Chapter Text
Petra shoved her soaked blouse into a plastic bag, the milk making her skin damp. Her skirt was better off, it being a tad sticky, but unstained, nonetheless. Hanging the plastic bag with her blouse on the hook behind the stall door, Petra pulled on her phys-ed shirt, and then her cardigan, buttoning it up to the top button.
Petra tied the plastic bag tight, and unlatched the bathroom stall door. At the opposite end, Mikey was knocking back a soda. Mikaela had run out to the deli near school and bought something to get the plastic bag.
“You cleaned up?” Mikey said, draining the Coke can and throwing it into the trash can one handed.
“Just a bit sticky.” Petra held up the plastic bag. “I’m tossing this in the wash when I get home.”
Mikey nodded. “Man, Patricia’s such a fuckin’ bitch. I don’t think she's got a single honest, kind bone in her body-”
“Mikey, it was probably an accident.” Petra said, appeasingly gripping Mikey’s shoulder.
Mikey rolled her eyes and sighed “You don’t understand. She was looking at you all nasty, with those beady little eyes of hers. Patricia’s plain mean, Petra. She’s a bully.”
“And what if she is? That doesn’t mean she’s not worth respecting.” Petra countered.
“Petra, she dumped milk on you. If that was me, I’d be in the dean’s office by now.”
Petra bit off an exasperated groan. “Mikaela Way, I don’t care what beef you’ve got with Patricia, but it’s getting ridiculous. It was probably an accident. Let it go.”
Mikey rolled her eyes, but kept her mouth shut.
“Let’s go shove this in my locker before English.” Petra dangled her soaked blouse.
As they made their way to Petra’s locker on the first floor, Petra fidgeted with her bag. Patricia was a little mean sometimes. It had been that way since freshman year. It was smaller back then, snatching Petra’s things and making snide remarks.
It got a little worse sophomore year.
Petra was hanging in the music store, picking at a bass. Her, Mikey and Andrea were trying to get gigs with a band, and Mikey was trying to teach her bass. It had been going alright. She’d gotten the hang of shifting her hands quickly, and she'd come up with a few riffs. Her head ached with the weight of the headphones and her neck craning over the bass, but she could care less. She was having the time of her life.
The chime in front of the door rang, and Petra made the mistake of looking up.
Patricia had been wearing a band shirt and blue jeans, Josie behind her in a hooded sweatshirt and black jeans. Patricia’s eyes caught Petra’s. They stared at each other for a second. Then Patricia and Josie moved off silently.
Petra sighed, then slipped the headphones over her ears and continued to practice.
She saw Patricia giggling, holding up her phone, snapping a picture of something. Josie was fighting a smile, but also trying to snatch the phone away. They left the shop after a bit.
When Petra woke up the day after, she had 3 missed calls from Mikey, 4 texts from Andie, and 20 notifications from MySpace.
Barely lucid, she hit Mikey’s number.
“Petra Lewis Kingston Wentz the Third, do not check MySpace.” Mikey sounded horrified.
“What? Why?” Petra mumbled, rubbing her eyes.
“So, were you in Sam Ash yesterday?” Mikey was drumming her fingers on the table, the muffled sound coming through the speaker.
“Yeah. Patricia and Josie were there too.”
“So, uh…”
Basically, Patricia had snapped a picture of Petra hunched over the bass, ridiculing her and calling her a wannabe and poser.
At least, that’s what Petra remembered before she started crying.
For a while after, she felt paranoid, feeling as though people were talking about her, talking about every single thing she was doing wrong. Petra didn't talk as much, didn’t share out about her weekend, kept to herself and only talked with Mikey and Andie
She became somewhat of a wallflower.
Petra and Mikey reached Petra’s locker and Petra looped the bag’s handle around her wrist to spin the dial on her combination lock. 33-15-29. She grumbled as she tugged at the lock, which didn’t budge.
“Move, Petey.” Mikey grabbed the lock and spun the dial to Petra’s combo, then gave it a firm tug. It clicked open. Petra hung the plastic bag from the metal hook on the right side
“What are we doing in English again?” Petra ran her hand through her hair, making it somewhat neater.
“The poems.” Mikey yawned, stifling it behind her hand.
Petra shrugged. Mr. Martens was one of those teachers who sat at their desk and talked in such a way that one would fall asleep easily. If you’d been at a club or some concert all night and had Martens first thing in the morning, you could easily get back approximately an hour or two of sleep. And he’d be none the wiser.
Recently though, Petra had actually become invested in what he was teaching. Poetry. They’d been reading some poems from this guy, Robert Frost. Her favorite poem was “Canis Major.”
“The great Overdog / That heavenly beast / With a star in one eye / Gives a leap in the east…”
She loved the poem dearly. She’d written it down in her pocketbook, in the little pages in the back. Those pages were everything dear to her, ticket stubs from her best concerts, weeds she’d picked from the park, flyers, all that she thought were beautiful pieces of the world.
Petra took out the thin volume of poems Mr. Martens had assigned the class to read, a sticky note on the poem from last night and a well worn crease on the spine denoting the location of “Canis Major.” She and Mikey set off to the third floor to pick up Mikey’s book and head to English lit.
Walking in the door, she saw Patricia at the front, talking to Illi Mcmillin. Illi was a new transfer from New Jersey. She liked DnD, Audrey Hepburn, Fangoria–all things Petra was into, too, but she was too scared to ever talk to Illi. Illi was beautiful, funny, and relatively quiet, so Petra wouldn’t even think about asking her to hang out with her group.
The rest of the class filed in, and Patricia broke away from Illi, who looked a bit nervous. Petra took her seat near the window. She flipped to the poem Mr. Martens had written on the board, “A Minor Bird.”
“Now, I’m going to read the first stanza…” Mr. Martens’ ancient voice droned.
For the rest of the period, Petra went back to “Canis Major” and stole glances at the teams beginning to prepare for after school training on the football field. She did like “A Minor Bird,” though – the fact that something beautiful could exist, and you could still not like it.
That was how she saw Patricia. Petra held no hate in her heart for Patricia, even liked her, but she couldn't understand for the life of her why she was so bitter. She had friends, talent, and top grades, but whenever she talked to Petra, she was just so bitter and angry. It made no sense.
She glanced at Patricia. Her heart stopped. Over the top of her book, she saw Patricia’s blue eyes staring at her. Not with malice or envy or anything, more like a sad affection. Some sort of pain. Patricia caught Petra looking, and Petra quickly turned to pay attention to Mr. Martens’ words.
“For this semester, your project is to read the rest of the poems in the book and make a project on the one that stood out to you the most. One that truly speaks to you.” Mr. Martens tapped the list of poems that were on the blackboard with a pointer.
Easy enough, Petra thought. She could make some art about “Canis Major.” Or write a paper.
“This is a collaborative project. I will be choosing the partners.”
A groan resounded from the class. Choosing partners was never a choice in Mr. Martens’ class, but it was nevertheless a bummer. Thankfully, last semester Petra had been paired with relatively nice people, so she wasn't dreading it.
“Francine, you're with Taylor. Andrea, with Mikaela…”
Petra drummed her fingers on the desk. Hopefully her partner agreed with “Canis Major,” or she convinced them to do it.
“Illi, with Janet…”
Petra began packing up her stuff, along with everyone else. She was ready to grab her stuff and leave and just forget about what happened at lunch.
“Petra, with Patricia.”
Petra almost dropped her book. Patricia? She looked up to see Mikey looking at Mr. Martens with murder, and Patricia just plain shocked. Petra raised her hand.
“Mr. Martens, are you sure we-”
“You know better than to complain, Petra.” Mr. Martens shut her down. A giggle resounded from the class as the bell rang, and Petra just hunkered down in her seat, red-faced.
Oh, god. This was gonna be embarrassing, and she didn't know whether it’d be worse for her or Patricia.