Unbullied

By Robert Jeschonek

Sixteen-year-old Charlie West has nowhere left to turn. A cyberstalker named Conscience has made her life a nightmare, bullying her by remote control. But in Charlie's darkest hour, she discovers Nil, a radical underground movement using guerilla tactics to crush the worst bullies around. Charlie joins Nil and works high-risk missions, taking down bullies while playing a deadly cat-and-mouse game with her stalker. But when a trusted ally betrays Nil from within, Charlie must stand alone against Conscience...and her high-stakes war against the ultimate bully might just force her to make the ultimate sacrifice. Don't miss this story by award-winning young adult writer Robert Jeschonek, a master of unique and unexpected books that really pack a punch.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Robert Jeschonek
• Release date: Oct 15, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386185079

Book preview

Prologue

3:00AM

Charlie West didn't scream when the attackers grabbed her from behind. It wouldn't have done much good on the small town's empty street at three in the morning, anyway.

Instead of screaming, she clenched her teeth and fought back. She thrashed wildly, straining to break free. She elbowed and kicked, lashing out as hard as she could at whomever had grabbed her. She even managed to land a few solid blows. She heard someone, a woman, cry out, and felt one pair of hands let go.

But the other two attackers held on tight; they simply overpowered her. Twisting around, Charlie got a quick look at them, and understood why.

They were full-grown men. Black ski masks covered their faces, but their frames under the black coveralls they wore were clearly those of adult men.

As much of a fighter as Charlie was, she was only sixteen years old. And she was the opposite of a brute--skinny and kind of gawky, more of a runner than a fighter. She'd rather be reading, watching movies, or playing role-playing games than participating in any kind of sports.

At least, that was how she used to be, back before Conscience started making her life miserable.

Was that who was behind this attack? Even as Charlie fought to escape the men holding her, she wondered if they were working for Conscience...or even, if he was one of them. For all she knew, the third attacker, the woman, might even be Conscience.

The thought of it made Charlie fight harder than ever. Wrenching one arm up, she lunged at the man's hand holding on to it and sank her teeth into his black leather glove. Jerking one leg back and up, she drove the heel of her sneaker into the same man's thigh.

If she could just loosen their grip on her a little, she could snap free and run for it. She knew downtown Vichyburg, West Virginia by heart--there wasn't that much to know--and she could easily lose them in its back alleys and doorways.

Charlie heaved forward, then bucked left, toward the man she'd bitten and kicked. His grip loosened ever so slightly...

Then, before Charlie could make her next move, the third attacker, the woman, stormed in front of her, carrying something made of black cloth.

It was a hood. Darting in close, the woman raised it with both hands over Charlie's head. But Charlie wasn't going to let the woman pull it down over her face without a fight. She redoubled her effort, thrashing like a wild animal, keeping her head out from under the hood...at least until one of the men grabbed the back of her neck and held her still.

With a sudden movement, the woman plunged the hood down over Charlie's head, and everything went dark.

Disoriented, Charlie stopped fighting just long enough for them to restrain her arms with some kind of plastic strap that dug into her wrists. Was it a zip tie, maybe?

The next thing she knew, they were lifting her off her feet and hauling her away through the cool October night. She heard car doors open and felt her captors slide her into some kind of vehicle.

Her heart pounded like the heart of a pilot on a crashing plane, jackhammering with pure terror. The whole time, one name loomed in her mind, lit up with blazing red neon in the darkness of the hood: Conscience. Were they delivering her to Conscience?

If they were, this might be her last night alive.

Chapter

One

18 Hours Earlier

Stop the violence! chanted the cheerleader squad, bouncing in unison in the middle of the school gymnasium. Down with bullying! Down with bullying!

In one smooth series of movements, the twelve cheerleaders in their red and white uniforms rearranged themselves from a single line to a pyramid. With nimble grace, one blonde girl climbed to the top and stood tall on the backs of her teammates, beaming and shaking her pompoms.

The crowd of students packing the stands clapped and roared. Every last one of them wore a red t-shirt with the words BULLYING IS BULL on the chest. Below the words, there was an image of a black circle with a clenched fist in the middle and a black bar slashing through the circle overtop it.

As the cheerleader at the peak of the pyramid did a backflip, the applauding students leaped to their feet...all except one slim, dark-haired 11th-grade girl sitting in the middle of the bleachers. Her name was Charlie West.

Charlie's mind was far away from the latest anti-bullying rally at Papon Valley High School. Her eyes were huge, but not because she was amazed by the cheerleaders' feats. Her heart was pounding, but not because she was feeling inspired by the message of the rally or the unity of the crowd.

Her eyes were huge and her heart was pounding because the cell phone in the pocket of her bluejeans had just vibrated twice, signaling the arrival of a text message.

And the chances were good that it wasn't any kind of text she wanted to read. They never were, these days.

Yeah! As the phone vibrated again, Principal Paul Kafka marched across the gym floor in front of the cheerleaders, shouting into a white megaphone. "That's how we roll in Papon Valley, right? No more bullying!" He shook his fist in the air when he said it.

The crowd repeated his words and stomped on the risers for emphasis. No more bullying!

Not in our school! shouted Kafka.

Not in our school! said the crowd.

Nobody seemed to notice or care that Charlie wasn't joining the chant. They were too caught up in the action, and Charlie was kind of a background person to begin with. People didn't pay a lot of attention to her, especially these days, when she tended to fade into her own distractions.

Like the vibrating phone in her pocket and the person who was undoubtedly texting her. The one who was making her life a little more of a living hell every day.

She wanted to ignore the phone, forget about her tormentor for a while...but she knew she had to deal with him. She had no choice, considering what was at stake. Considering who was at stake.

Sliding her hand into her pocket, she pulled out the phone. She slipped deeper into the nightmare her world had become.

Even as Principal Kafka paced the floor and shouted down below. People tell me you can't have a school without bullying! They say you can't fight it! He shrugged out of his suit jacket as he paced. "Do you know what I tell them? Bull!" Dramatically, he whipped the jacket across the floor. "Bullying is bull!"

Bullying is bull! repeated the crowd.

"Because when you've got good people like we've got here, said Kafka, and they're all committed to a zero tolerance for bullying policy, you can't help but win!"

The crowd roared and stomped. No one seemed to be paying the slightest bit of attention to Charlie.

She kept her phone out of sight the best she could anyway, holding it down at her side against her hip. Cell phones were banned in class and at assemblies, so if someone was watching and ratted her out, she could really get busted.

When the crowd cheered again, Charlie turned her hand so the phone was face-up and glanced at its screen. Immediately, her eyes widened and her heart beat faster.

Because she'd been right. It was him again...or her. She thought of her tormentor as a male, but the truth was, Charlie had never seen him, and he'd never identified his gender. He could just as easily have been a female, not that it mattered.

Because it was the same person, the one she'd expected. The name at the top of the screen was the same as always.

Conscience.

And below it was another in a long line of terrible messages. In fact, it was the worst one yet.

SCORCHED EARTH ROUND! it read. UR FAMILY DIES IN 15 MIN IF YOU ARENT HOME TO SAVE THEM!!!!

Charlie's stomach wrenched. Her eyes shot to the time stamp under the message: 9:05 AM.

Somehow, she had to get home by 9:20. Because there wasn't a doubt in her mind that Conscience would do it. He was perfectly capable of causing someone's death.

Charlie knew this because he'd done it before.

She didn't hesitate. Shooting to her feet, she pushed her way through the crowd, working her way down the stands. The whole time, she kept her hand over her mouth and looked like she was sick enough to throw up at any moment. Which actually wasn't much of a stretch; her gut was churning at the thought of what Conscience might do.

Fueled by blind panic, Charlie burst free of the stands and hit the floor running. Teachers in Bullying Is Bull t-shirts stood along the foul line in front of the bleachers, some frowning with concern at her as she charged past, but none of them moved to stop her.

Then, Charlie bolted around the corner of the stands, aiming for the exit, and ran right into Vice Principal Kurt Driscoll.

Whoa there. He caught her by the shoulders and tipped her back to meet his gaze. Where's the fire?

Charlie kept her hand clamped over her mouth as she looked up at him. Sick! She sucked in her breath like she was gagging, trying to convince him.

Driscoll's deep, dark eyes warmed with worry. Come on, then. I'll get you to the nurse's office.

Charlie shook her head hard. Driscoll was a great guy, she liked him a lot, but the clock in the back of her head was spinning like a propeller on a plane in flight. No time!

She took a chance then and bucked left, breaking his grip. Before he could say another word, she sprinted away from him through the open doors.

Behind her, Principal Kafka was still shouting through his megaphone. How do we roll, Papon Valley?

Bullying is bull! roared the crowd. Not in our school!

Chapter

Two

Charlie's phone vibrated in her pocket as she swung a hard left and bolted down the hall. She reached for the phone with the hand she'd been clamping over her mouth; no need to feign illness anymore.

As she ran toward the building exit at the end of the hall, she raised the phone and read the screen. It was Conscience again, of course. These days, it was always Conscience.

TEN MINUTES & COUNTING! he wrote. DONT BOTHER BEGGING FOR A MINUTE MORE!!!

Charlie stuffed the phone back in her pocket and burst through the door, blinking at the bright sunlight.

Even as she kept running down the sidewalk, jet black hair flying, her stomach clenched. She was outside, but now what?

The parking lot was dead ahead. Her house was five minutes away by car...seven to ten if the lights and traffic were uncooperative.

But Charlie didn't own a car.

Tears welled in her eyes as reality set in. There was no way she could make it home in time on foot. Even running at top speed--which was pretty fast--and cutting through yards, she didn't have a hope in Hell of beating Conscience's deadline.

Hysteria burned in her heart, threatening to swell up and overwhelm her. She only had one choice, to run for all she was worth, even though she knew for a fact that it would never be enough.

Then, suddenly, she had a second choice.

Hearing voices, Charlie looked left. In the far back corner of the parking lot, she saw familiar faces, and she couldn't believe it. Three boys were fighting by a car back there, two against one...

And the one was her next-door neighbor, Nolan Elliot.

Revived with hope, Charlie sprinted through the parking lot like she was running for a medal in the 40-yard dash. That was Nolan's car near the fight, his red Mustang; she aimed for it with single-minded determination, blocking out everything else.

Including her phone, which was vibrating again in her pocket.

As she ran closer, the boys stopped hitting each other and looked in her direction. Thinking as fast as she was running, she started talking before she'd even come to a stop in front of them.

Nolan! she shouted. We need to go! It's an emergency!

Nolan stared at her like she was a raving moron. His lip was swollen, his blond hair bloody, one blue eye bruised black...but if he was happy she'd stopped the fight, he didn't show it. What?

Please! Charlie grabbed him by the front of his black t-shirt--ignoring the fact that it wasn't the red anti-bullying shirt he should have been wearing to the rally. "I'm telling you, it's an emergency!"

One of the other boys--the redhead with the football player build and the bright green eyes--stepped up and grabbed her shoulder. "What kind'a joke is this?" His name was Gantry Gulick, and he was one of the most popular kids in school.

Charlie shook her shoulder free and whirled on him. "No joke! Now move! She shoved him away with both hands. Or someone might die because of you!"

Gantry looked furious, but he backed up. His African-American crony, Devon Sharpe, another popular football star, hesitated a moment, then did the same.

The phone vibrated again in Charlie's pocket, feeding her urgency. Let's go! She ran around the passenger side of the Mustang, wrenched the door open, and shot inside. Come on!

Nolan didn't follow at first, and she thought he might not help her. After all, the days of their friendship were long gone. He hadn't wanted anything to do with her for ages.

But then he threw his own door open and dropped in beside her. Is this really an emergency?

"Oh my God yes! You've got to leave now!" She dug the phone from her pocket and read the latest text from Conscience:

FIVE MINUTE WARNING!!! TICK TOCK TICK TOCK BAANNGG!!!

And drive as fast you can! said Charlie.

Nolan started the car, threw it in reverse, and swung it back out of its space. "Drive where, Charlie? Drive where?"

Home! Tears poured down Charlie's cheeks. Even if Nolan drove like a maniac, they probably wouldn't make it in time. "Get me to my house as fast as you can!"

Why? What's going on? Nolan shifted into first gear and stomped the accelerator. Gantry and Devon were yelling something, but their voices were drowned out by the Mustang's squealing tires.

Please trust me. Charlie gripped the sides of the seat and watched with wide eyes as scenery flew past. It's a matter of life and death!

Chapter

Three

Hunched behind the steering wheel, Nolan ran every stop sign and red light. He barely missed getting t-boned twice in the process. Once, when he came up on a black Fifth Avenue waiting to make a left turn, he ran up over the curb and blew past it on the right without slowing down.

Meanwhile, Charlie spent the ride silent and motionless, staring frozen out the window...but inside, she was spinning like a twig in a cyclone. Even as she raced the clock, hoping and praying she could make it home in time, she feared it wasn't possible. The implications of that shook her to the core.

What she was about to experience would be so terrible that aftershocks of the moments ahead seemed to slam back into her from the future. Images of her mother and little brother, Tim, the way she feared she would find them, kept pushing their way to the front of her mind, no matter how hard she tried to force them away.

As the Mustang fishtailed around one last right turn, the phone vibrated in her hand. The message on the screen blurred through the tears in her eyes:

TIMES UP!!! GAME OVER!!!

She wanted to scream. She wanted to throw herself out of the moving car.

But she didn't. Because home was dead ahead, three houses away on the right. Her heart was already broken; she already knew what she would find, and what it would do to her forever.

But she had no choice. She had to live through it.

She drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. Closed her eyes and opened them again. The white split-level where she lived looked no different than any other day...but for some reason, that made the thought of what waited inside even more horrifying.

As soon as the Mustang jolted to a stop in front of her house, she leaped out and ran, sprinting up the driveway toward the front stoop. But as she charged up the steps, she didn't bother grabbing the front door key from her pocket.

She didn't need the key because the front door was ajar. It was standing open, pushed a few inches in from the jamb.

Not a good sign.

Without thinking or hesitation, Charlie barreled through the open door and up the few stairs to the living room. The phone fell from her hand en route and bumped down the carpeted steps to clatter on the linoleum landing below.

Spinning in a circle, she saw no one in the living room. Heart thundering, she ran through the doorway into the kitchen and saw more of the same there.

Adrenaline blazed through her bloodstream as she hurtled out of the kitchen and down the short hallway toward the bedrooms. Whatever she was going to find, she was getting closer to it.

Mom? The door to her mother's room was wide open, and Charlie darted inside. Not only was no one in there, but the place looked completely undisturbed.

Except for a yellow sticky note on one of the pillows on the bed.

Charlie snatched it up and read what was written on the note with a sinking heart:

R.I.P. MOM!

Choking back a sob, Charlie dropped the note and ran to the next door down the hall--Tim's room. Again, the door was wide open; again, no one was inside. The only thing out of place in the ten-year-old's cluttered room was a yellow sticky note on the bed-pillow.

R.I.P. TIM!

That left one room upstairs...Charlie's room, at the end of the hall.

The room with the door shut tight.

She ran for it, then hesitated with her hand on the knob. She never closed her door when she left for school in the morning; Conscience must have closed it for her, meaning...

Whatever she was going to find, it had to be in there.

She hesitated a moment more, wanting more than anything not to go in. Wanting only to run back down the hall and out of the house and leave it all behind for the rest of her life.

But that, she knew she couldn't do.

Shivering, Charlie closed her eyes. Slowly, she turned the knob and eased the door open. Her heart pounded so hard, it felt like a caged animal trying to smash its way out of her chest.

Then, she opened her eyes and looked inside.

And the look of terror on her face became a scowl of confusion. Because what she saw was not at all what she'd expected to see.

There was no one in the room, dead or alive. Wherever Mom and Tim were, they weren't in Charlie's room.

And just like the other two bedrooms, the only thing visibly out of place was a yellow sticky note on the bed.

Shuffling over, Charlie looked down and read the note without touching it.

GOTCHA! it said. NEXT TIME ITS FOR REALS!

Charlie?

Even as Charlie jumped, she realized the voice behind her belonged to Nolan. Whirling, she saw him standing in the doorway, frowning.

You must've dropped this on the stairs. He held out Charlie's phone, which vibrated in his hand. Somebody's texting you.

Charlie stepped toward him and snapped the phone from his grip without a word. Sure enough, Conscience had sent her another message:

This was only a drill. If it had been an actual emergency, your family would be dead.

As she read the text, another one popped in below it:

But if you play your cards right, YOUR the only one who has to die at the end of all this.

What's going on, Charlie? Nolan's frown deepened. What the hell's happening here?

Charlie wondered if he'd read the text before giving her the phone. A misunderstanding.

You said it was a matter of life and death!

Charlie rubbed her eyes. I guess it wasn't after all.

Seriously? Nolan was starting to sound annoyed. That's your explanation?

Charlie nodded. There'd been a time when she would have told him everything without hesitation. They'd been best friends years ago...back before he grew into a good-looking blond football player, and she became an offbeat outsider. But those days were long gone now.

So, what? said Nolan. Was this all an excuse to get me to give you a ride home? The annoyance in his voice was shifting to anger. "Is that what this is all about?"

Charlie stared at the floor, then met his gaze. She wished she could unload, wished she could believe their friendship still existed. But he'd left her behind when he'd gotten popular at school. Little by little, he'd pulled away, until one day, he'd even stopped saying hi to her.

And the distance between them hadn't changed, even after everything that had happened to him. Even after he'd suddenly quit football and dropped out of the popular crowd. Even after he'd gone from golden boy to withdrawn loner.

All of which had started after the deaths of his mother and sister, Fay, six months ago.

Answer my question, said Nolan. Was this whole thing a scam to get me to drive you home?

Charlie almost told him the truth. It floated on the tip of her tongue for an instant...but then Conscience's words came back to her. She remembered the threat he'd made six weeks ago, when he'd first started texting her.

IF YOU TELL ANYONE OR TRY TO GET HELP, YOU WILL MOVE TO THE TOP OF MY LIST...RIGHT AFTER YOUR FAMILY.

Yes. Charlie folded her arms and shrugged. I figured it was the only way to get you to give me a lift.

Unbelievable. Nolan shook his head. "Well, that'll be the last lift I give you."

Whatever. Charlie tried to sound like she didn't care.

Bitch. Nolan spun...then paused in the doorway and looked back over his shoulder at her. Though I have to hand it to you, you're a hell of an actress. You had me fooled.

That was the idea, said Charlie.

I could've sworn you were really losing it in the car. Nolan shook his head again. I thought you were so freaked out, you were ready to jump out of your skin.

Yay me, said Charlie. I guess I get the Oscar for Best Actress, don't I?

Best something, said Nolan, and then he walked away.

He slammed the front door on his way out. And that was Charlie's signal to collapse on her bed in a sobbing, shivering heap.

Chapter

Four

When Charlie's hysterical shock finally let up, she grabbed her phone and texted her mother: Mom? A message shot right back from Mom: Hi honey. Do you need something?

Nope. Charlie blew out her breath as a wave of relief coursed through her. Later.

Next, Charlie called the elementary school. Deepening her voice, she told the secretary in the administrative office that she was Tim's mother; then, she asked if he was feeling well, because she'd thought he might be coming down with something.

As far as I know, he's fine, said the secretary. "Do you need to speak to him?

No, thank you, Charlie told her. Just let me know if he takes a turn for the worse. She hung up before the secretary could say another word.

Then, Charlie threw herself back on the bed and let more waves of relief ripple through her. Mom and Tim were both okay. She hadn't dared believe it until she'd seen and heard proof from Mom and the school secretary. It would've been just like Conscience to lie about not killing them.

Slumping heavily into the pillow and mattress, Charlie stared up at the tile ceiling, remembering what she'd just been through. All of it had been for nothing--nothing but Conscience's sadistic amusement.

Why did he hate her so much? All Charlie knew was that he blamed her for making him do the awful things he did.

She wished she could understand why he said it was her fault. She wished she knew what she'd done to Conscience to set his crimes in motion.

Maybe then, she could stop him before anyone else died.

Raising the phone, she scrolled back through the parade of texts he'd sent her over the past six weeks. She saw the casualties in reverse order, announced by Conscience with all the gloating glee of someone who'd just won a hand of high stakes poker.

Louisa Morelli. Kelli Pale. Stephanie Ross.

The names of the dead were always the last things Conscience revealed. He told Charlie everything else every step of the way...how he was using threatening texts to tear each girl down until she killed herself. But Conscience only sent Charlie their names when they were dead; that way, even if she decided to defy him, she still couldn't help the victims.

Later, she would see their photos on the TV news and online, and she would feel sick. All three of the girls were her age; they'd all gone to different schools, schools other than Charlie's, and she'd never known them or even heard their names before.

But because Conscience had brought her into his nightmare, she felt partly