Miscellaneous

Dorothy Engleton.  She's the worst bully I'm dealing with right now.  She goes through so much trouble to come up with new ways to insult me, she always calls me “Cryla” like the bullies I had in elementary school, and she's even got people trying to copy her on it so they can be cool too.

“So why help her, Lyla?” Ciel Letrush asks.  At first, my brain wonders why it matters—all she has to do is give me a can of yellow spray paint.  Then it finally clicks that she's talking about me.  Sometimes I don't even remember that, like, not helping people is an option.  Mom's always been so impulsively helpful...is this what it's like for her?

But it's not just that.

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“Cryla Brangwyn,” Dorothy Engleton said to me.  She'd been standing right there as my locker door closed, and it really jumped me.  You'd think it wouldn't, not when she's done this so many times.  And yet...  “Nice crop top.”

“Thanks!” I replied.  They were getting really popular, so I wanted to try one and see what the fuss was about.  But usually I wear more clothes than that, so I felt more comfortable buying one an extra size up to layer something under it.  I'd matched up a gray top and a pastel purple dress, added a belt, and felt like I was wearing a cloudy sunset.

But Dorothy didn't seem to see it.  “I wasn't serious...!”  Then she started to laugh.  “The whole point of the crop top is to show some skin!”  Dorothy was the one that was usually setting the trends at Cross Town High School, so I believed her.  She turned her head upward a little, which she does a lot when she's about to get rude.  “What, did you go clothes shopping with your dad again?”

I think Dad's way of dressing is pretty cool, though.  I don't know why her clique thought it was so funny.  Besides, it was the end of the school day, so I didn't have to deal with her anyway.  All I had to do was wait for Mom to finish up her thing at the school, and she and I would drive home together.  My plan was basically to just endure Dorothy until then.

“You gonna speak or what?” one of Dorothy's hangers-on jeered.  Unfortunately, Dorothy's crowd was in my way, and this one in particular—oh, her name's Valerie—she was leaning out into the hallway a bit.  I couldn't go that way, that's for sure, so I just went around and used the cafeteria exit with the freshmen and sophomores.  I felt really tall going out that way, but not in a good way—it just made it easier for people to stare at me.

I ended up getting to the parking lot way after Dorothy did.  There was a big crowd around her car, so it took me even longer to see what had happened.  Turned out they'd spray-painted a word onto the hood of her car, along with an arrow pointed at the driver's seat.  It was only right-side up if you were standing in front of the car, though.

...what?  I don't wanna say what it was, okay?  That's not important.

What's important is that it hurt Dorothy's feelings really badly.  What's important is that some of the people in the crowd thought it was pretty funny.  I don't know if they were laughing at the word or that it had gotten Dorothy to cry, but...she didn't deserve this.  She and I had had our fights, but neither of us had stooped to that level.  And no one was trying to help her!  Not even Valerie, or any of her other little friends!

Squirming my way through the crowd was easy enough.  No one was stopping me, the way they would've in the hallway.  I wiggled my way out of my crop top and laid it over her car, trying to cover up the vandalism as much as possible.

My knees hit the pavement a little harder than I'd intended.  I sucked in a breath through my teeth, trying really hard not to blurt out a swear.  “Dorothy,” I said, now that I was level with her.  “Who did this...?”

When Dorothy raised her head to meet my gaze, her eyes were already a deep red.  “Go away!” she barked.  “Don't you dare rub it in!”

I shook my head.  “Why would I do that?”  I scooted a little closer to Dorothy and put my hands behind my back a tiny bit.  “I wanna find out who did this, and kick their ass.”

Somewhere off to my left, Valerie laughed.  “Oh, c'mon,” she taunted, “whose ass could you ki—“

“Shut up, Valerie!”  The bullying from Dorothy and her friends was never okay, but in this situation...it definitely wasn't the time for any of that, you know?  Dorothy's feelings were really, genuinely hurt.  And for a best friend, she wasn't doing an awful lot of defending Dorothy.  “Dorothy...we can cover that up.  Between my dad and this graffiti artist he knows, I bet we could paint over that or something, so no one would ever know.”  

This got Dorothy to stop crying and look up at me.  She seemed genuinely shocked.  “What?  Why would you do that?”

It wouldn't be easy—it's black writing on her yellow car, after all—but it seemed easier than trying to scrape it off.  And either way, if anyone would know how to get rid of it, it'd be Dad or...

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“...me,” Ciel finishes.  She'd made her way over from River City as soon as she could, but by then, I was already at Hart's Bakery.  We had to have this conversation while I was cleaning up at the beginning of my shift.  Ciel had butted in when I'd stopped to clean off my mop and put the cleaning cart away.  “Also, you're veering off-topic.”

I shrug.  “Well,” I say, the custodial closet slamming shut behind me, “I got kind of distracted, sorry.  Could you help me find my place, please?”

Ciel sighs through the last bite of her croissant.  “Why are you helping Dorothy if she's always been so mean to you?”

Oh, the thing Dorothy asked.  I nod and give it some thought.  Dorothy can be a real jerk sometimes, but...should I really be that happy someone stooped to such a hateful low?  “Ciel...that doesn't matter.  I'm not gonna let language like that go, just because it was directed at someone I don't like.  There are people that don't like me, my friends, my other classmates...and if I do nothing here, that gives whoever did this permission to keep doing it...right?”

Ciel gives my words some thought.  Then, she smiles and nods.  “...where should I bring the spray paint?”

I can't help but smile right back at her.  “Oh, bring them to Mom...Dorothy wants to meet with me in secret to do this, and Mom's gonna drop me off.  She's really good at colors, too, so if Dorothy's car is a different yellow, she'll let you know.”  I hesitate.  Ciel's not a very huggy person, but her help has made me so happy...I end up doing a weird, fidgety dance in place to burn off all that leftover excitement.  “And...thank you, Ciel.”

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“...you made it,” Dorothy says.  She seems a little shocked.  Uh, of course I did, I said I would...and of course she believed me, since she's here too.  “Did you bring the paint?”

“Yeah...!” I answer.  Everything I need is in my backpack, including—  “Oh, and Dad says we should start with this...”  I hesitate, digging for the can and turning it in my hands to find the name of it.  “...primer stuff.  A layer of this, and the black shouldn't show through anymore.”

“And why should I trust him?”  Dorothy lets out a huff and turns her nose to the sky.  I brace myself for the usual follow-up rude joke...and nothing happens.  “Well?”

I'm still a little flabbergasted, so it takes me a bit to reply.  “Dad's a mechanic, and for him, that means having skills to fix the paint job just as much as it does fixing the engine or...whatever.”  I make a sweeping gesture with my hands, motioning to an imaginary smorgasbord of...whatever else is in a car.  

Dorothy says nothing.  I'm not sure if she's willing to take Dad's word for it or not...or maybe it's my word?  Either way, she came to this dressed up in her usual fashionable outfits, albeit a different one than she wore to school.  She's so interested in fashion...she'd be really unhappy if she ruined her outfit with paint.  The whites in her clothes won't match the whites in her calico patterns on her ears if they get covered in yellow.

“Put this on,” I tell her, tossing her my outermost sweatshirt.  We're at a rest stop by the river, and the trees are doing nothing to block the chill of the moving water.  Even so—

“Why?” Dorothy asks, looking at it like I just threw her a big rotten banana peel.

I shake my head.  I don't like that look, but I'm really trying to be nice here.  “If paint splashes at you, I don't want it to get on your clothes.”

Dorothy examines the sweatshirt for a little while longer.  She really gets a move on after I get the primer open.  She sees the thick, white, viscous solution, and...oh, now she puts it on.  I feel a little bad because I'm a few inches taller than her, plus I bought it oversized to fit over other clothing so—

Dorothy flails her arms a bit and has a good laugh over it.  The sleeves are hanging down well past her hands.  “You always dress like this...?” she wonders aloud.

“It's comfortable,” is my only real defense.  It's this big gray thing that makes me look like I've been swallowed by a storm cloud, but it's also one of the thickest and softest things I've got.  Plus it's so long—  “—your entire outfit's covered.”

“...I suppose that's for the better, yes.”  Hey, some words...some progress!  If Dorothy and I are going to—  “What's that smile for?”

I clap a hand to my mouth.  “Oh...I'm...I'm glad I had that idea.”  Which, I mean, I am, but...  “Now, with this paint roller,” I explain, digging that out of my backpack as well, “this should take no time at all.”  Indeed, I don't even need Dorothy's help on this one, it's so easy.  Just a fairly generous coat rolled over the vandalism on her car's hood, and...oh.  “Maybe it needs another coat.”  The black is still showing through.

I take a seat on a nearby rock, but Dorothy's having none of it.  “So hurry up and do it!” she insists.

“No...!”  She's grabbing at my next clothing layer down, but I shrug her off.  “That has to dry first.”  There's a decent breeze hurrying through the foliage around us, and the sun's sitting by itself in the late afternoon sky.  Honestly, it shouldn't be too long.

Dorothy finds herself a seat on the next rock over, cushioning herself with my sweatshirt as it hangs well past her waist.  “Why are you doing this?” she asks again.

I...guess I didn't give her much of an answer last time.  And I don't think she'll care much about the big, sweeping answer I gave Ciel.  Then again, my feelings in the moment were much simpler, so I do my best to remember those, even though I can barely see the word that started this.  “You don't deserve this, Dorothy,” I say flatly.

“No, I mean...I've said some pretty nasty things about you and your family.”

I nod.  “And you're not off the hook for that.  But...”  I stop and laugh.  Honestly, I'd thought about stuff like this before, but it's an old movie that helped me put it into perspective.  It's from the old world, so there's like a 0% chance she's seen it, but... “...you ever see the movie Highlander?”

Dorothy lets out this noise like she's holding in a laugh.  “No...?”

Aw, jeez...I could talk her catlike ears off about that movie, but...  “Well, it's about these people who can live forever, and they fight until only one's left.  And...even they have rules.  Like, uh, not fighting on holy ground...”  With every word, Dorothy's eyes seem to glaze over more and more.  Maybe I should bring this back to her and I.  “...sometimes I feel really hurt and angry when you make fun of me...but...I have standards, you know?  Like, I wouldn't want you to die.”

Dorothy's head tilts just a tiny bit.  I think she's really mulling that one over.  “...I wouldn't want you to die, either,” she finally admits.

“That's...reassuring!”  I try to kid about it, but...sometimes my bullies have been pretty intense, so I'm not always sure.  Even though I tried to play it off with kind of a sarcastic tone, it really is kind of a relief...  “And I would never stoop to that level, either,” I add, gesturing at her car.  “That's just...hateful...”

Dorothy shakes her head.  “No way...you must hate me.”  I'm surprised at how this seems to weigh on her.  She's balled up a bit in my sweatshirt, resting her arms on her knees...looks like how I'd sit.

“Nope...Mom says I should hate behaviors, not people.”  I rock myself forward, leaving my stony seat to try to look Dorothy in the face.  Now that she's kind of hunkered over, I have to move closer to her and lean in.  “If you weren't so mean, you'd still be really pretty and witty, and you'd still know tons about color coordination and all that other fashion stuff.  I can't hate those things.”  I have to hand the witty part to her especially.  Even if she hurts my feelings, sometimes she's just got this, like, airtight insult that there's no comeback to, and...that's a skill!  

“You really mean all that?” Dorothy asks.

“Uh...duh?”  It didn't occur to me that I could've said something I didn't mean.  Why do people always assume that kind of stuff?

Dorothy relaxes.  Her feet return to the ground, and her arms migrate to her sides.  “Thank you, Lyla,” she says.  That's the first time she's ever used my actual name.  “Can we do the next layer of primer now?”

I nod.  “Should be ready, yeah.”

I get the paint roller ready to go, but before I can touch it to the car, Dorothy's hand closes around my wrist.  “Stop.  Um...I'd like to do this part.”

“...okay.”  You know, her car, her paint job, her rules...I hand the roller off to her.  “Have you ever painted anything before?”

“In art class, but besides that...”  Dorothy shakes her head.

I scatter her concerns in the wind with a wave of my hand—or, at least, I'd like to think so.  “The roller makes it easy,” I assure her.  “Just don't put too much primer on at once...Dad says it'll get all drippy and look weird when it dries.”

Dorothy briefly freezes up at the thought.  “Ugh...I want my car to be as flawless as I am.”

“Well, in that case...”  I grab my house keys from my pocket and slowly inch them toward the side of the car, a mischievous smirk on my face.  

“Lyla...!”  Dorothy huffs my name out in the midst of an offended gasp.

She takes a step toward me, so I put my keys away.  “Dorothy, I'm just kidding!”  I mean, nobody's perfect, but...I think I used up all my allotted detail on Highlander, so I don't want to explain the joke to her.

She shakes her head and returns to her work, but before she can hide it, I spot...a smile?  Whatever it is, it gives way to a very focused look soon enough.  She just wants her car to look its best...jokes aside, I can respect that, so I try to keep an eye on her handiwork instead of her.  “You held this roller much more steadily,” she notes.  “Is that why you wear those gloves...?”

Oh, my fingerless work gloves!  Honestly, I just take them off so rarely.  And Dorothy's noticed that too—she's made fun of me for it before.  “Yes and no,” I admit.  “There's some textures that just...I don't know what happens.”  I catch myself thinking of specific examples...not only is the thought of felt making my skin crawl, but if Dorothy found out?  Oh man, my locker would be covered in that stuff.  Or...would it...?  Nah, it's not worth risking.  “I touch some things, and I get really uncomfortable.  Like, my neck tingles and I just want to run away...”

“All that over touching something?” Dorothy asks.  When I nod, her free hand rotates up to press her fingertips on her chin.  “Well...it happens to me with some sounds, but...”

I look up at Dorothy, and...jeez, what if she's having the same thoughts I was?  “It happens to you, too?”

“Yes.  That really cheap Styrofoam they serve lunch on at the middle school is the worst.”

I mean, it is this really weird, grindy, squeaky sound, but...it sets her off like touching felt does to me?  “I never would have guessed.”  Dorothy gives me a look, and I smile at her.  “I hate that feeling so much...oh, wait!”  If only she'd said this earlier...!  “That's another standard, because...if I grabbed some cheap Styrofoam to torture you with...well, it's a dick move, but also, I'd have no right to complain if you found stuff I hated to touch!”

Dorothy snaps her fingers.  “Oh, because you already did it!” she coos.  “Going back and forth, giving each other that awful feeling...it doesn't sound very fun.”

I shake my head.  It would be so miserable for both of us...and then what?  Maybe I'd get so angry and panicky that I'd hit her.  Maybe she'd try to get me thrown out of school for that.  It could keep going and going...man, is that how the world ended the last time?  Ugh...Dorothy just had to pick the kind of spot I'd go to to think.  My favorite spot's more upriver, but it's got the trees and the earthy-smelling breeze and all the other stuff I love about it.  I think that's getting to me, making me think big like that.

Whatever it is, the second coat of primer is dry.  “Now's the fun part!” I say.  There's a trash bag and tape in my backpack—the last things we'll need, besides the paint.  Dorothy doesn't even have to ask the question.  I can already feel her staring at me.  “This goes over your windshield so paint doesn't get on it, and then it comes right off.”

Dorothy nods and takes her place on the other side of the car.  “Then give me that end,” she demands.  Once I get my side taped down, I cast the other side her way.  She holds it down while I tape it.  I'd have made her do it, but if she put the tape on her paint job, she could've ruined it...this is pretty heavy-duty stuff.  And I'm glad it is, because the wind is starting to pick up.

Before it gets too bad...I hand the spray paint off to Dorothy.  She doesn't seem ready for it, because it tumbles away as soon as I let go.  The can rolls under the car.  “I'll get that,” I say, “but...”  I take the other can Ciel gave me, and take one of Dorothy's hands to make sure she grips it this time.  “Mom says we should wear masks for this, but Ciel wears a bandanna over her face.”

“Like a punk, you mean,” Dorothy shoots back.

I nod.  “Exactly like that!  You'll have to pull my sweatshirt up over your face instead.  I'll grab that other can...you should practice on the pavement or something.”

I hear the trademark whoosh of the pressurized paint as I crawl under the car.  I don't have to go very far.  The can got some good distance, but I'm pretty lanky, so my arms reach it just fine.  “Ugh, this will take forever!”

When I come out from under the car, I can see she's right.  I didn't give her guidance on how far away to hold the can—because I didn't get any—but I can see from the splatters that she'll either have to go fairly close and slow, or just spray over the car multiple times.

Dorothy shrugs and turns her attention to the car.  “So while I do this...if they can live forever, why are they fighting?”

“...huh?”

“In Highlander, I mean.”

A huge, dorky smile takes over my face in no time.  “Well, when there's only one left...”