Free Man V. Nature: Stories by Diane Cook Page A

little Mack and Marni. My head rushes. I want to watch, hear the sounds.
    Marni, a scowl storming, pushes Theresa, who topples down to the tile and stays down, plays dead.
    â€œGet out,” Marni roars at everyone, but I’m the one who runs.
    Outside the gym, I find a gaggle of teachers gossiping. A flask is tucked when I skid up to them, breathless. I tell them Marni Duke is getting beat up in the second-floor girls’. I can’t even tell them why. We’re just fourteen.
    I’m hot with shame. The stomach kind. The kind that hurts. I run home, punching low tree limbs as I go.
    Â 
    In homeroom on Monday, everyone whispers about a fight in the girls’ bathroom. The rumor is Marni. The rumor is one girl held her down while another kicked her. People gasp. Marni from Homecoming? Coos of sympathy all around.
    I’m summoned to the office.
    Marni, Theresa, and Hill slouch in the lobby, and the principal calls me in. The girls glare as I close the door.
    He asks, “Gabby, what did you see?”
    They glare through glass, and I can’t speak until the principal lowers the blinds. As they fall, Hill raises a fist. I catch Marni’s eye, and it’s an eye so familiar I’m momentarily grateful to have its attention. Then the blinds are down. It’s just me.
    The principal wants my version.
    â€œI don’t have a version,” I say.
    He sighs. “Just tell me what you saw.”
    I tell him what I saw—Marni on the ground, Hill and Theresa stomping.
    â€œWhere?” he asks.
    I touch my stomach, watch him jot on a notepad. “But I ran,” I say. “I don’t know anything else.”
    â€œDid they say anything to you?”
    I shake my head no. I can’t say.
    He stares, pen poised.
    I clear my throat, speak sideways. “Marni had a fight with her boyfriend right before. You could talk to him?”
    The principal is confused. “Was he there?”
    The swirl pattern of the carpet is moving; it wants to crawl up my leg. I shake my head again. “No.”
    â€œAnd how do you know about this fight?”
    I shrug and look at my hands, the skinny fingers and fat tips. They’re like frog hands; sticky, creepy. They’d ruin a lily pad. I smooth my strained jeans. Something smells. I’m sure it’s me.
    â€œI watched them,” I answer.
    The principal nods, leafs through a file of papers—the paper version of me.
    I’m dismissed.
    I brace myself for the lobby, for the baseball bat I’m sure will meet my skull when I enter it, but Marni and the girls are gone.
    I walk to the nurse’s office and puke on her desk. She sends me home. I go the backyard route so no one will see me.
    Â 
    In homeroom Tuesday, everyone whispers about how there was no fight between Marni and Hill and Theresa. People nod. They’re bests, you know. Who lied? The rumor is me. “Gabby,” girls whisper conspiratorially, ready to hate. “Who?” Uncertain glances from desk to desk. “Gabrielle?” Heads shake. No recognition. I’m sitting right there.
    I’m in line for lunch and Theresa comes up behind me, digs her plastic tray into my spine. I double over my ravioli.
    â€œMeet Marni out front before fifth. Do it,” she bleats.
    I sit next to Clara. Her whole look is skeptical. I don’t touch my food. The ten-minute bell.
    â€œClara,” I hiss. “Come to the bathroom.”
    She startles like I’ve just woken her. Looking out the window is her form of sleep. But she follows.
    First-floor bathroom. Lots of postlunch traffic. I peer under doors. The so-what smokers are enshrouded near the sinks. My eyes water.
    I grab Clara’s hand, but she takes it away quickly, disturbed. Too close, she seems to say. I think I hate her. “Just stand guard outside the bathroom, okay? When the bell rings, text if you see Marni, Hill, or Theresa.”
    â€œWhy? Because you lied?”
    How does