I lose it.
Instead of running out of the stall, I jump up onto the toilet seat and grab at her hair.
"Ow! What the fuck are you doing? You're crazy!" Chelsea shrieks.
She doesn't know the half of it.
She tries to push my hands away and I use the distraction to snatch her phone.
"What the fuck! Give me my phone!" she squeals.
This bitch has balls.
I hop down, toss her phone into the toilet, and flush just as the bell rings to announce the end of the school day.
I know it probably won't go down, but the water will destroy the phone - I know from an unfortunate experience at the Linton lake - and with it, God willing, the photos.
I burst out of the stall and Chelsea comes at me. The two girls who initially flanked her - a sheepish looking Lily and a girl named Tanya - are joined by others who must have heard the commotion from outside the bathroom door.
"Give me my phone!" Chelsea tries to push past me into the stall I just exited, the stall that still has my bag with my clothes - minus the shirt I should be wearing right now - but I shove her back.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" I demand.
"Wrong withme? You're the one who had a baby and tried to hide it! Look at her scar!" she screams to the crowd that has grown exponentially in the past minute.
She pushes me again and grabs for my hair, but I duck and block her. She's startled for a moment by my self-defense, and I take advantage of her surprise.
I punch her.
Chelsea holds her cheek that landed my fist before launching herself at me with a war cry. She slaps at my face, but I block her again and knee her in the stomach.
That's right bitch, I grew up playing with boys, and I know how to fight like one.
Chelsea is hunched over and I'm vaguely aware of the crowd's movement. Some flee to avoid the violence while shouting reports of a fight between Chelsea and the crazy new girl and my supposed C-section scar. Others flock toward the action.
I'm also somewhat aware that some of the new audience members include the male sex - in the girls bathroom - and I'm not wearing a shirt. But Chelsea swings another smack in my direction and I dart out of the way, but not before her nail makes contact with my chin and breaks skin.
"You fucking slut!" she shrieks. "Where's your baby?!"
"Fuck you!" I bark back at her, pushing her away.
We square off, my back facing the only exit as well as most of our gaping peers.
Chelsea shoves at me again, claws out, and we grapple. She's scratching and slapping, but I'm punching with a closed fist just like my daddy taught me before he decided I wasn't worth a damn more than a whore linking him to a potential pro football player.
I kick her scrawny leg out from under her and she tumbles to the floor, giving me a moment to regroup.
I have a choice.
I can attack her when she's down, like she's attacked me in so many ways, or I can take the time to diffuse the situation. I can take the high road. I can be the bigger person. I can be abetterperson....
I attack.
I straddle her, my fists meeting her flailing hands, landing a few strong punches, reveling in the power of having the upper hand. So many times I was the weak one. Powerless against one hundred and eighty pounds of solid muscle, exerting its will over me.
But not now.
NowI have my attacker where I want her.
