Free Lovely Vicious by Sara Wolf

sponges, and hammers crowd the ground, and the paper bag looks perfectly at home. I quickly pull the bag out from under a window washing pole and scamper off.          
    Lots of people in the movies break into lockers with elaborate ear-to-the-lock techniques, and when that fails, there’s always the good old bolt cutters. But what the movies don’t tell you is it’s tons easier to just go through the door. Federal school district funding ensures the metal is the lowest quality nickel-tin hybrid, and all high school lockers are essentially made with a two-bolt drop system, which means if you take a hairpin and a pair of tweezers and wedge the center bolt to the left, you can crack the door open enough to slip something inside - for instance, two dime bags of weed that definitely are Jack Hunter’s because they are in his locker, now. I go to the bathroom and call the school office; anonymously tipping them locker 522 has the smell of weed coming from it.
    Campus security is all puffed up after catching that ‘criminal’ the other day. Knife-guy’s suspended for a week, and everyone sniggers openly about the fact it took three security officers to catch one naked guy, but that doesn’t matter to the officers. In their minds, it was a triumph of Adult Good over the General Evil of Teenagers, and that’s enough ego puffing enough to have them walking around like balloons with mustaches and bald spots. In ten minutes they’re at locker 522, the janitor cutting the lock and the officers rifling through Jack’s things. I watch from around the corner of the hall as they take out his books, his pencils, dumping them on the floor unceremoniously. When they find the dime bags they sniff the inside of them and assure each other it’s weed. I cackle softly on my way back to class.
    Jack Hunter: 2. Isis Blake: 1. It’s a big difference, but I’ll make it up quick.
    The rumor spreads like fire on an oil spill – Jack Hunter is suspended for two days pending drug charges with the local police. Life is sweet. I bite into my sandwich and hardly notice it’s the third day in a row I’m eating tuna – my taste buds can only perceive sweet, sweet victory.
    “What are you doing?” Kayla asks, staring down at me with a tray of chili in her hands.
    “Savoring my win,” I say.
    “That was you, wasn’t it!” Kayla slams her tray down and hisses. “You were the one who planted weed in Jack’s locker!”
    “Uh, no? He’s the stoner, not me. I wouldn’t even know where to buy weed.”
    “Avery said she sold you two dime bags.”
    “Oh. Well, in that case, yes. I do know where to buy weed.”
    She makes a disgusted noise, but her face is the opposite of disgusting. It’s beautiful. It’s like watching a purebred show cat hack up a hairball.
    “In my defense –” I throw up my hands. “Everybody knows the popular people have weed, okay? It’s like a universal law, up there with ‘the apple falls on Newton’s nerdy herd’ and ‘the sky is a distinct blueish color’.”
    “I can’t believe you,” Kayla sighs. “I thought you were cool, and now look at you; planting drugs on some guy you don’t like?”
    “Uh, it’s a little more than ‘don’t like’.”
    “Newsflash – the rest of us do like him, okay? So can you just lay off?”
    “He still hasn’t apologized for making you cry, Kayla!”
    “He makes me cry all the fucking time, okay? I’ve kind of cried on the daily into my pillow about him for six years now!”
    “Even more reason to kick his ass!”
    “This isn’t second grade anymore, Isis!” Kayla snaps. “Biting and kicking isn’t ladylike, and it’s not gonna get you anywhere with any guys, either.”
    “Maybe I don’t wanna fucking get with any guys!” My voice is so loud it’s drawing attention. “Maybe all guys are scumbags! Maybe I’m the only one who apparently can think clearly anymore and see an asshole for who he really is!”
    “He’s not an asshole