by Hart, Rebel
I saw something move in my peripheral and was relieved to have my friends show up.
It wasn’t until I looked over, however, that I saw it wasn’t them at all.
“You know, we really should have coordinated our schedules more so we could’ve…”
I traced my eyes up those faded jeans. Up that worn leather jacket. The figure plopped down into the seat next to me, where Allison usually sat. I wrinkled my nose as his face came into view. Clinton Clarke. The high school asshole and overall ‘pump and dump’ station.
The boy was a regular manwhore, and he owned every bit of it.
Barf.
Clint grinned. “We really should have coordinated our schedules. I’m gonna miss having you in English.”
I wrinkled my nose. “What do you want?”
I put my spoon down, refusing to eat in front of him. I watched his eyes follow my movements, and something crossed his face. Disgust? Confusion? Neither of those would’ve shocked me. If Clint wasn’t absolutely freaked out by the way I ran my life on a daily basis, my general presence was probably confusing to him. I mean, really? A girl that didn’t want to jump his bones at the drop of a hat?
It probably confused the hell out of him.
And the thought made me giggle.
“Got something you wanna share with the class?” he asked.
I shrugged. “Nope.”
“You got another outfit you can change into so you don’t keep hurting my eyes?”
I grinned. “Don’t like it? Don’t look.”
“Kinda hard not to look.”
“Is that a crack at my weight? Or a crack at the fact that you secretly think I’m sexy and don’t want to admit it?”
He snickered. “You wish I saw you that way.”
“Trust me, you’re not my type.”
His eyebrows rose. “Oh? And what is your type? The monster in the closet?”
“I feel like that’s a joke that probably requires some explanation. And ever since I had English with you last year, we both know you’re not the best at those.”
His face fell. “Fuck you.”
I sighed. “What do you want, Clint?”
I heard high-pitched laughter come from across the cafeteria and rolled my eyes. Marina Lancaster’s laughter was the loudest, most piercing thing I’d ever heard. It was the most recognizable laugh, too. I saw Clint’s eye flinch, but then a grin appeared on his face. I didn’t like that grin, either. It made me shift in my seat, uncomfortable in his presence. That was the grin of Satan himself. Who had a plan to do something to destroy me in front of a cafeteria full of people.
Where the fuck are Allison and Michael?
“I just wanted to say hi,” Clint said.
I licked my lips. “Yeah. Right.”
He feigned shock. “What? Do you really not believe me, Miss Cleaver?”
“Not a fucking chance.”
“You really should watch that little mouth of yours. Boys don’t like women with dirty words in their vocabulary.”
“I’m just shocked you know the word ‘vocabulary.’”
Clint’s eyes boiled with anger. “Unlike some fat-ass idiots in this school, I don’t have to pay attention in class to pass mine.”
“No. You just need Mommy and Daddy’s money to help you do that.”
He leaned his forearm against the table. “How’s your mom doing, Rae? I heard she had quite a time this past weekend.”
I rolled my eyes. “Clever, Clinton. A mom joke. We’re all impressed. Such original material.”
He narrowed his eyes. “It’s Clint.”
I started slow-clapping, which caused Marina to laugh even harder. And while her laugh was the most annoying thing on the face of this planet, it only served to piss Clint off more. Which was a marvelous sight.
I stopped clapping. “I don’t care what you want to be called. If you’re going to come over here and harass me with your idiotic tactics, at least be prepared to take your own damn medication, asshole.”
Clint snarled. “At least my mother’s not a filthy cum-dumpster like yours is.”
“Nope. She’s just an absent, rich, tottie little woman who’s addicted to painkillers and plastic surgery. Which would be the reason why your father left her, right? Traded her in for a newer model. Also known as your stepmother?”
“At least she wants to look decent for my father. You don’t even want to look decent for yourself. What, you hate yourself that much? Or do you just hate the attention you know I’d love to pay you if you wore decent clothes?”
I scoffed. “I’d never give a second thought to the likes of you.”
He grinned. “Why? Scared I’d make you a sexaholic, like your mother?”
“No. I’d only be scared of the multiple STDs you’d pass on, seeing as you’re nothing but a useless manwhore.”
“The last thing I am is useless, sweet cheeks. You just don’t like admitting that because it means I might just be better than you. When really, this entire school is better than you.”
“Why? Because most everyone in this school has more money than me? Why don’t you harp on something you haven’t already beaten and shot out back?”
He smiled widely. “Maybe I’ll just pay your mother some attention this coming weekend, then. What’s the bar she likes to frequent? Bar None’s?”
I tried not to let the comment get under my skin because I understood how boys like Clint worked. I had no patience for him, and I wanted to waste no more energy on this asshole or anything he had to say. He was only trying to look tough for his friends, to come into his senior year with a bang. Like he did every fucking school year. Only this time, he’d chosen me to sink his teeth into.
And he was about to get a very rude awakening.
I sighed. “Look, Clinton. I get it. Really, I do. You come over here and you tease me and push my buttons because you want a reaction. Because your parents are never around to pay you any attention. I understand, completely. My mother pays me no attention, so we’re more alike than you think.”
He snarled. “I’ll never be like you.”
“Why? Because you have money, or because you lack class?”
“You don’t know the first fucking thing about having class.”
“I do know the first fucking thing about ruffling your feathers, though, Mr. Peacock.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Don’t you dare.”
I giggled. “What, Mr. Peacock? Don’t like the name?”
“It’s Clint, you useless little bitch.”
“Mr. Peacock it is. I knew you’d come to enjoy it.”
I watched his fists ball up, and for a split second I thought he was going to slug me. I braced myself. Prepared my body to fight its way out of this corner he’d backed me into. The cafeteria became eerily silent. I felt everyone watching us. I felt my hands trembling from a lack of nourishment. I felt the room tilting as my blood sugar plummeted. I had to eat. Despite what I knew was coming if I tried, I had to get something in my stomach.
I worked up the courage to pick up my spoon and dip it into my soup. As Clint’s eyes became engulfed in rage at my words, I puckered my lips and blew a stream of cool air across the steaming hot soup before clearing my throat.
“Are you done? Because if you are, my friends are here and I’d like to eat in peace.”
I saw Michael and Allison standing behind him holding their trays of food, ready to sit down with me. I put the spoonful of soup between my lips, and I could’ve sworn I saw his eyes follow the movement. But it was a fleeting motion and I wasn’t sure if I’d caught it right. He turned around, surveying my friends, and it was then I saw it.
I watched his posture relax as that wild smile came back into view.
It was as if everything played out in slow motion. Michael’s food tray fell from his hands as he lunged toward Clint. Allison jerked her tray up toward her own face, tossing food all over her chest as Clint quickly got up. He threw himself forward, his hand making its wa
y underneath the table. I heard Allison squealing as food poured over her and I heard Michael yelling at Clint to get away from me. And as Clint’s hand slammed underneath the table, I watched my only food for the rest of the day jostle. My water bottle turned over, flooding my brown pants as the piping hot soup tumbled against my chest. I felt it soaking my outfit as I stood up, my jaw dropped open as the spoon fell from my hand.
Clint’s chuckle dawned on my ears, causing the world to move at regular speed as I snapped my face over toward his.
I licked my lips. “You’re going to regret that.”
His eyes fell down my body. “Trust me, I already do. No one wants to see those clothes clinging to a body like yours. You should probably go home and change.”
Allison hissed. “You’re a fucking loser, Clint.”
Michael stepped in front of her. “Get the heck out of here.”
Clint lunged at him, causing Michael and Allison to flinch. He laughed at the two of them, then turned back to me. I looked down at the mess my clothes had become. The soup that was on my stomach instead of in it. The searing hot pain forced tears to my eyes as he snickered, then walked away. I shook my hands off. I saw teachers rushing up to him and me. I saw the principal already pulling Clint aside, which only garnered him more respect from his bullshit friends.
And it was then I tuned in to the rest of the cafeteria.
It was then I tuned into the raucous laughter as everyone stared at me.
A teacher came over to talk to me, but I gathered up my things and raced out of the room, leaving the laughing behind. I felt Allison hot on my heels as I threw myself into the bathroom. I heard the door close and lock. And as I brushed tears away from my eyes, I clenched my teeth tight.
“He’s just a dick, Rae. Don’t let him get to you,” Allison said.
I clenched my fists. “It’s not him I’m angry at. It’s the rest of those dickweeds.”
Allison pulled at some paper towels and ran them underneath some water. I didn't have a chance in hell of cleaning up these clothes enough to look respectable throughout the rest of the day. Not that I’d looked respectable beforehand. But at least I’d looked better than this. She handed me a soaked paper towel before getting one for herself. Together, we wiped the soup off my shirt.
She shrugged. “I mean, at least it’s a black shirt. Sit in the right lighting and people won’t even know it’s there.”
I sighed. “Yeah, well, they’ll still smell it coming from a mile away.”
“Good thing tomato soup smells good?”
Somehow—like she always did—Allison got me to laugh. My grimace became a grin, and soon we were gabbing while trying to clean off our clothes. I sighed as I racked my brain, trying to figure out what the hell I was going to do for the rest of the day.
Then it dawned on me.
“We need to go to my locker,” I said.
Allison paused. “Do you have a change of clothes there?”
I nodded. “I mean, they’re not the best clothes. But look at what I’m already wearing. I have P.E. this year because I skipped it my freshman year.”
She smiled. “Your gym clothes are in your locker?”
“Will you come with me?”
“I’ll do you one better. Give me your locker number and combination. I’ll go get it for you.”
“You’re a lifesaver, you know that?”
She winked. “I have a tendency to have good ideas every once in a while.”
And as I rattled off what she needed to know, she slipped out of the bathroom. Leaving me to stand in the mirror and take a good, hard look at myself.
Something I hated doing.
Especially if I was alone.
4
Clinton
With my sunglasses sinking down the bridge of my nose, I tossed my jacket over my shoulder. History. I hated history class. Any history class, really. But especially world history. The fuck did I care what happened on the other side of the planet over a hundred years ago? Didn’t affect me now. But, for some reason, it was required of me to know.
I didn’t mind being late to class, though.
The teacher pursed her lips. “How nice of you to join us, Mr. Clarke.”
I grinned. “Pleasure’s all mine, Mrs. Christ.”
“Take a seat, and know it’s your spot for the rest of the semester.”
I scanned the room, taking in the pathetic crowd of losers that had already been in class for damn near twenty minutes. And as my eyes gravitated toward the front corner desk, there she sat. Rae Cleaver. In a pair of bright orange shorts, a white tank top, and some random jacket tossed over her shoulders. My smile grew positively out of control. She’d changed into her gym clothes. And oh, was it a sight to behold. I didn’t think I’d ever seen Rae in anything other than pants. I mean, did the idiot not take P.E. her freshman year to get it out of the way?
Figures. Stupid as hell, just like her mother.
I snorted as I made my way toward the back row. I sure as hell wasn’t taking the seat behind Rae. I mean, I didn’t want to smell the musty stench of her house all damn period. I flopped myself in the back corner desk, where I pushed my sunglasses up my face. And as that stuck up, preppy little Allison leaned in toward Rae, I saw the two of them whisper to one another. Exchanging secrets about me.
I mean, it was painfully obvious they were talking about me.
Thanks for making me the center of your world, ladies.
The teacher clapped her hands. “All right. Now that our daily distraction is over, let’s get back to the syllabus.”
I raised my hand. “Mrs. Christ?”
“You can get a syllabus at the end of class. Take notes while you’re here, and don’t be late to my class again.”
I heard giggles rising up from the front corner of the classroom. Allison, with her bright blond hair, and Rae. With her plain brown hair, her annoying little freckles, and her dark eyes. Like blackened pits of despair that reeked of the desolate wasteland called ‘her neighborhood.’
I watched her throughout class. I watched Rae tuck her foot up under her thigh, splaying it out more against her seat. The teacher rambled on about shit I didn’t care about as Rae’s frizzy ponytail swung against her back. That jacket slipped from her shoulders, revealing a softly-toned strength underneath them that called for a second glance.
Or a really fucking long stare.
Maybe she’s not all pig fat, after all.
“Mr. Clarke?”
I whipped my head to the front of the classroom as Mrs. Christ called my name.
“Yep?”
The teacher sighed. “Can you answer for the class why world history is so important?”
I licked my lips. “Uh, because it’s important to know thine enemy?”
Some of the class giggled, but all Rae did was stare at the whiteboard, studiously ignoring me, even though I knew she felt me staring. I knew she felt my presence. I knew she wanted to look back, too. Allison kept peeking. Snickering. Shaking her head at me, like some disapproving mother. I guessed she was preparing for her future role as a stay-at-home soccer mom, ready to punish her kids with a swift blow of her angry gaze.
If her future husband was lucky enough, she’d put out a decent blowjob every once in a while.
“Mr. Clarke,” the teacher said curtly.
I sighed. “What?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Tuck in the attitude and consider this a reflection of your daily grade. What’s the importance of world history?”
“I take it my answer wasn’t an acceptable one.”
Allison scoffed. “Obviously, idiot.”
The teacher frowned. “Miss Denver, let me handle it.”
I grinned. “Then handle it a little better this time around.”
The class oohed, and it caused me to smile widely. I loved getting underneath my teachers’ skin. Why they kept promoting me up grades, I’d never understand. Why they kept giving me grades I never earned, I’d never get. Mayb
e they didn’t want to put up with me anymore. Or maybe my parents had given so much money to this damn place that they felt they couldn't fail me. Either way, it wasn’t as if my parents were in town to do anything about it.
I mean, they had at least a day’s worth of flights ahead of them before they could even think about popping me upside my head.
Mrs. Christ nodded curtly. “Is there anyone else that wants to join Mr. Clarke in a daily failing grade?”
I shrugged. “Not my fault you don’t care about your enemies.”
“That’s enough, Clinton.”
Rae giggled. “Be careful, he doesn’t like that name very much.”
The class laughed along with her and I shot her a death glare. I wanted to wrap my hand up in that damn ponytail of hers and tug until she cried for me to stop. Who the fuck did she think she was, embarrassing me like that?
Oh, she’d get what was coming to her soon enough.
“Miss Cleaver, one more outburst from you and you’ll be heading to the principal’s office.”
I snickered. “I don’t think she’s ever been there before. Might be a fun field trip.”
Allison turned around. “Your parents around to sign your permission slip, Clint?”
I glared. “I don’t know. Why don’t you ask your mother when she’s getting home from my father’s bed later?”
“That’s enough!” Mrs. Christ exclaimed.
And then Rae turned around. “Put a fucking sock in it, asshole.”
Part of the class was dying with laughter, and the other part stared in horror. I smiled deviously at her as our history teacher walked over to her desk, tapping on it twice. I knew that signal all too well. It was practically my mantra during my high school years. One tap means a warning, two taps means the principal’s office. And when Mrs. Christ leveled her eyes with me, I held up my hands.
“I’m going. I’m going. I know how this works,” I said.
The teacher sighed. “And you’d do well to try and straighten yourself out. Because unlike the rest of your teachers, I’m not afraid of your parents. I’ve got no issues failing you right out of my class and holding you back a year if that’s what it takes to straighten you out.”