“Ada…”
“Someone had put dog shit in my milkshake.”
“What?”
“Dog. Shit,” I stretch each syllable until it screams. “I pulled off the lid, and there was dog shit in my milkshake. Still intact. White. Mouldy.”
Jake slams a fist to his mouth, the colour draining from his face. “Jesus Christ.”
I watch, unmoved. I’ve lived with that memory for so long that my reactions come in waves. Sometimes I go numb, sometimes I want to puke, but for years, I had nightmares. When I was twenty-one, it got so bad I stopped sleeping. I couldn’t eat anything I hadn’t cooked for myself. I’d stare at plates, second-guessing every ingredient, wondering if I’d missed something. I’ve spent thousands of dollars on therapy, and I can still barely eat anything that isn’t one colour, visibly untouched, or given to me by someone I trust. Baked potatoes. Yogurt. Corn chips. Turns out Autism, plus trauma, equals ‘eating disorder.’
“Ada,” Jake rasps. “Ada.”
“Jenny did it. She brought a bag of dog-crap to school, put it in my milkshake and handed it to me in front of everyone.”
Jake’s temples have gone greenish-white, and there’s sweat glossing his forehead, but I’m not done yet. The story’s stayed locked inside me for too long; I’m going to get it all out.
“You know we had a fight, don’t you? That I hit Jenny?”
“Yes.”
“That’s why. I spat out my dog shit milkshake, which made everyone aroundfucking laugh,ran back to the delivery table, dropped my food and went at her.”
“Fuck,” Jake says hoarsely. “I just heard you…”
“Say it.”
He winces. “Went nuts. Picked a fight with her for no reason.”
I feel myself smile, my lips moving like they’re pulled by strings. “Well, now you know. It’s the only real fight I’ve ever been in. I got Jenny a couple of times, but she’s taller than me. She clipped me right in the eye. It didn’t stop me, though. I punched her in the stomach and shoved her over. Once she was down, I climbed on top of her, grabbed her hair and started slamming her head into the ground. I would’ve killed her, Jake. Iwantedto kill her.”
“You were in shock.” He reaches for my hand, and I yank it away.
“Whatever it was, I wasn’t going to stop. Fletcher Dean and Colin Wintergreen tried to get me off her, and I went for them too.”
“You split Colin’s lip,” Jake says with a shadow of a smile, but nothing about that day is funny to me. I remember swinging, kicking, scratching, biting, shoving Fletcher over and going for Colin’s throat. My rage made me as strong as ten men. Like one of those mums who lift cars off babies. But I was still just a five-foot-two girl who skipped PE to play the flute and eventually, someone got me in a headlock. Fletcher, I think. Not that I blame him.
“After the guys got me under control, it was all over,” I tell Jake. “I don’t know if you’ll believe me, but I sort of blacked out. Next thing I knew, I was in Principal Friezen’s office, and he was telling me I was suspended and probably going to be expelled.”
“Of course, I believe y?—”
“But then Mrs. Hartford came in and said Jenny was telling everyone I attacked her because I’m schizophrenic?—”
“Fucking hell.”
“—But Mrs. Hartford found the milkshake with the shit still inside. She put two and two together and asked Jenny if she had anything to do with it.” My brain burns at the memory. “Of course, Queen Bitch went into full backpedal mode, then. Sobbed her eyes out and said never in a million years would she do that, and someone needed to call the bakery and getthem shut down.”
Jake swears under his breath.
“Mrs. Hartford didn’t believe Jenny,” I say dully. “I suppose I’ve got her to thank for getting to Juilliard.”
“But what did Principal Friezen?—”
“Say, when he found out Jenny fed me shit? He asked if I thought she had done it, and I told him…”
My voice breaks. I can’t bring myself to keep going because the truth is, I told himeverything. How Jenny started picking on me on my very first day of school and never stopped. The names, the rumours, the way she hunted me down, even when I tried to avoid her.Everything.
Principal Friezen listened, but the longer I talked, the more uncomfortable he became. I read what he was thinking like sheet music. He believed me, but he didn’t want to deal with the situation. After all, Jenny was the Head Girl with rich parents, and I was a latecomer Australian, who repeatedly told him she’d top herself before playing the flute at assembly. So, when I was done wailing about Jenny, Principal Friezen slid me a box of tissues and said, “I can see why you’re so upset, Ada, but there are only a few months until graduation…”
