Bully Ch. 01

Jimmy signaled for him to shut up, then, like everyone else in the class, turned to stare at the strange apparition fidgeting outside the door.

The first thing Jimmy noticed when he saw Parvin Ghorbani was her height. She was wearing ugly black flat shoes, and yet she seemed only few inches shorter than Taylor. She was covered from the neck down in a shapeless navy dress and wore a purple headscarf revealing only the oval of her face.

The next things he noticed were her hands. Long, delicate fingers stuck out of long sleeves, restless as a pianist without a piano, as if trying to escape the confines of that ugly dress. The last thing that couldn't be missed were her eyes. Velvet black, cat-shaped, and radiating a feline indifference that could still see right through you. If one wasn't careful, they could do serious damage to the human heart.

"Oh, hello." Mrs. Fink was the first to regain her senses. "You must be Parin."

"Parvin."

Mrs. Fink looked in her notebook. "Parvin Gho... Ghorbani." She struggled a little with the strange syllables.

The tall girl nodded.

"Excellent. Excellent. Class, please welcome Parvin Ghorbani. She's from New Jersey, and before that, faraway Iraq."

"Iran."

"Excuse me?"

"Iran." Parvin pronounced it Ee-rawn. "Same region, different country."

Mrs. Fink attempted a thin, unconvincing smile. "Sure."

"Fuck me, a towelhead," Taylor whispered loud enough for everyone to hear.

"Parvin came here from the New Jersey Academy for Mathematics and Science, where she participated in the high school excellence program. We're super excited and privileged to have her here. I'm sure you'll all make her feel welcome."

Yeah, right. Jimmy, like everyone else, stared at the strange girl. That's exactly how it's gonna play.

"Okay, Parvin, take the empty seat, please." Mrs. Fink pointed to the chair next to Jimmy, the one Taylor had recently vacated. "So, about your solid-to-gas and conductivity assignment--"

The bell interrupted Mrs. Fink's explanation.

It's a well-known chemistry fact that students change their state from solid to I'm outta here at the first note of the school bell.

Mrs. Fink, an experienced chemistry teacher, had just the remedy. "Hey, the bell is for me, not for you." She raised her voice. "Next person who gets up also gets to spend an hour in detention with Mr. Haynes."

There was a loud groan, but no one rose. Evelyn Fink had a reputation for talking soft and hitting hard.

"I know, I know. Life is so unfair, but I decide when my class is dismissed, and my throat is a little sore so I can't do the muahaha laugh properly. Just imagine that I did."

She handed out stacks of papers to the students in the front row and told them to pass them on.

"Where was I? Okay, the science lab will be open until seven today and tomorrow. You'll need to go through each of the experiments and fill out the experiment templates. I want you to pair up. That means two people per task, not three, not four, not one. Two people. I know I'm stating the obvious, but trust me, I've been doing this for fifteen years and you'd be surprised. I need that assignment on my desk by Wednesday morning. Parvin, you can team up with Jimmy. Jimmy, raise your hand so she knows who I'm talking to."

Fuck me!

"Okay, gang. Wednesday morning. No crying, stupid excuses, or begging will be accepted this time. I'm serious, okay? By the way, I've heard rumors that I'm hard on you just to cover up the fact that I'm insecure. That's absolutely false. I'm hard on you because I'm a total bitch, and I feed on lazy students' tears. You're welcome to try me if you feel like your life is missing some drama. Dismissed."

@@@@@@

Don't you dare cry, don't even flinch. Don't show them they got you.

Parvin pretended to read the poster caption, "Attitude is a little thing that can make a big difference," as people streamed out the door. She scanned them out of the corner of her eye, a sea of indifferent faces. Just a regular class, different from New Jersey yet almost identical. The jock, the nerd, the queen, the stoner, they were all present, and she tried to guess who might be a potential enemy and who an ally.

"Shit, did you get Mrs. F, Jimmy?" That was the tall kid who called her a towelhead. "Fuck me, but that was lame. Overweight people in their forties trying to look cool should be a serious felony. She's even more pathetic than you, bro. By the way, I'm hanging out later with Liam and Mike for some Xbox. You down?"

"Got practice."

"Later then."

"I'm doing a shift at Angelo's," Jimmy said.

"Jesus, Jimmy. Forget what I said about Mrs. F being lame. She's Drake compared to you."

"Go fuck yourself."

While most of the students left the class, she noticed Jimmy remained in his seat. Even though her back wasturned to him, she could feel his eyes scraping the back of her neck. She had to consciously force herself not to scratch at the spot.

Why the hell was he staring?

Jimmy possessed a shock of unruly blond hair, symmetrical features, square jawline, and a straight nose. He wasn't too tall, but he wasn't a midget either. Athletic, with a waspy waistline and broad shoulders. A jock, maybe? The girls probably thought he was a cutie. Parvin just hoped he wasn't cruel.

Breathe in and out, slowly, one, two, three.

She turned around, "Jimmy, right?"

"Last time I checked."

"I... I think it's best if we do the assignment today. I have gym class, and then I'm off."

"I'm skipping gym."

"Well, if you're not doing anything later, we could..."

"Nah."

"So..." Don't blush, please don't blush. "Tomorrow then?"

"Nah." Jimmy's blue eyes kept examining her up and down; she had to force herself not to fidget.

"It's due by Wednesday." She counted on her fingers, trying to be nonchalant and funny, cursing herself for failing at both. "Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday. Yep, we've got to be done by tomorrow."

"Mrs. Fink has given me nothing but Fs since freshman year. The bitch hates my guts. I'm not gonna bother with her and her assignments anymore. Got better things to do in my free time."

"That's kind of defeatist." Parvin pointed at the attitude poster and attempted what she hoped was a defusing smile.

Jimmy tensed, then crumpled the assignment pages on his desk into a tight ball of paper. "Do what you want, Osama."

"It's Parvin."

"Whatever. I don't give a fuck about Mrs. F and her threats."

She knew she was blushing, and she hated herself for being so vulnerable. Hating herself made her feel like she deserved what she got.

The circle of shit.

"You don't expect me to do the assignment by myself and just sign your name to it, do you?"

"Sign my name, don't sign my name, do the assignment, blow yourself up shouting Allahu Akbar." Jimmy picked the paper ball and tossed it into the wastebasket in the corner, wincing as it hit the wall and missed the edge. "Do whatever the fuck you want."

"Why didn't we pick you as a shooting guard? A real mystery." The big boy named Taylor patted Jimmy on the shoulder and winked at him. "Did you get the news? Someone saw Bin Laden in the cafeteria looking for seventy-two virgins. The chess club had lunch there, so they're like all gone now. Yep." He turned to Parvin and smiled. It wasn't a friendly smile. "Oh, Osama, I didn't see you there. Aloha Snack-bar to you too."

Parvin was aware of several girls watching with interest from the back seats. Nothing was more refreshing during the tedious school existence than someone being bullied. Several girls smiled, and one even giggled openly.

Don't you dare cry; don't even flinch; don't show them they got you.

"So, Osama..."

"My name is Parvin, not Osama. Just for future reference, he was a Sunni. I'm a Shia."

"You're not a towelhead?"

"You mean an Arab? No, I'm Persian."

Taylor scratched at his neat curls. "Then who put that towel on your head?"

"It's a hijab."

"Who jabbed?"

Parvin backed away, speechless. She'd had her share of abuse in the past, but she'd never encountered such a torrent of hatred.

"And what's with this haute couture dress? Did you steal it from your Shiaaat grandma's wardrobe?"

"It's Shia, not a Shiat. My grandmother is dead."

"We know. Bought the farm on 9/11 doing what she loved best. Flying planes, right?" Taylor made an impression of a plane with his hand, which crashed into his other palm. He added some sound effects, just for shits and giggles.

The girls in the back row were openly laughing now.

"How come you're so tall, Shiat not-a-towelhead?" Taylor pulled a rollie out of his pocket. "Are you like the full Monty? Both a Mudslime and a futa-freak?"

Parvin didn't answer; she gathered the assignment paper into her small bag.

Don't you dare cry, don't even flinch, don't give them an inch.

"Hey, Osama, I know what you should do," Taylor called after her as she turned to leave. "Tell Mrs. F you wanna do a presentation on Shiaaat culture. She gets a hard-on over that kind of crap. Speaking of Shiat culture, what poop size are we talking about here? Cause I had a burger for lunch, and I feel like I can squeeze a massive log right now. I'll let you use it for your show and smell."

The derisive laughter followed her far into the hall.

@@@@@@

Don't you dare cry, don't even flinch, don't show them they got you.

Easier said than done.

Parvin sat on the toilet seat of the gym locker room with a lump in her throat.

Raghead, towelhead, Osama, Muzzy, Mudslime, camel jockey, cabbage eater, Haji.

And then...

She-faggot, shecock, futa-freak, he-she, it, Rapunzel-with-a-noodle, strap-on natural, he-boob.

She'd heard them all on more than one occasion, and still they stung. She grew into it and knew how to bend. Sometimes, when the cruelties were sharp enough to slide through her, though, they took another bite off her beetle-sized self-esteem. When that happened, it was a Sisyphean task to get back on her feet.

She took off her dress and carefully removed a heart-shaped locket from her neck. She hung the dress and locket on a wall hook. The picture inside showed an elderly, tall, white-haired, woman hugging a little girl. Parvin kissed the locket tenderly and said a silent prayer to all the angels to protect her grandmother.

Her neck muscles tensed and relaxed. She closed her eyes and imagined facing her bullies, kicking Jimmy in the nuts and knocking the smug smile off Taylor's face.

It helped a little.

How could that douchebag so casually say her grandma was a terrorist? A woman who never learned to raise her voice in anger.

Her cell phone rang. An unfamiliar number.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Mrs." A muffled voice spoke from the other side.

"Who is this?"

"Agent Amber Morrison. FBI."

"I'm sorry, I, I think you've the wrong number," Parvin said.

"Are you Parvin Ghorbani?"

"Y-yes."

"We've been monitoring some weird readings on our whatchamacallit. The nerd rate in New Jersey has suddenly dropped, and the dorkiness level in Mississippi is suddenly off the charts as if some giant nerdy girl just moved south."

"Yassi?"

The sound became clearer on the other end of the line, and she could hear Yassi's peal of laughter, like little bells chiming.

"Hey, not cool," Parvin said. "You seriously scared me."

"Sorry about that, babes," Yassi giggled. "I just couldn't resist. Hey, I was just wondering how your first day of school was."

Parvin closed her eyes and took a deep breath. After the orchestra of hate she'd experienced in class, Yassi's voice was like chilly water in the desert.

"Hey, babes, are you there?" Yassi said.

"Yeah, sorry. Whose phone is this anyway?"

"David's," Yassi said. "He went into the little boys' room and left it on the table. Amateur."

"Who's David?"

"Just a guy I'm seeing," Yassi sounded suspiciously indifferent, as if feigning disinterest.

"Just a guy?"

Yassi's cheerful laugh rang out on the other end of the line. "You know me too well, babes. No, he's not just a guy. He's fucking amazing. He's a med student, and he's super cute. A total gentleman."

"Wow."

"Yeah. We've been together for almost three weeks, and it's butterflies all over. Wait, I'll send you a pic."

The picture that popped up on Parvin's screen was a selfie. Yassi, her red locks dancing wildly in the wind, and the viral smile that never left her freckled face looked even wider than usual. In one hand, she held the phone. The other hand wrapped around a young man wearing a smart jacket, cool shades, and a friendly smile.

"What's the verdict?"

"He's very handsome," Parvin said.

"Are you shitting me? He's hot! And the sex. Mama Mia. I've never had anything like it. Just looking at him in a pair of tight jeans gives me a hard-on."

"You're bad, Yassi."

"David says I'm awesome."

Parvin felt a twinge of envy. "So what? Are you like boyfriend and girlfriend now?"

"Yeah..." Yassi hesitated. "Well, technically, he doesn't know it yet. You know how boys are. A little slow."

"I'm so happy for you."

"Thanks, babes. You know no matter who my boyfriend is, you'll always be my one and only true love."

"Same here."

"But I didn't call to talk about me. How was your first day at school? "

Parvin hesitated. "I still have gym, but so far it's been... Hmm, it's been okay."

"Hey, I know that one. That's the sound of a sad Parvin."

"It's no big deal."

"Babes."

The tenderness in Yassi's voice penetrated from the other side of the line to Parvin's heart, almost making her spill it all. "Well, two guys called me Osama and a towelhead."

"Dicks! Is everything okay, hon?"

"The hijab is kind of a novelty here. It draws attention." Parvin sighed. "I wish I didn't have to wear it all the time."

"Then don't."

Parvin snorted. "Yeah, right."

"Babes, you're eighteen. You can legally vote, and you can most definitely decide what youdo or don't want to wear."

"My dad would freak."

"Just a sec, our waiter is here." Yassi was talking to someone off the phone, probably the waiter. "Back to you. I just ordered their marinated figs with mozzarella."

"What?"

"They say it's a powerful aphrodisiac."

Parvin chuckled. "Yassi, you don't need an aphrodisiac; if anything, maybe something that tones down the...you know."

"Not for me, silly," Yassi laughed wholeheartedly. "I'll pretend to share, but I'm gonna let David eat the whole thing. Now, where were we? The hijab and your dad. I've lived in your house for almost two years, and he never once commented on my choice of clothes, and he never told me to put on the hijab."

"Because he knew it was a lost cause."

"Exactly. Your dad is a chess master. He chooses only the battles he can win. I think you don't give him enough credit, Parvin. Sit down with him and tell him how you feel. You might be surprised."

"Anyway, it was just some bullies. Nothing major," Parvin decided to tone it down. A year ago, some racist asshole in New Jersey had shoved Parvin's head into her locker and cut her lip. When Yassi found out about it, she fearlessly confronted the jerk in front of his friends and told him what she thought of him. It almost ended in a fistfight. "It will stop being interesting if I just ignore them. They'll pick on someone else. It's just a little harder when you're not around to boost my confidence, but I can handle it. I'm a big girl now, I get to vote."

"Hmmm... Apropos of being around, I'm coming home for the weekend."

"Seriously? When? This weekend?" Happiness was suddenly at the door, and Parvin completely forgot about Jimmy and Taylor. "Please, please, please say you'll come this weekend."

"Sorry babes, I've got to study for a big test. The weekend after."

"I'll count the days."

"I gotta go, David's coming back. Got to play it cool and act indifferent."

"What, why?" Parvin laughed.

"Boys 101. If you're really into a guy, pretend you're really not. See you in two weeks. Don't let the bullies get under your skin."

Gym class was about to start, and Parvin quickly unfolded her tracksuit. At her previous school, her father wouldn't hear of it. "A decent Muslim girl never wears trousers in public. However, the school wouldn't be swayed and insisted that PE classes were compulsory. Appropriate dress during physical education is a matter of safety and therefore also compulsory. It was an excellent school, and her father finally gave up. At least that struggle was behind her.

Parvin still envied the other girls with their cute workout shorts, but the tracksuit was better than nothing.

The maintenance of the restrooms was somewhat lacking, and the trash can was filled to the brim with pads. Parvin didn't think of changing in front of the other girls at the lockers. That much courage was on another planet for her.

Suddenly, someone pulled on the door to her cubicle, and to her horror, it opened all the way. Her hands immediately shot to her crotch.

"Hey!"

Three girls stood in the hallway, peering in: a tall redhead with a pixie cut, a slender black girl, and a tiny blonde who wore a training bra that could double as a band-aid. The blonde was one of the girls who'd enjoyed Parvin's encounter with Taylor.

"What the hell are you doing in here?" she asked.

"Digging a tunnel back to Iran."

"Cute."

"What does it look like I'm doing in here?" Parvin pulled the door, but the blonde shoved her foot in and blocked her attempt.

"You can't change in here."

"What?"

"Jesus, I think I'm gonna puke." The redhead's eyes grew wide. The other girls followed her gaze down to Parvin's crotch and the prominent bulge of her cock. The truth was undeniable, it was visible even through her grey panties.

"Jesus!"

Parvin closed her eyes and opened them again, hoping she was in one of her nightmares. She was, except she wasn't asleep. "Look, if you have a problem with the way I'm built, that's your business, not mine."

"It's..." the blonde made a retching-like sound.

Don't you dare cry, don't even flinch, don't show them they got to you.

"If it bothers you so much, there's a simple solution. Don't look. Can I have my privacy back, please?" She tried pulling on the door.

"You can't change in here!" The blonde pulled the door open.

"Why?"

"Did you see a sign at the entrance, one saying She-Fags?"

No, this wasn't one of her nightmares. It was worse.

"You didn't see one, did you? Maybe because it's not there. This is the girls' locker room! For girls. No boys, no she-fags."

"I'm a girl, not a, not that horrible name you just said."

"Really."

"Yes, really," Parvin raised her voice a little. "You and I have the exact same parts."

"Except you have something extra."

"A functioning empathy. Look, by any scientific definition, the fact that I manifest the futanari gene doesn't make me any less a woman than--"

The blonde stamped her dainty feet like a toddler throwing a tantrum at the mall. "Scientific, my ass. That mumbo-jumbo shit might've been okay for the New York degenerates or in that other shithole you come from. Here in the South, we do it differently."

"I never had any trouble going to the bathroom in New Jersey."

"Then fuck off back to New Jersey or the boys' room. You can't change in here."

"Jesus, Emily, you're going to get us in trouble." The black girl tried to pull the petite blonde away from the door but was pushed back.

Parvin dug in deep. Her grandmother smiled at her from the locket. And that smile extended like a beam of sparkling light to her core, touching an inner sun. A tiny burning star that Parvin kept nestled in her fond memories from Tehran. Her back straightened, her hands balled into fists, and something flared in her beautiful eyes. "Are you going to throw me out?"

The blonde took a step back, looking a little less confident. "No one's going to touch you, freak. If you don't leave, everyone else will. You can have the place all to yourself."