Chapter 1: The Era of Trauma

The back of my hand wiped across my face with force, wiping away the stream of tears that were drenching my face. Using my free hand, I picked up the green olives off my sticky school floor until 2 bottles worth of olives filled the cave of the t-shirt I was extending from its bottom hem. Without lifting my gaze, I dragged my feet to the nearest trashcan and emptied out my t-shirt cave before walking back to my locker.

Building up the courage within me, I finally looked up at my locker which had been “decorated” for the occasion.

Happy Birthday, Olive! Here’s a bunch of olives you can invite to your birthday party!

My hand reached out and pulled out the sticky note that taunted me before I crumbled it in my fist. Reluctantly, my eyes darted to the small mirror on the door of my locker and I saw my deranged, teary, mascara-streaked face looking back at me.

A happy birthday indeed.

Slamming my locker door shut, I snapped back into my pathetic reality as I watched my so-called schoolmates whisper, point, and giggle at my misfortune. Casting my eyes down, I avoided the crowd and dashed for the girls’ toilet. Piling my bag and books in a corner, I took a good, long look at myself in the mirror again.

Olivia Taylor. A high-school senior who turned 17 a little over 8 hours ago.

My soggy t-shirt began hugging my body as the smell of olives filled my nostrils. It was my first time wearing it and I had bought it for my birthday after saving up to buy it. I didn’t even manage to get a photo in it before that as*hole ruined it.

After hyperventilating for a few seconds, the dams broke. I wailed out loud as I gripped the counter until my knuckles turned white. What I went through wasn’t something new, it was an everyday occurrence, yet somehow it struck me where it hurt.

“Oh, girls, look who we have here!” a familiar eerie voice echoed through the restroom.

My upset self failed to notice Breanna and her clique stroll in. Turning my head towards the sound of her voice, my eyes scanned her from bottom to top. As usual, she was dressed to perfection and was a walking branded advertisement.

“It’s Westminster’s very own Outcast Olive. Having a meltdown so early in the day, already? My, oh my, this is certainly a record.” A mocking smirk curled her lips as her nose wrinkled at the very sight of me.

Sighing loudly, I ignored her, wiped my face, and pushed my way out of the restroom. My feet quickened to my locker and I scavenged through it for something to wear. The only thing available was an ugly yellow sweater gifted by my grandmother. Don’t get me wrong, I love my Grammy, but the sweater was itchy besides looking like a dirty yellow ball of wool.

Left with no choice, I pulled over the sweater over my weirdly stained pink t-shirt. Gripping onto the strap of my backpack tightly, I entered my homeroom with my head down. My eyes avoided eye contact with everyone until I slumped into my seat at the back of the classroom.

Just when I thought the nightmare was over, another hauntingly familiar voice echoed through the busy classroom, silencing everyone. “Hey, is it just me or does everyone else smell sour olives?”

Lifting my eyes, I glared at the source of the voice. The black-haired jock in the football jacket just arched his eyebrow at me and his lips curled into a wicked smirk. The class cheered and laughed at his joke, at my expense. Thankfully, I lost their attention when the homeroom teacher entered the class and I disappeared into my own world as I grumbled under my breath.

Joshua Taylor. The football team captain, the youngest son of the school’s football coach, and Westminster High’s famed bully. His friend revered him, others feared him and the teachers were sick of him. He was untouchable, which made his fame go to his head. Instead of using his reputation for good, Joshua chose to bully his schoolmates and sink everyone down until they were a pile of garbage.

A couple of hours later, I lowered my food tray to an isolated table in the corner of the cafeteria during lunch. Not long after that, Joshua and his loyal boys—or rather, left and right-hand men—strolled into the cafeteria. After locking his eyes with mine, he made his way to me, much to my displeasure.

Please don’t be heading towards me.

The obnoxious football captain slammed his hand on my table and his championship ring clashed against the metal table. “Yo! Jamerson!”

The sharp sound of metal made me a jolt and attracted the attention of the whole cafeteria, probably just what he wanted. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I lifted my gaze to meet his smug face moving close to mine. Just the sight of his arrogant face made me want to punch him, but that was not who I was.

“Happy Birthday, Jamerson!” Joshua wished with a wink, much to my surprise.

Wait, is he really being sincere?

“I have a present for you. Do you want to see it?” he asked, tempting me with his voice.

However, before I could react, that f*cking monster placed a huge bottle of Jameson Irish Whisky on my table. After laughing in my face, he lowered his face towards my ear slowly.

“Did you really think I got you a present? Dream on, loser!”  he whispered in my ear, his words sounding like the hisses of a poisonous snake.

He really is an a*shole!

All of a sudden, a stern voice cut through all the laughter, “Taylor! Jacobson! Stop right there!”

Peeling my attention away from Joshua, I noticed the school counselor and security officer pointing in my direction. The lousy bullies bolted away, jumping over tables as their hoots echoed through the chaotic cafeteria. The security officer passed by me as he chased after them, but the school counselor stopped at my table. His eyes narrowed at the evident liquor bottle on my table before they shifted to me.

F*ck! I am so going to get into trouble!

“Mr. Lopez, it’s not what it looks like. This is not mine!” I pleaded, pushing the bottle away from me.

The stern counselor raised his hand, stopping me. “Relax, Ms. Jamerson. I know it is not yours. It belongs to Coach Taylor's private stash and was stolen by his son as some kind of prank. You are free and I will return this to its dutiful owner.”

“Oh, thank god. Thank you so much, Sir.” Placing a hand over my pacing heart, I exhaled with relief.

Picking up the bottle, Mr. Lopez turned around to exit the cafeteria, but he stopped and turned around for a second. “Oh, and Ms. Jamerson? Happy Birthday.”

Nodding in acknowledgment, I felt a small smile curve my lips at his words. It felt nice that at least one person genuinely cared. It used to be two, but my best friend, Adrina, had to relocate with her family to Canada a couple of months ago. School used to be much tolerable with her, but without her, it was insufferable.

However, there was another person I knew in school, someone I had seen since the day I was born. Scanning the cafeteria, my eyes fell on the familiar brunette male in the football jacket on the far right sitting with the loud jocks. Like instinct, he looked up and locked his eyes with mine. A look of pity flashed through his face and his shoulders shrugged slightly before he shifted his attention back to the people around me.

You would think my very own older brother would protect me from getting bullied, but no. In fact, besides our same last names, only a handful of people knew we were siblings. We ran with different crowds, or at least he did while I walked the halls alone.

Still, Luke wasn’t heartless. He would check up on me occasionally and give me advice before apologizing for not being able to do anything. It was just that he was not in an ideal situation. Luke was really working hard for a football scholarship and since Joshua was the captain of the team as well as the son of the coach, he had his hands tied. He did not want to risk doing anything that could get him kicked out of the team.

Did I wish he would put me first instead of his scholarship? Yes. But could I do anything about it? No. So, I fought my battles alone.

Eager for the school day to be over, I strolled back towards my locker as everyone stared at my ugly sweater. My jaw clenched in annoyance but not as much as when I opened my locker door to find that someone had slipped something inside.

Picking up the polaroid picture, I turned it around and my eyes darted to the words written under the picture first.

‘Happy Birthday Olive! Love, Joshua!’

His words confused me for a second before my gaze moved up to see the picture. Imaginary steam blew out from my ears when I saw that it was a picture of me picking up the olives as tears streamed down my face from earlier.

I hate you, Joshua Taylor!