone yell, “She on this one,” and in seconds, a sea of students filled up the bus. Jalencia sat next to me, her posture as if she were waiting for something to happen.

After about 5 minutes into the ride, Tasha walks to where Jalencia and I are seated. I didn’t look at her and kept my eyes fixed toward the front of the bus; then, I noticed that almost every person on the bus had their phones out and recording. Suddenly, I heard Tasha yell, “BITCH YOU BEEN TALKING SHIT,” and before I could turn to see who she was referring to, I felt what felt like a brick hitting my face. My head slammed into the bus window, and vision in both of my eyes had been distorted. My system was completely shocked by the head trauma; I heard Tasha screaming in rage, and then again, she punched me in the head, and my head hit the window. Jalencia got up screaming and tackled Tasha; the bus was full of roaring screams from students laughing, and the bus driver pulled the bus over and yelled for me to get off the bus and fight her. All the while, I had never said a word and most certainly couldn’t see, so I sat in silence.

Tasha had gotten off the bus, and the other students followed. The rest of the people on the bus, mainly girls, were the ones who felt bad for me, mixed with some who were there to assess the damage to later report to others. I had no idea what to think, nor did I know what to do; I felt ashamed that I didn’t fight back, though most of my time being punched in the head was spent trying to understand my inability to physically see. My parents were fighters, and growing up in Philadelphia, they learned to fight early on. If I let my dad see the black eye and explain that I didn’t fight back, I would be labeled a coward, and the whole family would know.

As I got off the bus and onto the trolley, the faces of the patrons were mortified. The trolley driver yelled, “DAMN, SHE GOT A DAMN LEMON ON HER HEAD” he threw his head back and belched out a guttural laugh. Not knowing what he was referring to, I looked up into the trolley mirror above my head. The left side of my face was swollen to distortion and unrecognizable to myself; as bad as I wanted to cry, I held it in. When I got home, I ran to my room, looked at my face, and sobbed uncontrollably for hours. Silently, I cried to not cause attention and have my grandmother or father come to investigate.

Then my phone rang; it was Beth.

Beth was a 5’3 “caramel-complected Ethiopian girl from my school; she and I, at the start of high school, would catch the bus home together since she was on strict lockdown from her parents like me. She was gorgeous; she had bouncy black ringlet hair, a round face, and the most perfect white teeth. By tenth grade year, a MySpace page emerged that listed the cutest girls and what high school they went to, and in the blink of an eye, guys from every school packed in cars came to see her. Not too long after that, Beth decided her parent’s rules weren’t for her anymore. She started hanging out with a Liberian girl named CiCi, who got her into wearing low-rise jeans with a colorful thong showing, smoking week, having sex, and drinking, and we didn’t see much of each other after that.

When I picked up the phone, Beth, in a very unassuming voice, said, “Hey girl… are you okay?” and I replied, “Yeah, I’m okay. What up?”. After a brief pause, she yelled, “BITCH YOURE NOT OKAY; WHY DIDN’T YOU FIGHT BACK? I tried my best to ignore it by laughing, which seemed to upset her, then she said, “You better come to school tomorrow, don’t let anyone think you’re scared.” She hung up the phone, and I knew I needed to get my eye swelling down and find a way to keep it hidden from my dad, grandmother, and, most importantly, Seth.

Friday came, and that morning, I left the house expeditiously. With the bang, cat eyeglasses I hadn’t worn until this moment, and knots in my stomach, I started out the door. I so badly wanted to skip school, but I couldn’t get the echo of Beth’s words out of my head. To delay my arrival, I sat and let several buses pass, and when I did get on the bus, I got off early so I could walk. My eye hadn’t fully turned black yet, but there was some visible purple bruising, so to cover the swelling, I decided to have a feathered bang across the eye. With the help of the glasses to keep the emo bang in place, my lumped eye was concealed.

As I entered the school and headed to my class, everyone I passed in the hall inconspicuously tried to get a glimpse of my eye. Two hours late, I entered my class. The room fell silent, and the noises from suppressed laughs followed me to my seat. I was yet again on display; my pain was on display like a zoo animal. A whisper behind me said, “I don’t even see the black eye; Andrea said she had a black eye,” and another voice said, “Did you see the video on Twitter?”. I hadn’t yet created a Twitter account, and it seemed to be a blessing I didn’t; from what I found out throughout the day, Andrea posted the video and was looking for my Twitter handle to tag me in it. The drama wasn’t enough; my assault wasn’t enough; she now wanted to endlessly bully me. Since I didn’t have Twitter, the hype around the video dwindled, but the bullying at school now was a collective effort from everyone to make the 7 hours in each school day a living, thriving hell. To my surprise, even the students who were being bullied now wanted a hand in my suffering; I was now in the belly of the beast with no escape.

On top of this hell, I had the impending doom of losing my virginity; with no idea how I would pull this off, I let the chaos consume me. Like an avalanche rolling down a mountain and consuming everything in its path, it claimed me as its victim…