text: Note: The story is about high school bullying and makes references to suicide attempts, but no details. It is also is about spells and revenge. Oreo I was one of the unfortunate students bullied in junior high and high school. Known as the black-white girl, and the ugly duckling who never had a date, boyfriend, or a sexual experience, not even a kiss. So I was thrilled to be going to my 10-year high school reunion. Because the never been kissed ugly duckling virgin black-white girl whose classmates made me feel like a loser were in for a surprise. You see, I overcame the cruelness they inflicted on me; grew up, flourished and am now a sought-after bachelorette. I’m also a popular Tik-Tok beauty, fashion, and lifestyle influencer, so the high school reunion committee hired me to do the tablescaping for the event because I am known as the Princess of Fab Tables, and the school and reunion committee like to celebrate the successes of alumni . I could not wait to have my “how do you like me now” moment and watch my former tormentors pick their jaws up off the floor. As I was basking in my fantasy, I was interrupted by a ring from my doorbell. My ring cam reveals that it is a FedEx delivery driver holding a package. I open the door and the driver hands me his electronic pad to sign so I can receive the package. Wondering as I cursive my name onto the pad, what could be so important it required a signature. My overactive imagination took over and I started thinking, this could be a bomb. I laugh to myself, take the package, close the door, walk into my living room, and sit down on the floor to open the box. I pull out a colorful and nicely wrapped package with fancy ribbons attached. As I rip the wrapping, I can see a decorative round tin and I pull it through the ripped paper. The tin is labeled with a script font that reads Tessa’s Custom-made Deliciously Awesome Creations . I loosen the seal from the tin and lift up the lid, there are cookies and a card inside. I remove the card from its place on top of the cookies and what I see makes my heart race and my hands tremble. There are an assortment of white powdered cookies and chocolate-coated cookies but in the center, there is a cookie that stood out from all the rest, it is a cookie that looked like a fancy Oreo. So, my shaking hands slowly opened up the card. Written inside in a very slobby fashion were the words, “See You at the Reunion Miss Oreo” and it was signed Jackson. Jackson tormented me throughout high school and was the first fool to label me an Oreo Cookie (you know black on the outside white on the inside), the Oreo label and other teasing by him and my classmates caused me extreme anguish that resulted in three suicide attempts. If my mom had not pulled me out of school and enrolled me in the homeschool option the school district offered, I would be dead. As I stared at that one odd cookie in the tin, I felt those old feelings consuming me, I wanted to die. I put the lid back on the cookie tin, opened my front door, walked down my driveway, and deposited the wretched gift into my trash receptacle on the curb. I could hear Jackson’s voice saying Oreo over and over again in the breeze that permeated the air; it was like his voice was chasing me, so I raced back into my house, slammed my door to stop his intruding voice, but it was too late, the thoughts of suicide flooded my mind. I was frightened. As a teenager my suicide attempts were impulsive and triggered by the constant bullying I endured while attending public school. But the safe space homeschooling provided and having a therapist eventually gave me the power and confidence I needed to archive those memories. However, Jackson’s malicious gift brought the cruelness I endured in the past out of the archives. My mind was reeling, as adult me tried to use the techniques my therapist had taught teenage me when faced with remnants of the past. Nothing was working. So, I ran from room to room in my house trying to silence the suicidal thoughts. Then I heard the doorbell, three quick rings in a row, a pause and then one ring, it was the ring sequence Pebbles, my bestie, used to let me know it was her at the door. Her custom ring saved my life. I rush to open the door. Pebbles immediately looks into my red swollen eyes which feel as if they are about to pop out of their sockets and says, “what is wrong Chiquita?” Yes, Chiquita is my name, and no I wasn’t named after the banana. I was the youngest of seven children and the only girl, so my parents named me Chiquita, “little girl.” Pebbles never knew about my past, so she made us ice cream sundaes, which we devour as we sit on the couch in my bedroom, and I tell her the story of my tormented school days and Jackson. She asked what triggered me, so I told her about the package I received and what was in it. Pebbles called Jackson a name so vile, I quivered. She then asked me what I did with the cookies. When she learned I had trashed them, she said I needed to go retrieve them, so I did but not without incident. There is a homeless couple who frequents the neighborhood rummaging through trash receptacles looking for discarded trash they see as treasure. I always leave them a recyclable bag next to my trash bin with water, gift cards, and new clothes. But they still go through my receptacle. This evening was no exception, and they found the discarded cookies. I ran up to them and asked them politely to return them to me. I told them I was angry at my boyfriend and threw the cookies away in haste. Yuck, that lie made me vomit in my throat. They still didn’t want to return the cookies, but. luckily for me I was having Popeyes delivered by a food delivery service and the driver drove up during my negotiations with the couple and they happily traded the cookies for two hot meals. As I walk back into the house with the tin of cookies, Pebbles grabs the tin from my hands, retreats to my kitchen, and remains there for ten minutes before returning to the living room where she had left me. Oh, did I forget to mention that Pebbles dabbles in spells and in our circle of friends is known as the “Sweet Witch.” She once performed a spell that permanently relieved my migraines and a spell that convinced a stalker stalking a friend to turn himself into the police. However, on this night the Sweet Witch was a bit less sweet. When Pebbles returned from the kitchen, her voice is icy cold when she speaks to me and says, “Take these cookies to the reunion on Friday and when Jackson approaches you, place the villainous cookie in your mouth, chew, and swallow. He will disappear from the reunion and will never bother you again.” I ask her, “um, what if he is married and has children?” She responded, “believe me when I tell you those custom-made cookies gave off some unbelievably bad vibes. Jackson is an abusive man physically and mentally to many people and his infidelity has caused many tears.” She smiles at me, and her voice returns to its soft lyrical tone, as she says, “trust me.” I ordered more Popeyes and Pebbles spent the night, and we watched 1980s teen flicks into the early morning before drifting off to sleep. Friday finally arrived and while I could have had a date, I chose to go solo to make a statement. I wore a backless, high neck, shimmery purple, midi dress with a mermaid hem that a friend designed. My shoes were clear high-heeled pumps with rhinestone accents, my makeup was minimal. I wore my light brown pressed hair in a bubble braid that cascaded down my back, and I adorned my ears with large rhinestone hoop earrings. I walk into the hotel where the reunion was being held. I could feel the spirit of karma as I enter the ballroom and admire my incredible tablescaping, and I made sure I was fashionably late to get the pick your jaws up off the floor moment I craved. Yes, I was ego driven at first, but I realized when I entered the ballroom, I felt self-validated and that was all I needed. As if by magic or more likely divine intervention, joy and self-love warmed every fiber of my being. Unfortunately, the feeling was interrupted when Jackson walks up to me, says hello, smirks, and says, “did you receive my gift?” He also smirks when informing me that someone on the reunion planning committee gave him my address. I forgot I was holding the tin of cookies, so I thanked him as I opened the tin, took out the designated cookie, popped it in my mouth, chewed, and swallowed it with delight. I turned and walked away from Jackson who was the Master of Ceremonies for the reunion. Ten minutes after my encounter with him, Jackson could not be found to perform his duties. But it was not unusual for Jackson not to follow through on his promises, It was something he was guilty of doing numerous times in high school, especially if something he thought better presented itself. So the reunion went on without him. A few days after the reunion his family reported him missing. That was two years ago, and Jackson has never been found. -----I guess that’s how the cookie crumbles.