Kristine crouched amongst the bushes to see the darkened face of the mansion. The driveway was empty of the luxury SUV that used to drop Dave off daily.
“My stepfather has booked a table at the Michelin Star restaurant to celebrate my mother's birthday,” she remembered him boasting at lunch today.
Brushing her bangs away from her forehead, she crept across the lawn to the oak tree in the corner next to the house. The one whose branch knocked against the window of what she knew was Dave’s bedroom. He had boasted about his corner room with an ensuite bathroom so many times that it was engrained in Kristine’s mind.
She knew it was not an idle boast; his stepfather's family was one of the richest in the county. She leapt to catch the low-lying branch, climbing the tree like a monkey until she reached the window.
Swinging a leg over the windowsill, she dropped to the floor with a gentle thud. Her eyes took in the massive mahogany bed, the smart TV on the wall, and the bookcase overflowing with books.
Squashing the jealousy that flared, she opened her backpack, taking out cans of fake foam and stringers. “This will show you, you twerp! You call me white trash, and mock my mother for working two jobs, flaunting your wealth! I will make you rue the day you nicknamed me leftover Kristine for wearing hand-me-downs and getting leftovers for lunch,” she muttered.
She shook the cans, aimed them at the bookcase, and was about to press the nozzle when the door to the bathroom opened.
Dave, bare from the waist up, stood there. Startled at seeing her, the T-shirt in his hand dropped to the floor.
“What are you doing in my bedroom?” he demanded. If Kristine had not been surprised at being caught off-guard, she would not have missed the fear in his voice or that his eyes were red.
Kristine gulped, trying to hide the cans behind her. Dave didn’t miss her actions.
He gave a sneering laugh. “What a bumblehead! You can’t even trash your enemy’s room properly!”
“I thought no one was at home. Didn’t you say there was a fancy family dinner tonight?” she mumbled.
This time, Kristine didn't miss the emotions across his face. Anger, shame, and loneliness.
“Well, someone had better things to do, like catch room trashers!” he retorted belligerently, bending down to pick up his T-shirt.
The light from the bathroom illuminated the angry, red welts on his bony back. Marks consistent with a man's belt.
Kristine realised her vow to get revenge on the lowlife who had bullied her almost all her life suddenly seemed inconsequential.
Putting the cans back in her backpack, she swung her leg over the windowsill. Before going down the tree, she looked back for one last glance at Dave. He sat with his shoulders slumped, angry, hot tears dripping down his cheeks.
Later that night, as Kristine’s mother smothered her with good night kisses, she thought about Dave. This time, instead of anger or jealousy, there was pity in her heart for her thirteen-year-old classmate.