Fight Like a Girl

Macy’s POV

  If someone told you violence wasn’t the answer, what would you say to them?

If you said it absolutely is always the answer, you’d get an A.

  My mother liked to say violence solved nothing but I was a keen believer some people just needed to get punched once in their lives to truly understand that the world doesn’t revolve around them. Which is funny because one punch was the reason I was getting expelled.

  The day started like every other boring Thursday at  Rosewood Preparatory Academy. Too many rich kids with fake smiles and not enough coffee in the cafeteria to start a morning right. I was halfway to my fourth period class, headphones around my neck blasting whatever the FM radio had been broadcasting that morning, when a crowd drew my attention.

  It wasn’t a big crowd but there were enough people gathered to pique my interest. I almost kept walking, the cheerleaders always had some sort of gathering around this time of the year and girls alike flocked to watch them showcase their new routines before the sports semesters fully started.

  I promise you though I almost kept walking. Even my therapist would have been proud of my growth not to stick my nose where it didn’t belong.

Today would have marked a whole three weeks without getting into a fight. A personal record, I was very pleased with. I’m sure my mother was too. It horrified her to know that the heir to the Keen Company she and my father worked so hard to make successful would be tarnished because of the heir who couldn’t keep her hands to herself.

  I wasn’t the impulsive person my mother thought I was, I swear. But when my buttons are pushed and the anger builds, it’s so easy to rearrange a face in my own image.

  So, when I heard Lucy Newman, the quiet second year that kept mostly to herself, crying, that pretty much sealed my fate. Poor Doctor Kalman would have been distraught at how all our process on my character development was thrown right out the window.

  I pushed through the crowd until I saw her. Lucy sat in her wheelchair beside the lockers, shoulders curled inwards like she was trying to be a turtle and disappear into her shell. Her glasses were crooked, her eyes were red and towering over her was Becky Johnson, the head cheerleader.

  Becky walked the halls like she owned them. Maybe she did. Her father had invested in the Academy just so his daughter could be happy when she went to school. It was a sum so large it rivalled my own family’s generous donation.

“You got that freak?” Becky asks an already terrified Lucy, whose tears stayed unshed in her eyes as she nods. Becky held Lucy’s phone in the air, forcing the poor girl to reach for it. Or at least try is the best word to explain what was happening. “Good, then next time you'll stop staring at Ethan during Chemistry.”

“I wasn’t—” Lucy began with all her strength to get the words out. Was this girl really bullying someone who couldn’t walk because she was talking to her boyfriend?

  “Shut up,” Something burned hot in my belly. The type of burn that wasn’t easily quenched. Every single person standing here who was just watching and contributing to the problem should be ashamed of themselves. I hated bullies who were cowards and picked on people smaller and weaker than them. And what I hated more was the people who joined in the bullying to help make it even worse.

  “Why are you treating her like that?” I asked, as I stepped forward, stumbling a bit from behind the crowd.

  My feet just moved before my brain fully picked up, while my mouth followed my foot’s lead.

  “Oh.” Becky said, rising to her full height looking in my direction. She had perfected the art of looking at people like they were gum stuck to her designer shoes. “It’s Macy Keen. Shouldn’t you be in anger management or jail or something?”

  “Give Lucy her phone back.” I replied ignoring the snickers that passed through the crowd. Lucy looked at me with the opposite of the expression I thought she would look at me with. Instead of the gratitude for stepping in and stopping the whole situation, she looked even more panicked and afraid than she did before. I should have taken that as my sign to leave it alone. Get a teacher and explain everything that has happened. Lord knows I should have.

  “Or what?’ Becky asks, folding her arms, phone still in her hand as she does so. I inhaled slowly trying the breathing techniques I’d learned with Doctor Kalman.

  One Breath in.

  On breath out.

I could do this. I could stay calm. I needed to stay calm. I was absolutely not going to get another suspension. It still wasn’t too late to turn around, get a teacher and dissolve this situation but my mouth seemed to think otherwise.

“Becky,” I said, gesturing to her like I was speaking to a child, slowing down my words for effectiveness and as if she were hard of hearing.  “Give Lucy her phone back and leave her alone.”

She smirked, fully sealing the deal. Then she lifted her foot and kicked Lucy’s wheelchair making her wince. The sound of the wheelchair echoed throughout the hallway. And that was pretty much the end of my short lived journey as a healed and non-violent person.

  My fist connected with Becky’s jaw, her spit flying as her mouth opened, everything happening in slow motion for me. The crack of it hurt my knuckles and caked them with her makeup. She stumbled backward with a scream, clutching her nose while blood spilled between her fingers. The hallway bursted into chaos as everyone took it as an opportunity to go call a teacher. Now, of all times. No one considered doing that when a girl in a wheel-chair was practically being pushed around. Nope. They chose now, when the bully finally got what she deserved.

  “Oh my god!”

  “She punched her!”

  “Somebody get a teacher!”

  “Oh shit.” I say as reality came crashing in on me quickly. Becky looked at me with horror and a bit of fear. It was like she couldn’t believe someone actually hit her.

  Personally I couldn’t believe it had taken someone this long to even think about putting her in her place. She did things without thinking of the consequences. Lucy was not the only girl she’d projected her insecurities onto. There was Moura, the Fatansia heiress, who had merely picked up one of Ethan’s towels after practice, mind you that was her job. And suddenly, poor Moura is picking out the cockroaches from her locker.

  Childish, if I do say myself.

“You Psycho!” She shrieked.

“In my defense I did ask nicely at first.” I flexed my aching hand and wiped the makeup into my skirt, leaving a streak of beige on the pink plaid material. Lucy looked stunned and maybe a little terrified. And I mean Fair enough, I guess.

Becky lunged at me with a scream that sounded more embarrassing than threatening, but before she could reach me, Coach Ramirez appeared out of nowhere and grabbed my arm. Me, not the person that was about to lunge at another but the one just standing victim to her almost attack.

“Keen!” And there it was. The consequence portion of this morning.

I’m carted away towards the principal’s office while Becky dramatically cried behind us about assault and trauma like she wasn’t the one bullying someone in a wheelchair, just moments ago.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Coach muttered under his breath.

“I know,” I said. “Her right hook was terrible.”

“Macy.”

“What? I’m just saying if you’re gonna attack somebody at least—”

“This isn’t a joke.” That sobered me a little, because he sounded tired. Was it because of me? I wasn’t entirely sure. He just seemed not to be angry, which may have been worse than him actually being angry at all.

By the time we reached the principal's office, Principal Arden already looked like he was developing a migraine. Becky sat in one chair holding an ice pack to her face while her mother, who’d gotten here remarkably fast, practically vibrated with outrage beside her.

The second my mother walked through the door, that’s when I knew I’d truly messed up. Her expression alone could’ve soured milk or frozen hell.

“Macy.” She said quietly in a tone that was the scariest possible tone. Not yelling, which I thought she would have but the sound of a disappointed mother. I suddenly would have preferred prison or whatever punishment the principal had in store for me than the face the gaze of ,my mother.

The moment Becky’s mother, Mrs. Johnson, saw my mother she launched out of her seat immediately. “You little fiend assaulted my child!” I rolled my eyes and muttered under my breath.

“She assaulted me first, emotionally.”

“Macy, don’t.” My mother snapped and I leaned back in my chair because honestly I regretted nothing. Lucy hadn’t deserved that kind of treatment and if I had to punch Becky again, I would. Without a doubt I would.

Unfortunately for me, Rosewood Preparatory had a strict policy against violence. Apparently “She deserved it” wasn’t considered a valid legal defense.

By the time I got home that day my parents had been on the phone with the school that would be my third. And by midnight, my parents had decided to send me to boarding school in England. England, of all places. They didn’t even drive on the same sides of the road. How were they supposed to teach me discipline and make me into a Lady respectable enough to carry the Keen name. Which honestly, I felt was a little dramatic for one punch.

But at the end of the day, my fist and I were happy we stood up for Lucy.