"Watch out for Sam's head!" Renee Rodriguez shouts as a Nerf ball glides over me from behind. My hair flutters, and I turn around. This is expected—these newspaper meetings are always a hormone-infused circus until Braden comes in.
"Sorry," says Paul Atkins, to me, then looks at Renee. "I didn't realize Sam's head was still so fragile."
"It's not!" I say, but Paul isn't listening.
He is staring. Staring at Renee's chest.
Renee is a sophomore, but you'd think she was, like, 20. She's loud, proud, and in control. And she doesn't let this Nerf ball matter rest. Nope, instead she bounds. In her tight, low cut red shirt. Right over to me. Paul's eyes go grapefruit. Mine are lined in sweat.
PLUNK.
Renee's lady junk smashes against the back of my head. She hugs me from behind. My knee pits pour. Why does this kind of stuff always happen to me?
"His forehead is HEALING, dumbass!," Renee says. I gulp.
"It—it—it—it's really okay," I stammer.
"You're not okay, baby doll," Renee says, resting her you-kn0w-whats on my shoulder and meeting me at eye level. "Sammy, I just want you to know that all my girls feel you."
"Feel you," Paul repeats, dazed.
Look at her eyes. Ignore the rest. Look at her eyes. Ignore the chest.
I can work with this mantra.
But my phone buzzes in my pocket, and my body jerks a little. As I lose my cool, Anna catches my eye from across the room. Crap. Is she mad? Does she think this was my idea?
Renee hugs harder. "None of us will ever date Jeff Wellstone after what he did to you, honey pots."
Anna smirks and shrugs. Of course she gets it. With every heave of Renee's boobs against my shoulders, I fall more madly in love with Anna Ingram than ever before.
"Than-thanks, Renee." I say.
"No problem, cutie," she says, and scampers off to her seat.
Thank you, Jesus.
Before I can retrieve my phone from my pocket, Braden's in the room with his laptop open.
"Future Pulitzers of America," Braden starts.
"What's a Pulzer?" Paul asks. Jeez, that kid.
"You'll never need to know, Paul," Braden says, warmly, somehow. "Anyway, I have some news. You guys are gonna love this. But first, this week's Dear Albert."
Gulp.
Dear Albert,
This guy I know... well, he doesn't like me. He found it acceptable to physically wound my face. In front of the ENTIRE school. Well, that's an exaggeration, but you know what I mean. Either way it still sucked and everyone knew by the end of the day. I ended up going to the hospital and getting stitches. Now I don't know what to do. A bunch of people want me to report what happened, but that means I have to ask EVERYONE who was at the "scene of the incident" to "write a personal statement explaining what they saw occur from their own perspective," and I'm not sure going through all that work is worth the reward (if you could call stoping future bullying incidents a reward).
Now I know what you're thinking. Of COURSE stopping future bullying incidents is a reward. The thing is, no matter how much I try to help, this grand goal probably won't happen. Not in this school anyway. And I'm not trying to be pessimistic or anything, but it is what it is. Anyway, what should I do? Should I go through the entire complaint process or cut my losses?
Bruised and Confused
Braden pauses before reading the reply. Everyone looks at me. I don't know what to do, so I focus on not blowing my cover. The whole "letter to myself" thing hasn't been easy, and I'm not about to ruin my secret identity over a stapler. I put my hands behind my head and look at Braden expectedly, as if I can't wait to hear the reply. Braden looks amused, maybe even a little impressed. Or maybe I'm making that up. Anyway, he's the only other person who realizes how ridiculous this is—me, as Albert—answering my own stupid question.
Dear Bruised and Confused,
What do you mean "the whole school knows"? Honestly, I have no clue what you're talking about. Am I that out of the loop around here?
Just kidding. Hi, Sam!
Short answer: Yes. Pursue the friggin thing. I'm not saying you should attack this like it's the zombie apocalypse, but there's one really important reason that it's absolutely your duty to put in all this exhausting work for potentially no reward: records.
When the pot roast hits the fan, it's always good to get it on record with the school or school district. You may be physically and emotionally recovering like a champ, but if there is a "next time," the next victim may not be so lucky. Even if you don't care about getting anyone in trouble over what happened, getting the incident on record is the best way to ensure that if anything happens again, the next victim will have an easy time making his or her case.
What I'm saying is, you don't make this about vengeance. This isn't a movie, and the perpetrator isn't entirely evil. This incident didn't happen in a bubble. There's a dangerous climate of socially acceptable bullying at this school, and I'm inclined to look at the big picture with at least a hint of compassion for the butt nugget who messed up your face. In fact, I'd like to hear from him.
But still, you were wronged. Now it's your turn to control the next phase of the situation: You can be passive, be angry, or be mature. The choice is yours.
(Pick the third one.)
And for what it's worth, I've seen your scar. It's baaaaaaadass.
Albert
And so I've done it. I've thrown myself into the spotlight of the school. Why? Revenge, maybe. Maturity, as my alter-ego suggested... probably not. Anna looks at me compassionately, and I suddenly know why.
Her.
Braden closes his laptop amid chatter and glances in my direction.
"Alright, guys. Listen up. I've been working on something for a while, and I finally got it approved by the principal," Braden says, and everyone's ears perk.
I remember that my phone had buzzed and slide it out of my pocket.
"I've been wanting to do a group activity for a while," Braden says. "We're having a newspaper lock-in."
A lock-in? Overnight?
Must be, because people clap and whistle.
A lock-in. With Anna.
I look at her. She's still looking at Braden. Jealousy creeps up my body like vines that choke. Shake it off, Sam. Look at your phone.
An email. From London. From Gil.
Get reaadddy, loser! I'm coming back the States!
_____
Read Dear Albert from the beginning here.
What is Dear Albert? It's a fiction experiment on SparkNotes about a guy, Sam, who writes a secret advice column under the name Albert. The "experiment" part is this: His story is a mesh of pure fiction, and YOUR input. Want to participate? Leave a question or a message for Albert in the comments (real, or totally fake)!
Why haven't you seen Dear Albert lately? 1. Because I am awful and have been mad busy. I'm really trying to write weekly! and 2. Because we're trying to plot out Dear Albert as a REAL novel. You can help get Dear Albert a book deal by passing his column on to as many friends as possible. The more internet love it gets, the better chance we'll have of making Dear Albert more real than ever. :)
Special thanks to white&gold198 for providing this week's question!!!
Post a comment!