ERMAHGERD, I Won #NaNoWriMo 😍

Well, here's a nice announcement to be making 😊: I exceeded 50,000 new words today! The picture below says that I wrote a whopping 54,484 words ... but that's because I copied and pasted everything from my #FreewriteMadness posts on Steemit into a Word document, then I copied and pasted all of that text into the NaNoWriMo official validator ... forgetting that some of the words I had written in the earlier posts predated #NaNoWriMo. For the sake of transparency, I will say that about 3,000 to 3,500 words were pre-November words. My official word count is closer to 51,000. Genuine mistake!

Now that I've hopefully established that I'm not a big old cheater, cheater, pumpkin eater (obscure Spongebob Squarepants reference), let me take a moment to do this, really quickly:

___________________________

～ Sophie ～

I stay frozen in Dad’s room for a long time, just listening to him and Luke move around. Luke is still crying over the state of his bed, and Dad is running back and forth getting new sheets for him, while also telling Mammy on the phone that she’ll need to come over tomorrow, as soon as she possibly can … the noise seems to go on forever. I just sit there, numb, in the middle of it all.

Now he’s reading a bedtime story to Luke, trying to get him to calm down. Fantastic Mr. Fox by Roald Dahl. I’d know it anywhere: I used to read that book all the time when I was younger.

When all is quiet and it sounds like Luke must have fallen asleep, Dad finally comes back in and closes the door softly behind him. ‘Your mother will be here in the morning,’ he says shortly, rubbing his temples. ‘I’ll pick her up on my way back from bringing Luke to school.’

‘Okay.’

He sits down beside me and just stares into my eyes for a minute: the look of pain in his eyes breaks my heart. ‘Now … Sophie, what exactly has been going on? Tell me everything.’

Okay, so this is quite possibly the worst moment of my entire life – and I would rather die than have to say any of this to him – but I do. I tell him everything. I tell him about how, every time I said I was going for a sleepover at Jessie’s, I was actually going to a disco – his face tightens when he hears this – and how I kissed boys there because it seemed like that’s what I had to do, that’s what everyone does … but Jessie and Yvonne and Stephanie thought I’d gone too far or something, so they all started calling me Sluttie behind my back. I tell him about how I was meant to be going on a date with this guy called Shaun, but Clara let me know just how shit he was – sent me those WhatsApp screenshots I just showed to him tonight – and how, since then, things have been getting worse and worse.

I tell him about the stories and videos and pictures that Yvonne has been putting up about me, about the moment when I ran into them all on the way back from the shop and Yvonne kicked me in the stomach, and about Jessie knocking over my apple juice and tripping me up on my way into the yard, and how awful it’s been, every single day, and I just don’t know what to do anymore…

When I’m finished, Dad looks stunned. Helpless. Like he doesn’t even know where to begin. Eventually, he swallows, takes a deep breath, and tries to speak.

‘Sophie … what … how … how long has all of this been going on? Why didn’t you say anything before now? And how dare these girls do this to you!’ He’s really starting to raise his voice now. He stands up, his eyes ablaze, then thunders, ‘and what’s this about you sneaking out to the disco behind my back! What were you thinking of, Sophie, for God’s sake?! Anything could have happened to you. Anything! And I wouldn’t have had a clue where you were.’

‘Dad, please … don’t shout.’ I’m sobbing by now. ‘I’m sorry, okay? I’m really sorry.’

He stares at me for a moment, then – with a massive sigh – puts his arms around me and hugs me tightly. ‘Okay, Soph. I’m sorry I shouted, I really am. I’m not trying to upset you. I just hope you realise how foolish it was to go out behind my back.’

‘I do. I really do…’

‘I’m glad to hear it. But … listen, let’s focus on the more important thing here. I am appalled to hear what’s been happening to you. Those girls … there are three of them, you said?’

‘Yeah. Yvonne Hartigan and Stephanie Lynch from Ms Creedon’s class … and Jessie.’ Even now, I hate saying that – I hate knowing that a girl who used to be my best friend is now one of my worst enemies – but I have to say it anyway. ‘There was another girl called Clara Cosgrave who used to hang around with them, but she doesn’t anymore. Not since she told me about what Shaun said. You see, she asked me not to tell Yvonne she was the one who told me that. But I had to tell Jessie I knew about it. I couldn’t act like nothing was wrong! Jessie guessed that Clara was the one who told me, so she told Yvonne … and then, I guess, Yvonne must have said something horrible to Clara. She probably hates me now.’

‘I see … listen, Sophie, you know I’ll have to tell your principal about this? Now that I know, I can’t just sit back and say nothing. I can’t let those girls carry on with what they’re doing.’

I hesitate, then nod. I sort of knew he’d have to do that.

Dad glances at the alarm clock on his bedside table – it says 02.46 – then turns back to me, looking more tired than I’ve ever seen him before. ‘We’ll call your principal in the morning – what’s her name again?’

‘Ms Foster.’

‘Ms Foster. Alright. And what’s the number of the school?’

‘Um … I don’t know.’

‘Never mind, I’ll Google it.’ He takes out his phone and starts searching. He finds the number – copies it into his contact list – then pulls me in close for a hug. ‘I’ll call her in the morning. But now it’s nearly 3 a.m. … do you think you can get some sleep tonight, Soph?’

‘Um, I think so. Yeah.’

‘Good. Up you get then, come on…’ I let him take me by the hand and lead me back into my room, like I’m some sort of baby all over again. He tucks me in, goes downstairs to fetch me a glass of water, then strokes my hair for a few minutes once he’s back.

‘Sophie, we’ll … we’ll sort it all out, okay? Everything will be …’ He trails off, his voice cracking. Can’t quite finish the sentence. He gives me a kiss on the forehead, then stands up and makes his way back to his own room.

‘Dad?’ I call out, just before he closes my door.

He pauses and looks at me. ‘Yes?’

‘Just … you know, thanks for listening.’

‘Always, Sophie. Always … and listen, don’t worry about getting up early for school tomorrow. You can take the day off.’

‘Thanks Dad.’

Once he’s gone, I lie in the dark for a while. I can’t sleep just yet: my mind is racing.

I shouldn’t look at Yvonne’s latest story again. I really shouldn’t … but I have to.

I click into Instagram and there it is: Yvonne yelling out, ‘oh hey, Sluttie, where did you get those shoes? It would be a shame if somebody … ruined them…’ The others laughing. The moment they trip me up…

Oh God. It still makes me want to throw up … I’m going to screenshot this, though. The other Snapchat and Insta stories have disappeared by now – they only hang around for twenty-four hours, after all – but I can at least screenshot this one. Oh, and there are those Instagram posts about me too. I’ll screenshot them all. I’ll show Ms Foster exactly what they’ve been saying about me. If they want to call me a tattler, fuck them.

Should I … maybe …? Would it make things worse?

I mull it over for a second, then open Snapchat and go to Yvonne’s story there too. It’s a slightly different one from the Instagram story: it shows me lying on the ground right after they tripped me up. I’ve never wanted to screenshot any of her stories before, because Snapchat always sends people a notification when someone does that. But right now, I seriously don’t care. If she wants to say shit to me about it, let her.

✮ ✮ ✮

‘Why does Sophie get a day off when I don’t?’ Luke howls about five and a half hours later, waking me up. Sounds like he and Dad are standing in the hall. I’m up in my room with the door ajar, so I can hear them.

‘Your sister is sick, Luke.’ Dad’s voice is kind of curt as he says this. I hear him ushering Luke to the front door: ‘come on, let’s go…’

‘She seemed totally fine last night,’ Luke protests.

‘Well, she isn’t fine.’

‘It’s not fair!’

‘Luke, come on. Just come with me, there’s a good lad…’

They leave. Mammy will be here soon – Dad said he’d pick her up on his way back from bringing Luke to school. I groan and slide further down under the covers. Maybe this whole thing was a bad idea, maybe I shouldn’t have said anything…

No. I don’t really mean that. I know that telling Dad was the right thing to do. It’s just … I hate this part. The part where I have to tell everyone what happened and make a big deal out of it. I guess Jessie and Stephanie and Yvonne will have their parents hauled into school as well.

Will they be suspended? Expelled?

I really don’t know. I’d rather just skip forward to the part where everything is okay – not that Jessie and I will ever be friends again, but I just want to start feeling kind of okay, at least – but time doesn’t work like that.

I just stay in bed – trying to fight the clammy, sick feeling in stomach – until I hear the front door open again. I hear Mammy’s voice. And her footsteps, running through the hall…

‘Where is she, Derek?’

‘In her room.’

‘Oh God, my poor girl … Sophie? Sophie, I’m coming!’

My bedroom door bursts open and Mammy just stands there for a moment: she’s put on some really nice brown eyeliner – I feel weirdly jealous of her, stupid as that might sound right now – but it’s being destroyed by the tears rolling down her face. Her cheeks are basically a mess of brown streaks. ‘Oh God, Sophie,’ she yells, then runs over to envelop me in her arms. ‘Oh God, Oh God … how dare these girls do this to you, how dare they be so cruel –’

I’m pressed so tightly against her chest, I can hardly breathe. And she’s wearing some really strong new perfume as well. I don’t like it, but my nostrils are filled with it right now and I can barely breathe…

‘Mammy, you’re suffocating me,’ I complain, trying to pull away from her.

‘I’m sorry, darling, I’m sorry…’ She leans back and gazes at me, with her eyes still full of tears. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Um … I dunno.’

Dad is standing at my door. He’s dialling a number – Ms Foster’s, probably.

‘Hello,’ Dad says, gripping the phone tightly. He’s still so angry: I can see it in the tense line of his jaw, the furrows on his forehead. ‘I want to report a case of bullying that’s been going on among the Sixth Class students.’

I hear Ms Foster say something back to him, and then he goes, ‘my daughter Sophie has been terrorised by three girls in your school – she’s been pushed around, beaten, had terrible posts put up about her on social media – and I want to see those girls held accountable for what they’ve done.’

Ms Foster says something else to him, and he nods. I always find it a little weird when I see people nod or shake their head on the phone. I mean, it’s not like the other person can see them!

‘Yes, twelve noon would be perfect. I’ll see you then.’

He hangs up.

‘Alright … your mother and I are going in to speak to her at noon.’ He sits down next to me on the sofa. ‘Would you like to come with us, Soph? Tell her what’s been going on?’

I think about this for a second – wondering just how cringey and awful it’ll be – but then I nod. I know I need to be there. Dad doesn’t know about everything that happened, and neither does Mammy, so what can they tell Ms Foster, really?

‘Okay.’ He sits down next to me again and squeezes my hand. ‘Sophie, I’m proud of you for doing this, you know. I think it’s incredibly brave.’

I shrug my shoulders. Am I brave? I don’t know. I definitely don’t feel brave right now…

___________________________

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