The next day came. Much to my dismay, my cheek stood out less like a sore thumb, and more like a broken pinky toe. It was wrapped in a massive white compress, which lent my appearance an uncanny resemblance to a partially wrapped mummy.
The injury swelled considerably since the day before, and turned a shade of purple, despite the treatment I received from the infirmary. As you might expect, the infirmary nurse was shocked to see me return to the infirmary with a bruise on my face, and blood pouring from my mouth. Fortunately, Victor managed to explain the entire story to her.
After hearing it, she promptly set to work on my face and inner cheek. She assured me that I had her utmost sympathy, and wouldn't tell a soul about the incident if I didn't want her to. Appreciative of the offer, I declined, since the story would almost certainly leak out to the student body eventually, so no amount of secrecy would help anything.
After my treatment, I exchanged numbers with Victor, since he needed my verbal testimony while filling out the report for Nick's expulsion. Unfortunately, the other two delinquents managed to get off with only a month's worth of detention, but Victor and I both knew that neither of them would show up for any of it. With their games of hookey in mind, Victor mentioned he had something of a surprise for them, though he didn't tell me what it was.
"Don't worry, I have something for them if they don't show up... heh."
Or so he said, with a short, corrupt chortle at the end of that sentence. The conversation had ended there, with that unnerving statement. Rest assured, I was right to be scared of Victor yesterday.
The next class period rolled around. I slept in today since the events from yesterday were exhausting. To my discomfort, my cheek was in agony, making my trip to school that much less pleasant.
Thankfully, due to my solitary existence, I wasn't forced to talk to anyone. Talking would, no doubt, only make my suffering worse.
Or so I thought.
"Travis, about yesterday, Victor told me what happened." A lowered voice whispered behind me.
Ms. Foster, aka Melissa, aka Melissa Foster, aka the person whose last name I had failed to notice after three years of constant social evasion... yes, I'm frustrated about that, decided to notice my injury at the worst time. Which was at all. She sheepishly shuffled up behind me as I was about to enter class.
"Dun't worry aboud id, id's fine!" Was my muffled response.
Melissa began to reach toward my face to touch it, "It's pretty bad, isn't it?"
My head nodded vigorously, while simultaneously ducking her reach. I wonder if she'll take the hint that I don't want to talk right now?
"Listen, I..."
She didn't. God. Damn. It.
"I-I did something I probably shouldn't have... is it alright if I get it off my chest?"
Annoyed, I vigorously... nodded my head. Of course, I wasn't going to say no to her!
"You see... I may have dumped those troublemakers onto you."
That's nothing new. What an innocent girl she is, thinking I didn't notice.
I slowly shook my head this time. Looking back, I was doomed the moment they became aware of my existence, so it wasn't entirely her fault. That said, I'm probably just making excuses for her because she's paying attention to me, so maybe I'm a tiny bit biased. Sue me.
"Could you forgive me?" She pleaded.
Thumbs up. I tried my best to complement it with a weak smile, as painful as it was, but it seemed to have an effect opposite of what I was aiming for. Melissa's expression grew serious.
"The next time those guys try anything, come for me, okay?"
The other thumb went up.
With that, she left the classroom, leaving me to stand awkwardly in the doorway. Everyone was staring at my face and the white compress pasted across my left cheek. Embarrassed, I hastily took my seat as well, regretting sleeping in that day. I could've come in unnoticed earlier, otherwise.
The first period passed by uneventfully. My blank stare bored a hole into the back of the head of the person in front of me.
During that time, I came to several conclusions about the social hierarchy in this school. Some of them may seem overdue or statements of the obvious, but my entire life was spent living under a rock, in my defense.
Before I explain, there is an important mental diagram I will be referring to, and that is the "Social Pyramid". It's a simple construct devised with the sole purpose of visually displaying the hierarchical makeup of the student body of this school.
Those at the lowest tier are, as you might expect, the unpopular, introverted, or delinquent groups, and the lower you go within that tier, the more unsavory the individuals you find. The base of the pyramid is wide compared to the top, which implies a similar disparity between the less popular and more popular populations.
As you climb upward, the inhabitants of each slice of the pyramid become more and more extroverted, popular, or simply beautiful, and thus take up the coveted, narrower spaces that lie closer to the top. The populations within each of these slices decrease the higher you go. Intuitive, right?
And with that, my demonstration is finished. Now, my conclusions are thus, based on the "Social Pyramid".
The first of these states that Melissa is not at the top of the pyramid. She isn't present within the pyramid at all, rather her position soared high above its pinnacle, in the skies and heavens leagues above the peasantry below. The assault outside the gym spoke volumes on that notion. Melissa's fans saw her as nothing less than a deity and were willing and able to enlist thugs to harass anyone who dared approach her. This is a disturbing realization, to be sure, but I digress.
Secondly, there is a legitimate cult surrounding the "goddess". I can feel their eyes around me at all times, and they only seem to grow darker every day that passes. The members of the cult are highly stratified throughout the social pyramid, and the majority of them hail from lower levels, hoping to claw their way on top of one another in a bid to secure even a moment of their goddess's attention. Despite their unified belief in the Melissa religion, they intensely despise one another, for the same reason they were after her to begin with.
And lastly, is a conclusion about myself. It's very simple really, but unfortunately, it only spells imminent disaster in my not-too-distant future. Like Melissa, I too did not reside within the pyramid. Word spread about my interactions with Melissa yesterday, no doubt thanks to those four posers. Because of that, my standing within the social pyramid dropped substantially. Rather than looking down on the masses from the stars above, or even eye to eye with everyone else somewhere in the hierarchy, I was instead gazing up at everyone else from the mud below. Put simply, I was public enemy number one.
These are the three conclusions that make up the axioms of the school's social system.
A long, exasperated sigh escaped my chest. And I just had to tell everyone that I attended this school, too, to add to my list of problems. There wasn't much that could be done, which was where the majority of my frustrations lay. The gears were irreversibly set in motion, ever since that mistake.
"Travis, this class finished half an hour ago, what are you doing here?" A familiar voice asked incredulously.
My eyes rose to meet Victor's, "President, wud are you doing here?"
Victor waved his finger at me in admonishment, his thin mouth opened into a bright smile, "Tsk tsk, didn't I say that you were my friend? Victor, please, use it."
His attention turned to the bandage on my face. His smile darkened, "Are you feeling any better?"
"Id god worse since yesterday," I replied, slowly standing up from my desk. The class ended some time ago. Somewhere along the line, my mind must have wandered too far to come back during the lecture. I must have looked comatose to anyone watching.
"Want me to escort you to the infirmary again?" He asked worriedly.
"No, I'b god English class soon."
"Then allow me to escort you to your class, at least..."Victor pleaded, his expression fraught with concern.
It was an odd sight to see a fourth-year begging a third-year to escort them, let alone the student council president. Moreover, the expression he wore now was far removed from what I saw yesterday, a difference as clear as night and day. He was downright terrifying then, but now he seemed as fretful and nervous as a newlywed. The short blondie was playing with the long bang that covered his right eye, a glint of amber peeked behind the strands as he glanced at me with puppy dog eyes.
I relented, "Waddever."
Victor's face brightened at my response.
"Then shall we?"
He hooked his arm in true escort fashion. Even if I wanted to take it, it was too low to reach. I walked past him, ignoring his proffered arm, "I know I said waddever, but I'm nod taking that arm."
The walk to English class was a short one, as it's only two corridors away, with a left turn in between. Victor followed close beside me, his gaze sweeping the corridors as we went by. He seemed oddly alert.
"You looking for something?" I asked, curious about his unusual behavior.
"Maybe." He replied offhandedly. His eyes didn't stray towards me even once throughout his relentless vigil.
"Maybe whad?"
"That Nick fellow. He wasn't too keen on being expelled."
"Do you thing he'll be back?"
"There's a chance. However, never you fret, for I, your loyal friend pledge that, under my due diligence as the student council president, shall see to it that he will not harm another hair on your head! My valor shall overcome that fate!" He proclaimed as he threw a fist into the air.
So now he's using lines from the novel? Now that I think about it, I kind of expected as much from this guy.
"Well, this id id. I'll see you around president."
"Victor please." He reminded.
My hand reached for the classroom door, "Yes, presidend."
Victor's disappointed grumbling faded behind me as I entered English class. My entrance was greeted by an avalanche of hushed whispers.
My seat at the back seemed light-years away now with so many students in between. The half-hour I had between classes usually gave me more than enough of a buffer to take my seat before everyone got there. But today, the blessings of that extra time were taken away from me.
Upon sitting down, my ears picked up on the conversation between Melissa and her friends. They were animatedly poring over notebooks. Every once in a while, one of them would scratch their heads in confusion, and write something down, and then repeat in a cycle of contemplative writing.
"We've eliminated most of the first-years so far, that leaves us with second-years and up..." One of them commented.
Yet another nodded her head in agreement, "True, and about a third of them are in this class, so we can interro--I mean ask everyone afterward."
She was about to say "interrogate", wasn't she? Intrigued, I eavesdropped while I fiddled with my bookbag's zipper.
"Won't it be weird if we ask them outright like that?" The first hesitantly asked.
The second remained resolute with her plan, "You aren't gonna get anyone to answer by beating around the bush! You've got to be direct, and hit em' when they least expect it to get a genuine answer!"
"Claire's right, we're never going to get anywhere if we don't do something. Suddenly asking everyone like that might make 'him' slip up!" Melissa said.
After years of research, writing, and plot development, I can easily put two and two together to recognize what these four were going to do. Clearly, they were trying to catch the mysterious novelist off-guard. Unfortunately for them, I was onto the plot.
The fourth girl, and Melissa's third companion, chimed in, "What are we going to call him though? We can't just call him 'him' and 'Mystery Novelist' all the time."
"Good point, we should try brainstorming a nickname..." The second, who I heard was named Claire, added.
"Doesn't he have a pen name?"
"Not at all. I couldn't find it or a legal name in the copyright info either. It's copyrighted, but only under the publisher. He must have wanted it that way to remain anonymous." Melissa answered with a groan. Suddenly, she smacked her desk, her face puffed up from frustration, "Grrr. why does he have to be so secretive!"
Her pouting was cute.
After that, they all fell into deep thought. Several minutes later, "Mystno?" The first friend broke the silence with her abrupt question.
Melissa's face screwed into a confused look, "What's that supposed to be?"
"I combined 'Mysterious' and 'Novelist' together, what do you think?"
"It sounds like a knockoff comic character you could get from one of those shady online stores. Next!"
"How about Anonymous?"
"Cliched, but it could work in a pinch."
"Why don't we just shorten it? Like Anmo, or... no that one just sounds bad."
"Maybe..." Melissa began. She hesitated for a moment while she concentrated.
"Anonymous..."
"Anonmo..."
"Anon... it should be Anon." She concluded.
I was stunned by the sudden turn of events. While I sat at my desk, watching the girls from the corner of my eye, I witnessed the birth of my first nickname. It wasn't from a family member, and, albeit indirect, it was technically mine. A warm feeling coursed from my heart and through my entire body. It felt... nice.
Now, I was left with a burning question. Was the feeling from the nickname itself, or the fact that Melissa was the one that chose it?