by Gemma Weir
I open my mouth to reply, but she’s already walking away.
“That girl is a fucking cunt,” Zeke hisses.
“Is it bad that I really want to throat punch her?” I hear myself say.
Both boys chuckle.
“I know you want to fade into the background, but we can’t let her get away with that, Sis,” Zeke says, his eyes narrowed and flashing with excitement.
“I don’t—” I start.
“If you don’t want to deal with her that’s fine, we’ll do it,” Valentine says, his hot palm stroking along the line of my neck.
“She was my friend,” I say dumbly, sounding like a broken record. The boys stay silent. What is there to say? “Sinner,” I whisper. It’s one word, but the sentiment is the same. I’m a Sinner, the Princess of a biker club full of men who don’t take shit, and I might be a girl, but she’s forced my hand and I’m going to have to prove that I don’t take shit either.
“Sinner,” Zeke echoes back.
My sigh is sad but resigned. “I don’t want to pretend anymore; not that it will make any difference. But if I have to do this, then it’ll be me, not the fake girl.”
“Good,” Zeke says, sounding excited about whatever is about to happen. “How do you want to handle it?”
“Later,” I say rising from my seat.
The day drags. Either Emmy, Zeke, Griffin, or Valentine are in all of my classes so I never have to actually deal with the other kids or their reactions. Strangely, I almost want to get it over and done with; let them all say what they want to say. But no one says anything. I can feel them all looking, but it’s not worse than it was before my epic meltdown.
By lunchtime I’m ready to go back to being homeschooled; not because of the atmosphere, more because school is boring and doing the work at home with my friends is a lot more fun.
My cell beeps and I pull it from my purse and check the group chat we started this morning.
Zeke: Me and Griffin are outside the cafeteria.
Griffin: