Robin, Boy Virgin: Original Series

Written in red Sharpie, and not the clichéd and expensive spray paint, was the word 'SLUT' in a big, messy, and quick scrawl. That burning word was written on a slant, so that the font could be as big as possible and still fit on Cora's locker.

Needless to say, the good feelings I'd had previously evaporated. Even though I'd been through some pretty awful shit these past couple of weeks, that was nothing compared to this. I couldn't imagine how Cora must have felt. I looked at her.

She was staring at her locker, her eyes darting around and taking in every singly detail of it.

I had this incredibly stupid and intense urge to console her by saying "maybe they just mixed up your locker with someone else's". I know that sounds dumb, but when you're watching your friend go through a situation like this, it's the first and strongest thing you want to say.

"Cora-" I began very quietly, but I didn't know what to say. I felt freaking awful as hell for her, and figured that maybe to express that sentiment would be a good place to start.

"Mr. Svetson, Miss Melaincamp, what are you doing-" Mr. Jeffrey, my Geography teacher, came up from behind us.

Cora's last name was just one phonetic sound off of being Mellencamp. I swear, if her dad is Johnny Cougar I'm cashing in all my chips and begging Cora to fuck me. As it is, her last name was freaking cool anyway. But, none of that really mattered to me right then; it just stored itself in the back of my mind.

"Cora, is this your locker?" Mr. Jeffrey asked quietly. I had another stupid urge: this one was to speak up and tell Mr. Jeffrey not to be sexist and say that it was my locker that had SLUT marked on it. But, like I said, that was stupid. A slutty virgin is a tad oxymoronic. Why is my first reaction to everything just the dumbest action imaginable?

"Um, yes," Cora finally spoke up.

"I see," Mr. Jeffrey said. Oh, Jesus, poor Cora. I could hear the total sympathy in Mr. Jeffrey's voice and I know how it feels to be the receiver of that.

"Yeah, I'm sorry. My girlfriends did this," Cora said suddenly. Both Mr. Jeffrey and I stared at her in total shock.

"What?" I demanded breathlessly, completely confused. Cora didn't look at me.

"... your friends did this to your locker?" Mr. Jeffrey asked, his voice disbelieving. Cora nodded and sighed.

"Yeah, yeah. We joke like this all the time, calling each other whores and, and sluts and stuff," Cora said. I kept staring at her.

"It looks like they took it a little too far this time, though, huh?" Cora went on. She was a good liar. I only knew she was lying because I know that she doesn't have any girlfriends. I know that because if she did she'd be hanging out with them and not me.

"Cora-" Mr. Jeffrey began, unsure of what to say, whether or not he should believe her.

"I'm really sorry they did this. I'll tell them not to be so stupid again. Um, if you point me in the direction of a janitor's closet I can clean it off," Cora said. Mr. Jeffrey didn't say anything and Cora looked at him expectantly.

"Cora, I'm not sure," He said, stuck. He probably felt like he had a duty as a teacher to punish vandalism.

"Don't worry. I'll have it cleaned off before the bell, no one will see it," Cora said.

"Well... o-, ok Cora," Mr. Jeffrey finally allowed. He pointed down the hall to a slim janitor's closet.

"The cleaning stuff should be there. Um, when you're done, go by the office and say I've excused you from class. You can go home," Mr. Jeffrey said to her, being nice. Cora just walked down to the janitor's closet. Mr. Jeffrey paused and then started to walk way.

Cora came back with a bottle of industrial cleaner.

"Cora-" I tried to say again.

"Will you help me get this off?" She asked directly and looked at me. Her eyes were as hard as two blue gemstones.

"Yeah, yeah, 'course," I muttered. Cora went into the nearest girls' bathroom and came back with a huge chain of paper towel. She knelt down in front of her locker and sprayed the cleaner over the big, ugly 'T'. She ripped off a section of paper towel, folded it into fours and started rubbing out the letter with considerable pressure. I knelt down next to her and did the same thing, only to the 'L'.

I heard a locker creak down the hall. I looked over my shoulder. Minnie was at her locker, getting out her Jazz Band music binder. I imagine Minnie gets out of class early for good behaviour. She looked over at me when she felt me looking at her. I quickly looked away and continued rubbing away violently at the 'L'.

A moment later, I looked up and watched, surprised, as Minnie knelt down next to me. Cora watched her tear off a piece of paper towel and spray the 'S' with the cleaner. Minnie began scrubbing at the letter: in tiny, tight circles that implied she was well practiced. I might have suspected Minnie was a neat freak.

Us three kept spraying and rubbing until that word was wiped clean off of Cora's locker. We did manage to finish before the final bell.