A jar of pickles fell to the floor just as Lilly opened her locker. She looked down, and immediately I heard giggles and whispers around us.

—Are you okay? —I asked Lilly, ignoring the stares I felt fixed on us.

There were fragments of glass everywhere. I checked her foot, fearing she might have gotten something embedded in it.

—I’m fine… don’t worry —Lilly said timidly, still looking at the mess. —I’ll just… smell like pickles all day.

I never understood the running joke this town had for harassing Lilly Bainbridge. They called her "Looney Lilly" just because she had been in a sanatorium after, quote, the devastating death of her father. No one in this damn town has any intelligence or even empathy. Right, what better than to take the subject of a father who died in a pickle factory and joke about the trauma.

I looked around. The Pattycakes were letting out more undisguised giggles. I wanted to tell them to go to hell or hit them until I smashed their stupid faces. Lilly took my arm and shook her head; she knew exactly what I was thinking.

—You don't have to. I’m okay, don’t get into trouble because of me.

I looked at her, disappointed. I really wanted to fight, but in part, my best friend was right. I shouldn't get into trouble. Lilly whispered something about going to the bathroom to clean up. Marge arrived and offered to help her.

When the two headed to the restroom, I took the opportunity to finish cleaning up the mess near Lilly’s locker. I picked up a few pieces of glass and walked straight toward the Pattycakes.

Suddenly, they stopped laughing and focused on the glass in my hand.

—What do you think you’re doing? —said Patricia Stanton, the worst of them all, the leader of the Pattycakes.

—I’m going to stab this into your stupid hands so you stop messing with... —I started to say, walking past her, aiming to scare her, but I kept going to throw it in the trash can.

They looked at me as if I were really a psychopath capable of doing it.

—Believe me, even if I wanted to, I can't because —I pretended to think and paused. —I have an organ that makes me think. It's called a brain. Did you know? Some people have one, although I know you all lack... —I laughed.

Patricia narrowed her eyes and moved dangerously close to me.

—I wouldn't be surprised. You're friends with Looney Lilly, you must be crazy too.

That enraged me even more.

—Don't call her that! —I defended Lilly.

Patricia smiled smugly.

—Aww. Why? What are you going to do to me? —she said, and my fist met her nose.

The hallway quickly turned into an instant riot. Everyone crowded around to see the result of my punch.

Patricia, her nose bleeding, shrieked with dramatic exaggeration. Before the situation could escalate, she hit me with the book she was holding. The impact made me stumble, and my face ended up hitting the locker behind me.

A teacher managed to pull us apart, severely scolded us, and gave us two hours of after-school detention: one for starting a fight and the other, he said, because "young ladies should not fight."

...

Lilly felt terribly guilty about my detention, but I assured her that the blame was entirely mine. I wanted to hit Patricia Stanton, and I defended myself from Marge when she called me an "idiot." I didn't pay her any mind; Marge is just obsessed with Lilly, her, and me joining the Pattycakes.

When the final bell rang, I headed to the detention room with my jaw clenched. Patricia Stanton was already there. The blonde stared at me, and I couldn't help but stare back. The bruise under my eye was throbbing; she barely had a tiny piece of gauze over the bridge of her nose. Patricia cleared her throat, breaking the silence first.

—You’re pathetic, you know that? —Her voice was lower than usual, perhaps a little nasal because of the bandage. —And an imbecile.