by Rachel Jonas
With one hard yank, I’m free from his grasp. Now that I’ve finally broken away, I can only guess he realizes the one good thing that’s come of all this for me.
I’m no longer weak for him.
I take a few steps away, but hearing Scarlet’s ringtone in my pocket, I halt. Mostly because it’s the middle of the day and she never calls during school.
Not unless something’s wrong.
“What happened?” I answer, already sounding frantic.
“I locked myself in, but I think they’re still out there.” Those words send my heart racing.
“Who? Where are you? You’re not making any sense.”
“Girl’s bathroom. Second floor, near the east staircase,” she answers.
I know exactly where she is now—a restroom at my old high school.
“I fought back,” she continues, “but there were too many of them. I had to hide.” The statement is almost unintelligible through her whispered sobs, but I hear enough to know my sister needs me.
“Don’t move, Scar. I’m on my way. Just stay wherever you are and wait for me.”
“Okay, just hurry.”
Before I can tell her to stay on the line, it goes dead. For fear of whoever she’s hiding from finding her, I don’t call back.
“Shit.”
“Is Scarlett okay? I can give you a ride if—”
“Don’t ever ask about her. Don’t even say her name,” I snap. “And no. I don’t need anything from you.”
I fish my keys from my pocket as I trudge toward the nearest exit, attempting to text Jules the moment I step foot outside. She usually keeps her phone off during school, so the chances of her seeing it and going to Scar’s rescue are slim, but I have to try.
With the length of West’s legs, he’s keeping my pace with ease. There’s a chance I’ll get caught leaving and end up in even more trouble, but I can’t leave Scar hanging.
“I know you hate me right now but be reasonable. How the hell are you gonna drive shaking like that?”
“Thanks, but no thanks,” I say dismissively, but I know his ‘concern’ is warranted. Even without looking down at my hands, I’m fully aware of how they’re trembling.
I don’t have time to explain all the reasons I have for turning down his offer, so when I get to my car, I simply unlock the door and slip inside, slamming it hard and fast to shut him out.
When I start the engine, he’s still standing beside my window and doesn’t move even when I back out. He just stares, hands in the pockets of his jeans, frustration looming in his eyes. But I’m not moved by whatever this act is he’s putting on, pretending to care about me. About Scar.
I meant what I said in that hallway. Fuck West and whatever horse his sorry ass rode in on. Right now, I have to get to South Cypress High to rescue my sister.
@QweenPandora: Do my eyes deceive me? Pics flooding in seem to show a standoff between KingMidas and a teammate. And what caused this clash of titans, you ask?
NewGirl.
Yup, you read that right. From what I gather, KingMidas stepped in when said teammate got a tad too close to our favorite southsider. Does this sound like the behavior of a guy who just willingly shared a sex tape that most likely spelled the end of his relationship? You be the judge.
We’ll all be watching as the saga unfolds.
Later, Peeps.
—P
Chapter 5
BLUE
Bloody nose.
Torn shirt.
And I’m seeing red as I watch Scarlett nurse a busted lip with a bag of ice.
By the time I got to her, the kids who chased her into hiding were long gone. That’s probably a good thing, because with the mood I’m in, I might’ve done serious bodily harm.
We sit in silence, waiting across from Principal Carpenter’s assistant’s desk. Every now and then, she peers up over the top of the counter that separates her desk from the reception area, but she says nothing.
I remember when I got into it with Loren Pete last school year, this same woman sat in that same seat, giving me the exact same judgmental stare.
Her line trills and she answers on the first ring. Then, after hanging up, Scar and I have her full attention again.
“He’ll see you both now,” she announces, eyeing us as we walk past.
I thought I was done with this place, but apparently it isn’t done with me.
I close the door after we enter the large office, decked out with floor-to-ceiling paneling, straight out of the sixties. Place hasn’t gotten many upgrades since then and it shows.
Principal Carpenter peers up from the sheet of paper he’s filling out, but only long enough to gesture for Scar and I to take the two seats across from his desk. Then, without a word, he finishes what he was doing before Scar and I walked in. So, we sit here, staring at the top of his balding dome, and also the huge mustard stain on his tie from lunch. Eventually, he deems us important enough to meet our gazes and I breathe deep.
“Ladies,” he says in greeting.
“Afternoon, sir,” I answer for both me and Scar. She hasn’t said a word to me since I showed up. Not even to tell me who did this to her or why.
Principal Carpenter levels a disapproving glare on me. “Well, imagine my surprise when I got the call from security that they spotted an intruder walking my halls.”
I can’t help but feel confused that this is his concern. “Where was security when my sister was getting chased through the halls and jumped, sir? Isn’t that what we ought to be discussing here?”
He’s clearly unmoved by my question. I can tell as much when he casually grabs a piece of chocolate from his candy jar and pops it into his mouth.
“We’ll deal with that in a moment, but I’d first like to know what possessed you to saunter through the front doors of my building without permission, Riley. In this—”
“With all due respect, Principal Carpenter, I think the more important issue is what you’re planning to do about the kids who hunted down my sister.”
He stares expressionless, breathing deeply, like he’s just run a marathon from his seat or something. When he shifts his gaze toward Scarlett, I relax a bit.
“Who was after you?” he finally asks.
I look at Scar, wondering if she’ll tell him what she wouldn’t tell me.
“There were … too many of them,” she answers. “I didn’t see faces.”
Bullshit. When she glances toward me, it’s because she knows I’m not buying that.
“Hm,” Principal Carpenter groans. “Well, since you miraculously were unable to see who attacked you, do you perhaps know why they attacked you?”
Again, she glances at me, but then lowers her head. “It was about the video. And … The Pink List” she adds, causing my heart to sink. “They were saying shitty things about—”
“Language, Scarlett,” Carpenter warns.
“Sorry.” She takes a breath and starts again. “They were saying nasty things about Blue and I didn’t like it, so … I mouthed off a little bit.”
Mouthed off. I know my sister. She threw the first punch. Not that I blame her. She was smart to tell Carpenter this version instead of the truth, though.
He’s quiet a moment, studying Scarlett. “I can’t issue suspensions without names, so my hands are tied unless you talk.”
“This is important, Scar. You don’t have any reason to defend these kids. Tell him who’s responsible.”
I manage to get those words out, but I’m choking on my own guilt, knowing she went through this because of me. I’d seen the abuse online, but had no idea it would turn into something physical. This triggers a thought, though, and I peer up at Principal Carpenter.
“There were kids bullying her on social media after … after the um … incident,” I say quietly, hating that we even need to have this conversation.
“It’s fine,” Scar cuts in. “It wasn’t the same group.”
In my gut, I know this is a lie. Maybe she’s p
rotecting them because she fears it’ll only make things worse. Honestly, she’s probably right about that.
I swear. Life seriously sucks.
Carpenter grabs a sheet from his drawer and jots something down.
“I’ll need to hear from your parents on this,” he concludes.
“But I’m eighteen. Isn’t it good enough that I showed up?”
He eyes me, shaking his head. “Not unless you’re a legal guardian.”
I fall silent and he glances up with suspicion heavy in his eyes. “Will it be a problem getting in touch with your parents? Perhaps I should send someone to your residence to check on you girls.”
He’s so good at pretending to care. What he really means is that he’ll send CPS to our front door to tear me and my sister apart.
“No, sir,” I rush to say. “That won’t be necessary. I’ll have my mom call tomorrow morning.”
Translation: I’ll call in the morning.
A lingering look settles on me, then he writes something else on the sheet of paper before sealing it inside an envelope and handing it over.
“I’ll excuse Scarlett from the rest of her classes today, but she’s expected to return in the morning. Also, this needs to be signed by one of your folks, in addition to that call I’ll be expecting first thing tomorrow, Ms. Riley.”
I nod. “Of course. I’ll let Mom know.”
The next second, I have Scar’s arm, urging her to stand from her seat before Carpenter can say more. We stop at her locker briefly to grab her coat, which reminds me that, in my haste to get here, I left mine at school.
We leave in a hurry and trudge across the lot toward my car. I don’t slow my steps until we get there, but it’s at that moment that reality comes rushing in. Like so many other things, I can’t see past this being my fault. Falling for West’s shit has not only turned my life into a living hell; it’s also affecting my sister.
Standing beside my car in the freezing cold, I can’t even bring myself to open the door. Instead, I lean against it, doubled over, trying to catch my breath. I feel broken in places I didn’t even know existed, beaten down from the inside out.
Beside me, Scarlett is motionless and quiet, but then her hand lands on my back and it’s the closest thing I have to comfort. Kid’s consoling me when she’s the one who had the bad day. Then again, when I consider being named number one on the Pink List, and dealing with West’s shit, I suppose we’re sharing that title this time around.
“This isn’t on you, Blue,” she finally speaks up. “Those kids were being stupid. I should’ve known better than to let them get to me.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong, Scar.”
“Maybe not. But neither did you,” she says. “Being with a guy doesn’t make a girl a slut. Especially not a guy she cares about.”
My eyes fall shut hearing those words, hearing that she knows the truth I hate myself for. I do care for West. Or at least I did. Before …
“We have to be careful,” I rush to say when a thought occurs to me. “What Carpenter said in there… he might not be bluffing. From here on out, we both have to stay on the straight and narrow. The last thing we need is Child Protective Services knocking at our door.”
My own words are hard to swallow. The part about being careful. That’s a tall order right now, considering the fire burning inside me. If I had it my way, so many would feel my wrath for what’s happened, but I have to try and contain it.
Too much is at stake.
More than usual.
What I don’t say to Scar is that I have real, tangible fear her principal will send someone to our home. It felt like more than a bluff. If that happens, they’ll see how we live, see the state of perpetual drunkenness our father is in, and realize our mother’s been M.I.A. for months now.
“I know,” Scar answers solemnly.
When she adds nothing else, asks no follow-up questions, it’s safe to say I’ve gotten through to her.
“Let’s get you home.”
I straighten my posture and lean into her for a hug. She doesn’t let go quickly, which means she needs this as much as I do.
“I need a drink,” she teases.
I laugh a little and shove her away.
“Shut up and get in the car.”
She walks to the passenger side and hops in, where I join her and start the engine.
“We’ll stop at Uncle Dusty’s diner and sweet talk him out of some hot cocoa mix and whatever cake he has on hand. Then, we bring it all home, lock ourselves in my room for the rest of the day and pretend all our problems went away. Sound good?” I ask.
She peers up, busted lip and all, smiling. “You had me at hot cocoa.”
Chapter 6
WEST
If I play like I just practiced come Saturday, we can kiss the semifinals win goodbye.
In fact, each time a teammate passes by on their way out of the locker room, they shoot me a look that says they’re all thinking the same thing.
My judgment was way off. My footwork was shit.
All because of who’s taking up space in my head when I should be thinking about what’s happening on the field.
I can’t stop going over how I ruined everything. To the point that she hardly even looks at me now. Whatever was happening with us before, it’s officially dead in the water. But still, even seeing it in her eyes that she thoroughly hates me, I can’t wrap my mind around letting it end there.
“Fuck!”
I launch my helmet toward the wall with reckless abandon, then it clatters to the floor. The sound echoes as I pace between my locker and the bench, trying to walk off some of the tension, but it isn’t working. Because no matter what I do, I can’t fix what I’ve fucked up.
This isn’t me. None of it. I’ve never let anything come between me and football. I let the entire team down out there this afternoon. Frustrated and pissed at myself, a growl leaves my mouth, reverberating through the locker room as the last of my teammates clear out. It’s only me and my brothers left now, and I’m sure their silence is only temporary.
“This got something to do with whatever Coach wanted to see you about before practice?” Sterling asks flatly, dropping down onto the bench, still in uniform.
“Just fucking leave it alone,” I grumble, fighting the urge to slam my fist into a locker.
The conversation he’s just asked about is a whole other story altogether. Apparently, Dr. Pryor’s trying to dig for info about the video, which has Coach all up my ass about it. The moral of his lecture was for me to keep my dick in my pants and keep my nose clean. He doesn’t suspect Pryor will let up any time soon, which means I should expect she’ll be lying in wait for me to screw something else up.
With my luck, it’ll be a matter of days until she has whatever she’s looking for.
My heart’s racing, so I sit, trying in vain to calm down.
“Everything’s going to shit,” I admit, feeling bogged down by the weight of it all. But mostly, what I feel is guilt.
With worry and regret tied for second.
I sense both my brothers’ stares locked on me, but I don’t say more. Honestly, I can’t stomach talking about it. Joss only knows as much as she does because I was at my breaking point last night, bleeding with raw emotion I didn’t know how to channel. Not that much has changed since then, but now that I’ve laid eyes on Southside, now that I’ve seen for myself the damage that’s been done, that’s what consumes me—the image of her hating me from the bottom of her heart.
Made me feel like a pussy chasing after her, knowing she’d never listen to what I had to say. Still, I couldn’t stop myself. That’s what she does to me. Makes me fucking insane. Makes my head submit to my damn heart.
Fuck. Listen to me. Spouting weak-ass poetry to myself. This is a whole new low.
“You know you can talk to us about shit, right? Like … anything,” Dane reminds me.
“Could. Don’t want to.”
“Fine. Be a dick,” S
terling adds with a sigh. “You can go nuclear on your own if that’s what you want, but it won’t be because we’re not trying to help you, West.”
He stands, towering over me while I sit.
“Whatever this shit is you’ve been hiding from us? It ain’t bad enough that either of us would ever stop having your back.”
There’s commotion when they grab their bags from their lockers, and then I’m alone. Which seems fitting. As much as I’d like to blame all this on someone else, I’ve brought it on myself. All of it. One way or another.
If Coach finds me, he’ll start in on how I screwed things up today at practice, so I decide it’s time to leave. I stop at my locker only long enough to slip off my jersey and pads, then grab my duffle and leave in just uniform pants, a t-shirt, and cleats.
Cool air hits me as soon as I push open the doors to exit the fieldhouse, making my way down the sidewalk. It’s damn-near cold enough to snow, but I don’t bother doubling back for my coat. It helps, actually, giving me something to focus on other than being a fuck-up.
Unlocking the car from here, I let Dane and Sterling in but take my time catching up to them. It’s clear I’m dragging down their moods with mine, so I figure they can use the short break. I can kind of use one, too. From the constant line of questioning I’ve been getting from everyone.
Asking about the video.
Asking what the fuck is wrong with me.
Some telling me what an asshole I am. And by ‘some’ I mean Joss. She’s the only one who’s had the balls to say that to my face.
I’m so focused on all the BS swimming inside my head I don’t hear footsteps trailing me until half a second before I turn. By that point, the person quickly approaching from behind is almost right on my back.
Of course, it’s the last piece of shit I want to see right now.
Ricky steps to me and I’ve had enough wannabe-tough-guys come at me like this to know it’s time to drop my duffle bag and square up. That glare tells me this isn’t a friendly visit.