High School Bully – The Revenge (sixth in the high school series)

By Paul Swearingen

Lindi isn't sure she'll even survive the first day of high school, what with her main middle school tormenter seated behind her in one class. But eventually she confronts him, to his astonishment. Little does she know, however, that he will be the least of her problems during the school year, and she will experience suicide, kidnapping, burglary, and challenges to her psychic power of being able to sense people who have touched an object just by holding it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Paul Swearingen
• Release date: Oct 5, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310366482

Paul Swearingen

Paul Swearingen is a retired English/journalism/Spanish teacher who managed to survive 34+ years in public, private, and government schools. He also was a radio newsman and disk jockey, a newspaper editor and photographer, a personnel manager for a large retail store (now defunct), and a long-time publisher of the National Radio Club's magazine, "DX News". He lives in Topeka, Kansas, where his main current duty is to keep his garden under close control.

Book preview

High School Bully – The Revenge

Paul Swearingen

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2015 by Paul Swearingen

Discover other titles by Paul Swearingen at Smashwords.com:

High School Football – The Temptation

High School Diversity – The Clash

High School Yearbook – The Drama

High School Newspaper – The Danger

High School History – The Treasure

You Can Believe It

Can’t Stack B-B’s

High School Bully – The Revenge is a work of fiction, and all characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblances to real events, locations, or people, living or dead, are coincidental..

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Cover art: Melissa J. Lytton at www.happygothproductions.com; [e-mail].

High School Bully – The Revenge

Chapter One

Lindi took a deep breath and slowly opened her eyes, trying to concentrate on what the English teacher at the front of the room was saying. But the sensations continued to swirl around her, including the identities of every freshman student before her who had sat in this desk. She hadn’t realized how accustomed she’d been to her middle school environment last year.

She removed her hands from the top of the desk and tried to rub her sweaty palms dry on her shorts, but then she could sense the Bangladeshi workers who had assembled and stitched them, and so she balled her hands into fists to stop the sensations.

… And write on only one side of your papers. Either narrow-lined or wide-lined paper is okay …

All this information was in the handout he’d given us, right? Why does he insist on repeating it? Oh, that’s right. We freshmen are little idiots and have to be told everything twice. I forgot.

She dared to look around as he droned on. A few faces, from her former middle school, were familiar, but she really hadn’t been friends with any of them. Most of the familiar faces were those of boys; she’d known them; gone to school with a few of them for nine years; remembered a few who had moved away and had attended other grade schools. None of them seemed threatening.

She rubbed the goose bumps on her arms. Maybe sitting this close to the air conditioner hadn’t been such a good idea, but it had been so hot and sticky outside and even in the hallways that she felt the need to find the coolest spot in the room. Maybe she’d ask the teacher …

No. She could wear jeans, an old shirt over her top, something a bit heavier. I don’t want to get on his radar, she thought. Not yet.

… Any questions?

The class was silent.

Okay, here’s your assignment sheet. A soft groan rolled across the room. He ignored it and counted off sheets, passing them down the five rows of six chairs each, each one occupied, and across to two chairs at tables at the side of the room filled also. 32. She shuddered a little. A possible 32 enemies, including the teacher. But let’s be positive, shall we? Some could turn out to be wonderful, loyal, nurturing friends.

No. More likely backstabbers.

The papers reached her, and she pulled one off the top and passed on the last sheet to the girl behind her. Again the sensations of those who had grasped the paper assailed her, but this time only those of the teacher and the boy in front of her, and both were … sort of transparent. Or maybe grey. Nothing positive, but then nothing negative, either.

Your first assignment is due at the beginning of our next class meeting on Thursday, day after tomorrow. It’s called The Real Me. I want to know about you – what you like, dislike, maybe a bit about your family, friends, accomplishments, fears, whatever. Don’t get too personal. Hey, I don’t need to know everything about you.

The class tittered. Just enough so that I can recognize you as a person. Right now I see a lot of faces, mostly fresh-scrubbed. Another titter. I want to know just a bit behind the façade. The Real Me. Get it? A few nods. Even a song title or a lyric you like would be helpful, but please - no long quotes. This is about you, not your music. Manuscript form, please. Check your information sheet for details – write only on one side of your paper, blue or black ink, that sort of thing, and if you choose to word-process it, please double-space and DON’T use some weird font like Old English, okay? Another titter.

That’s enough for now. I’ll check out textbooks next time we meet. Unfortunately, this school district isn’t rich enough to give you iPads loaded with textbooks like some. Maybe next year.

A slight groan passed across the room, and he retreated to his desk and moved papers on it around.

The girl across the aisle from her leaned toward her and whispered, Isn’t your name Lindi? I think I remember you from sixth grade. I’m Josie Escobedo.

Lindi stared at her for a moment, but all she could remember was a short girl with long, dark, wavy hair. The girl in front of her had short, straight hair.

Yes. I’m Lindi Reinart. Um … hi.

Can you believe this guy? Giving us an assignment the first day? She didn’t pause for an answer. When do you have lunch? I have first. Maybe we could get caught up on things. How about you?

Um … Lindi fumbled for a paper underneath her notebook. Looks like first, too. Sure. That sounds good.

Great. See you …

The buzzer drowned out the rest of her words, and Lindi nodded, scraped her books and notebook together, stood, and pulled her backpack from the floor and dropped it into her seat. What were the chances she’d run into someone here who remembered her and who actually seemed to like her? She dropped her books and notebook into the backpack and grasped the zipper handle to close it when someone jostled her.

She knew immediately who it was without looking. Isaac.

Sorry, he murmured into her ear. Weirdo.

She froze. She hadn’t forgotten. The signs taped to her locker door, the notes passed around during homerooms, the whispering, the one word by which others had defined her.

Weirdo.

He passed on without stopping. Lindi hadn’t seen him since fifth grade, and the past three years had been relatively calm. She knew that he had transferred to another grade school, and word was that he had caused problems at it, too. And now he and others who had bothered her, bullied her, were all together here in one building that was not big enough to keep them separated.

Weirdo.

Yes, she was different. No, she had not confided her fears to anyone except for her family and maybe one friend of her older sister, Arianna, who was now in her second year of community college. Yes, she used to blurt out things to prove how smart she was, things that no one else could possibly know. No, she’d kept her mouth shut, mostly, through middle school.

The aisle cleared, and she zipped up her backpack and moved towards the door. The teacher looked up from his desk and smiled at her as she moved by his desk.

See you Thursday. He stood and followed her to the door. Looking forward to your composition.

She nodded. Sure. Bye. Unlike a few other teachers she’d encountered in the building, ones who told everyone to keep moving, he seemed friendly enough.

The hallway was crowded, noisy, and … dangerous. But she took a deep breath and stepped right into the flow of traffic. I can do this. I know where the next classroom is. I will be on time. I will not be late so that the teacher thinks I’m one of those. I will not …

Suddenly, she found herself flat on her face. Something had tangled itself around her feet, and she couldn’t move. She felt someone touching her shoulder, her arm.

Are you all right? Eddie, I saw that. Can you get up?

Lindi pushed up, glanced at the face of the boy who had tripped her, knelt, allowed the hands to help her to her feet. She knew that she was shaking, and one elbow was starting to sting. She glanced at it. No broken skin.

Are you sure you’re all right? The older girl grasped both her shoulders so that Lindi had to look her in the face. She knew that the other girl really was concerned about her.

I’m … yes. I’m okay. She looked around. Eddie smirked at her over his shoulder, shook his head, moved away, and hurrying students flowed around them, some looking at her curiously.

I’m so sorry. What’s your name?

Lindi. She rubbed her elbow.

I’m Sheree. And don’t you worry. I will hunt Eddie down and kick his ass. He has no business treating people like that. Are you sure you’re all right?

She nodded, felt her elbow, nodded again. At least her backpack had been zipped up securely. She glanced at the floor. Nothing scattered around her feet. No blood, teeth, supplies.

Okay. Good. You freshmen must be tougher than when I first walked this hallway four years ago. I gotta go. Good luck. And in a flash she had turned and trotted down the hallway before Lindi could offer her thanks.

Someone bumped her and left an Oh, sorry behind, and Lindi hitched up her backpack and continued to move along the hallway, this time watching for anyone else who might be cruel enough to trip up people. Her elbow throbbed, and she rubbed it some more. Who was this Sheree, and why was she so nice to her? Didn’t all seniors try to trash-can freshmen?

She thought of Newlin, Arianna’s friend, who had been like a big brother to her years ago. She still wore the ring he’d dug out of the ground, polished up, and given to her while he was metal detecting near the old one-room school building northeast of town. A girl had lost it while playing in the field years and years ago, and although Lindi never knew her name, she could feel what she was like - bold, a leader, quick to take action, especially when someone needed to be defended. Someone a lot like Sheree. Not at all like herself.

A two-minute warning buzzer sounded just as she walked into her earth science classroom, paused, and again headed for the back of the room. She peeled off her backpack, knelt and unzipped it, and pulled out the notebook she used for random notes and doodlings. Then she pulled a stool out from under a high table and peered across the room, which smelled of random chemicals. They must use this room for chemistry, too, she thought. Unconsciously she counted heads, and by the time the tardy bell had rung, she’d counted only twenty-one. Wow, a small class.

Then number twenty-two walked through the doorway just before the teacher closed the door. It was Eddie, and he was headed in her direction.

Chapter Two

She froze. But he didn’t look at her and instead sat two rows ahead of her, dropping his backpack to the floor and raucously high-fiving with some big kid who sported a crew cut that revealed a mole just above his forehead hairline. Slowly, she relaxed and realized that she’d been holding her breath.

The rest of the day was uneventful. Freshman supposedly were not allowed off campus for lunch, and Lindi joined the rest of the sheep and went through the cafeteria line, accepting her piece of square pizza and carrot and celery sticks like the rest of them. She couldn’t seem to find anyone she knew very well and finally sat in front of a round guy who sported horn-rimmed glasses and hair that hid his face. He threw one glance at her but didn’t offer a single word all during the meal. Another oppressed freshman, she guessed.

She decided to dump her morning books in her locker, rather than carry them around all day, and she had to dial the combination twice before the lock opened.

The books were almost alone on the shelf, although she’d left a 250-piece pack of college-ruled paper and a couple of extra pencils and ballpoints in an old plastic zip-up case just in case some morning she forgot to bring stuff with her. She knelt on the tiled floor and stared inside at the scratches and splotches of paint, poster corners held in place by decaying tape, and one pink plastic pencil holder left behind by a previous year’s locker owner. Hello, Kitty? Omigawd. She tried to pull it off the wall, but the double-sided glue pads held fast. No wonder it was still there. For how long?

For a moment she sensed that someone hostile had passed behind her, but she did not turn her head until she knew that he was gone and instead picked at the remaining poster corners until she’d managed to pull them loose. She wasn’t a decorator and didn’t plan on spending much time at her locker in the future, but she didn’t want it to become a trash dump, either, so she pulled the last bit of tape off an inside wall, wadded up the leftovers, and pushed the locker door shut. Luckily, it latched without much pressure, and she snapped the lock shut and twirled the dial.

Two classes and lunch down, two to go in the block schedule. This is the way it would be for the next 152 or so days. And then she’d be a sophomore. Boring but necessary.

She sighed, stood, rubbed her shins to remove the floor dust, pulled her backpack over her shoulder, and located the nearest trash can and got rid of the remnants of tape and poster.

* * *

Nothing remarkable happened in her last two classes, although she almost dozed off in the sixth-hour class and made a note to cut back a bit on lunch. Not only did she want to maintain her 112 pounds for as long as she could, but she knew that when she ate too much at lunch she’d be drowsy. Especially when her social studies teacher had a voice that reminded her of static, or snow falling, or wind through stark branches in winter and conveyed no useful information whatsoever. None.

So when she arrived at her locker to drop off books and notebooks she didn’t need, she wasn’t prepared for the piece of paper taped on it.

WEIRDO.

The letters were huge. Black. Blocky. Printed on a laser printer.

She looked sideways. No one was paying any attention to her, for once, and she carefully pulled the paper from her locker, folded it once, twice, four or five times, and slipped into her backpack before closing the locker carefully, unemotionally, and starting on the five-block walk home.

* * *

She unfolded the paper and held it out to her mother, who felt it carefully.

You know who put this on your locker, don’t you?

Yes. His name is Isaac. I haven’t seen him since grade school.