Defiance

The hinges of the door creaked shut behind another student as they entered the school, no doubt relieved by the release from the cold embrace of winter. The sound was familiar, in a way, reminding Vanessa of another door, which had slammed shut so many times before she had learned to stop crossing it.

The wind toyed with her hair, pulling strands out of line. The cold cut into her bones, but something warmed at the sight of her school. Her school. For the first time, really, in years, she looked up at it and saw no longer the things that she had grown to hate so much about it, but the things that she knew, although she had always denied it, that she loved.

The door creaked again, and this time, she let herself be pulled under by the memories. Was she really starting over? Was she really going to have another chance and would she, this time, succeed? The questions replayed, over and over, until finally she shut them out, and the voices of those who asked the questions started to sound achingly familiar, until she realized… it was her own.

~

The hinges of the door complained as it slammed shut behind Vanessa, gravity beating her in closing the door. She leaned against it for a moment, then ground her feet into her rough-soled sneakers, which were a bit too garish to fit in with the school color scheme.

Lurid purple, almost sparkly – but not quite – nobody wanted to wear anything that shiny, or, god forbid, sparkly, to school these days, high tops graced her feet, deep black rubber soles thudding against the ground as she walked. She wore a purple jacket, too, with black edges, and black, frayed jeans. Her hair wasn’t naturally black, and the bright purple streaks definitely weren’t, and her attitude towards all teachers could be, at best, described as defiant, and at worst, downright rebellious.

She walked up the stairs, subconsciously repeating in her head what the principal had just said – as if it weren’t enough to have those bothersome fools in her life – but she now had them in her head, passing judgement on every single act of even the tiniest defiance.

Vanessa, you do realize that you can’t do this forever, don’t you? A wrinkle forming between the eyebrows of the principal’s aged face. You’ve come here for the third time today. Can’t you have even a single day without this sort of… misbehavior?

As if to drive out the thoughts, she leaned against the railing of the staircase, spit out her raspberry-flavored gum, and ground it beneath her heel onto the cement stairs. I am a rebel. She repeated, in her head, and you don’t get to tell me what to do.

A small smirk touched Vanessa’s lips at the thought of someone stepping on that gum. She grinned maniacally into her hands as she walked the rest of the way up the stairs, back to class. But strangely… spitting out the gum onto the cold cement staircase didn’t give her the satisfaction it used to.

Then, just as she got to class, it occurred to her that perhaps a better place to be than class… was not at class at all. It might have been the urge to stretch her legs, or perhaps the fact that she’d been cooped up in the office for too long, or maybe it was the deep, simple, desire, to have some fun.

She opened her locker, the lock of which was, as the principal put it, “quite unfortunately broken”, and he didn’t even know that she had broken it herself, which was all the more hilarious and laughable, and got out her backpack – another bright fluorescent purple and black object.

Slinging it over her shoulders, she ran down the hallway as fast as she could, certain that the teachers would hear her footsteps thudding down the dreary gray hallway from their classrooms, and certain that they knew they couldn’t stop her.

Once down the stairs again, she walked to the cafeteria, shoes skidding at her sudden halt. Unzipping her backpack, and drew out three glossy metallic containers of spray paint – bright purple, her signature color. The cans were a little dented and smelled – well, of paint, but they still worked fine. Vanessa knew that spray paint wasn’t good for your lungs, but she didn’t care. A sly smile crossed her face as she raised her hand, and pressed down on the trigger.

Purple bloomed from the cafeteria wall like a gaping wound spills blood. The paint dripped, dropped onto the floor, and then dried. She looked down at the paint, her head bowed, in almost ritualistic contemplation. Then she raised her hand again, and began.

When she was done, the cafeteria wall was covered with big block letters in purple spray paint. They spelled out a very clear message: “The Rebel”. The message wasn’t anything revolutionary, wasn’t a message to revolt. It was just a simple reminder that there were those who wouldn’t listen to what a group of only eleven or so adults told them to do. That people would rebel. That sometimes forbidding gum was the reason people chewed it. That telling them how important attending class was the reason they did not attend it.

It was water-soluble paint, and she had sprayed it on a piece of paper she had rolled out and taped on the wall before she painted. It wasn’t defacement of school property. She didn’t want trouble.

The Rebel. A simple message, a simple reminder. Her grin widened. It was perfect.

The administration, however, had other ideas about her work of art. By noon, everyone knew about it, and everyone knew exactly who had done it. She hadn’t bothered to put on a disguise, because she knew it was impossible to fool the administration. It had been taken down, obviously, but more than one person had asked Vanessa about it.

“Why did you do it?” A dark-haired girl with glasses asked her during lunch. She didn’t usually talk to random people in the lunch line, but she sure was feeling generous today.

“Because I can.” She replied, just as the intercom crackled on.

Judy, come to the office. Your mother is waiting for you. Judy, come to the office.

“Don’t you notice?” She continued. “That they never put the person’s last name on?” They slid along farther in the lunch line. She picked at a piece of broccoli in the salad bar, then decided to put it on her lunch tray.

“Yeah” The girl responded, a bit exasperated, “Everyone does. It’s a common joke.”

“It’s like they’re trying to tell us something.” Vanessa said. She chewed the broccoli.

The girl shrugged. “You read too much into things. Not everything’s some huge conspiracy.”

Vanessa shrugged the comment off. “They don’t tell us the last name because they don’t need to. They know we know. They know more than we know.”

By now the girl had already lost interest in the conversation and was nudging her with her lunch tray. “C’mon.” She said, “Move.”

So they moved. It was troubling, though, that the administration had not called her down to the office yet, like Judy had been. Vanessa, please go to the office. Vanessa, please report to the office. Thank you. She had heard those words so many times she could practically hear them in her ears every time she recalled the memory.

She didn’t want to go to the office, not particularly, but she had been there so often that by now a sense of unease had draped over her shoulders.

They called her in at seventh period. She had been in the middle of a science lecture, but at the very call, she stood up, put down her purple pen, and said, “Guess that’s me.” She strolled out of the room with more grace and cool than she felt. Her footsteps thudded, loud, and clear before she slammed the door.

When she arrived at the office, the principal, vice principal, and various other people she had had the extreme pleasure of meeting over the years, sat in the room. There were more than she thought there would be. She let the door close behind her, then sat down in a chair in front of the desk.

“Vanessa.” The principal said as soon as she had sat down, his hands folded in front of his face, “Why do you do all of this? What purpose does it hold for you?”

Vanessa was annoyed, but didn’t show it. Why? She would think inwardly later, why didn’t I show it? Was I afraid? “I told you guys a million times – it’s fun to defy the administration.” She said.

“You’ve already… let me see, been suspended two times this year?” The principal made a show of checking the student data systems. Vanessa knew it was a show because he made the point of pointing these numbers out to her each and every time she entered the lovely office. As if it would do anything.

“We know you want to defy us.” The vice principal said, “You’ve said it many times, but Vanessa… Defiance is one thing, and everyone has a little of it, but if defiance is your only goal in doing these things, we ask that you attempt the other things you want to do. Don’t you want to finish high school without getting kicked out? Don’t you want to go to a good college? Defiance is something everyone has and does, at certain amounts, though they may be small, but, Vanessa…” She hated how she was repeating her name over and over. As if that would do anything. But more than that, she hated how her words actually made certain sense.

“Students usually display defiance around middle school and later, but it levels off eventually. You’ll get tired of it. Other kids like you, they mellow down around now. But what we don’t want, is for you to get tired of it after you get kicked out, and by then it will be too late.”

“What if I never get tired?” Vanessa said, more for her own benefit than theirs. She wanted desperately to believe she was a rebel until she died, but she knew that what they said was true. But she really did not want to give in. She had sworn never to give in. She popped her gum, as if that further display of defiance would stop their arguments, “What if, I will always be like this? Then where’s the fun in being a goody-goody?”

The principal shook his head and pressed his lips together. “You do understand that anything further will result in your expulsion? This – it’s practically vandalism!” His voice went up high for a second, on the word “vandalism”, then settled back down. “We don’t want you to take the next step and do something that will actually get you expelled. We want what is best for you, and I? I think you know it.” He set the gray pen he always carried down on the table, pointing it at her, “And I think you want what is best for you too.” He looked at her, gave her a long stare, and she almost crumbled. She would have, if it were not for the gut instinct, drilled deep into her from years of defiance, to hold her ground.

She remembered her parents’ worried looks each time she got in trouble, and she remembered her grades dipping to almost failing, then rising again just on the cusp. She remembered how this time, the gum popping hadn’t given her the satisfaction she used to. She remembered that she had spray painted the wall – not in defiance, but to show herself that she still enjoyed it. She remembered wrestling with her recent thoughts of following orders, trying to see how it fit in with how she always saw herself – as a girl who would defy.

She hated how her voice quavered as she turned around, to leave the room. She hated how her hand trembled on the door handle. She hated it all, them all, but at the same time, she knew she didn’t. Deep down, she knew.

“I’ll – I’ll think about it.” She said, hating every last part of the world. She slammed the door to the office, hearing the complaint of the door hinges as it swung shut, walking out of that office slowly, for what she knew, deep down, in her heart of hearts, would be the very last time.

~

The hinges of the door creaked shut behind another student as they entered the school, no doubt relieved by the release from the cold embrace of winter. The sound was familiar, in a way, reminding Vanessa of another door, which had slammed shut so many times before she had learned to stop crossing it.

The wind toyed with her hair, pulling strands out of line. The cold cut into her bones, but something warmed at the sight of her school. Her school. For the first time, really, in years, she looked up at it and saw no longer the things that she had grown to hate so much about it, but the things that she knew, although she had always denied it, about the school that she loved.

She zipped up her silver jacket tighter, against the wind, and sighed, leaning against the school doors. It was hard to come back and start over again. Some people would still see her in the way they used to – a defiant girl battling against invisible demons that weren’t so bad as she thought they were. And some people would see her as a rebellious teenager, finally over her phase of rebellion. She knew that neither of these interpretations were right.

Nobody but her would ever know exactly who she was.

She was Vanessa. She now wore a silver jacket and her hair dye was fading, but on her feet, were the same rough-soled, almost sparkly – but not quite, too-brightly colored purple high-tops. Her binder now contained several assignments that – to the surprise of her teachers, she had now completed, but her locker still smelled of dented silver cans of purple spray paint, and one too many unfinished assignments. She now listened to the teachers, instead of leading them on with taunting remarks, but her tongue was still as sharp as ever, when she needed it.

She was Vanessa, and she knew what it meant.

She popped her gum, spit it out in the trash, then pushed open the door.

Note: I know that Reedsy requires you to be at least 18 years of age to enter the contest, and so I know I can't expect to win. But I love the weekly writing contest prompts - they are extremely inspiring - so I wanted to be able to at least share my story on Reedsy, even if I'm not allowed to fully participate.