by Rebel Hart
I quickly forget about my lunch as I hear a few girls flinging open stall doors that slam shut behind them with the flush of toilets followed by water streaming from faucets. They laugh as they fix their hair and makeup. The smell of perfume and hairspray fills the air as they gossip in hushed tones.
Finally, I hear my name. I half expect them to be discussing my tragic death. I study the sounds of their voices and their shoes from under the stall to try and discern who the girls might be, but I can’t place them.
My eyelids blink rapidly as they talk, my body closing in and growing still to better hear them as the whirring hand dryers finally quiet down enough for me to make out their words.
“Can you believe it?” One girl chirps with a pop of her gum. “She’s nuts. She was so determined to blow him right then and there that she made him run his car straight into the damn telephone pole.”
Resentment and anger bubble up in my chest. I want to come barreling out and tell them everything that really happened. But once again I find myself stilling to see what else I can hear. Hoping for some hint at what to expect next.
“Tragic,” another girl answers dryly. “So what now? We just ignore her?”
“That’s what Vivian says. We’re supposed to act like she doesn’t exist. Which I’m happy to do. That’ll teach her a lesson. Maybe the bitch will think twice before trying to blow someone else’s boyfriend.”
Jesus. What sort of punishment is that? I would take the relief of being shunned over the torture they had been doling out any day.
I bite my lip to hold back the questions bubbling up inside, nodding and blinking as they continue. That’s why there’s a lull in my torment. The Elites have told everyone to ignore me at all costs. For the rest of the semester. No talking. No looking. I am essentially a ghost.
My lips purse with raised brows, my fingers pinching against my chin. I obsessively check my phone once more, feeling half tempted to text last night’s unknown number back. At least it’d be someone to talk to if nothing else. Still nothing.
The girls shuffle their plastic cosmetic cases back into their bags in a flurry of maniacal cackles as they exit the bathroom, the door swinging shut behind them to leave me in silence.
It couldn’t be so bad, right? So, no one talks to me. Who cares? It’ll be a relief in comparison to what I’ve been experiencing.
The isolation carries on throughout the day. I catch a few glimpses of Emmett, each time renewing my urge to feel his lips again. To hear the breathless groans he makes beneath my kiss. But the surge of hormones always dissipates into knots of anxiety as he effortlessly continues to not see me.
I choke down my desire for him, running through the list of everything he’s done to me so that maybe I will finally come to my senses and be glad that I am exiled.
Walking through the halls, I feel the emptiness in the lack of strange and pitying looks I had grown used to. In their effort to shun me, even the whispers of my name have vanished. I’m not even a topic of gossip anymore.
Under doctor’s orders, I still can’t run for a few days. So, I’m relieved when it’s time for gym. I need something to do to work off this anxiety. Some physical activity might calm my nerves.
I walk past the cinder block walls of the gym, scoffing at the school’s name painted along the shiny wood floor. I hate that my name is somehow wrapped up in the legacy of this hellhole with the new knowledge of my father’s attendance and former Elite title.
But his involvement disturbs me much less than my mom’s. She is supposed to be a cornerstone in my life. One person I can fall back on when I have no one else. But now even she is tainted by the WJ Prep sickness. Not knowing to what extent only makes it worse, somehow.
My back aches from the lack of support on the bleachers retracting into the walls as I anxiously wait for the teacher to announce what we’re doing today. I slump my shoulders at the revelation of dodgeball, the basket of balls quickly rolling in behind the words.
Great, that will be heavenly for my already sore and aching muscles. But honestly, I’ll take it. The thrash of balls into my painful joints might be soothing somehow. Something to jolt me out of this haze of nonexistence. A reminder that I am alive.
With the blow of the teacher’s whistle, the gym quickly fills with the sounds of sneakers squeaking across the floor and students calling out to one another. But my state of exile worsens. Every ball I try to snatch up is quickly taken right out from under me. Not a single one is thrown in my direction.
I stand with my hands on my hips, watching as the entire game races by without me. A comedic image of the bullied kid being a target and getting pounded with everyone’s balls at once flashes through my mind. A scenario that I would almost welcome at this point. Somehow being ignored is worse.
Realizing my participation is null and void, I retreat to the water fountains to lap up as much as I can take in, partly to soothe my sudden unquenchable thirst, but mostly to avoid the awkwardness of being invisible.
The locker room is another place most girls would gladly accept a shroud of invisibility, but once again I am surprised at how much it bothers me. I sit on the long wooden bench in the middle of the lockers and stare down to the faint mildew spots staining the grout between the plain beige tiled floor, wishing I could find relief in all of this.
Surely being ignored is better than being tortured. I wanted an end to it, and now here it is. Served up to me on a silver platter. But it doesn’t feel like a break at all. It’s like the silent ghost town in a movie with crows cawing ominously in the distance, tumbleweeds blowing past. Quiet should be good, but you know it’s just making space for whatever bad thing happens next.
Suddenly, I see a familiar pair of shoes in the corner of my eye. My heart leaps as I look up to see Lily huddled in the corner, drying sweat from her hair.
“Lily!” I rush over like an excited puppy, my voice cracking under the hours of not speaking out loud. “There you are!”
She doesn’t respond at first, looking to her phone instead before finishing her preparations to head back out into the hall.
“Oh, come on,” I huff with a laugh, assuming she’s just messing with me .“Not you too.”
My smile wavers as she looks straight through me, refusing to let her eyes meet mine. My hands wrap around my arms as I feel my face blanch. Before I know it, she’s whirling right past me, stepping to the side to avoid our shoulders bumping. She is pointedly ignoring me right along with everyone else.
Left alone again, I tensely pace the locker room tiles, wringing my hands across the back of my neck. For the first time today, I want to cry. The one person I consider a friend is now against me. Everyone is avoiding me. I am completely alone.
My world quickly feels like it’s closing in. With even Lily refusing to speak to me, I officially have no one outside of my parents. Between this new discovery about my mom and biological father and their ties to WJ Prep, mixed in with feeling like I couldn’t tell them anything that was really happening at school, they feel like they’re a million miles away even if they’re right next to me.
I stand with my hand spread across the wall, my head bowing to take in a series of deep inhales and exhales, before reentering the halls to exit the building. My heart rate finally slows when I’m outside again, feeling the warmth of the sun on my cheeks. But even the cloudy blue skies seem ominous in my exile.
I hesitate in my pace with each person I pass in the parking lot, thinking someone will cave in and acknowledge me. But they’ve obviously done this before. It’s like the Elites control a switchboard in everyone’s brains and can simply flip it on anyone at any time, making them completely unperceivable.
I debate going to practice. I can’t run away. But I had planned on at least stopping by to talk to Coach Granger. My mom had already called to let him know I’d be absent for a couple of days as I recovered, but surely he’s above this vow of silence? He might be the only person left who would still speak to me.
It was disgusting the way the entire school staff, and even the police, just sucked up to the Elites, going along with whatever new dumb thing they demanded. Even if it meant pretending I didn’t exist. It was that extent of their power and influence that kept me silent. Especially after seeing my mom playing chummy with Trey and Vincent.
By not telling anyone, even my parents or coach, I still have some distant hope of confessing to them as a last resort. If I play that card too soon only to find it did nothing, I would feel too hopeless to go on.
I can’t find Coach Granger at the track, and of course no one will answer me when I try to ask around for him. But finally I catch a note on the billboard informing everyone that he’d be absent today and to run the usual laps.
Fucking of course. Of all the days he could be absent, it had to be the one when he might have been the only person who would acknowledge me.
With each new instance of being shunned, I want to take off running to my car. But I’m too sore and tired. I walk slower than a turtle, kicking pebbles as I go. By the time I do reach my car, I decide to keep walking. I already feel claustrophobic with a lingering shock from the crash. I can’t stand the thought of getting in. I’ll walk home.
My mind races as I go, drenched in self-loathing of my own hypocrisy. From day one all I wanted was for everyone to forget me. Move their target to someone else’s back. I just wanted to run and focus on my grades, hoping if I stayed out of their way they’d stay out of mine. And now that my wish is finally granted, I can’t stand it.
When I get home, the house is dark and quiet, only worsening my feeling of seclusion. I remember Mom saying she would be working late. I collapse into bed, not even bothering to change out of my uniform. Sprawled out across the bed, my hand grips the phone, waiting for any kind of message. Even a bad one. Anything at all.
The long, gray day fades as I drift into a light nap. The kind that comes from boredom and restlessness, where every tiny sound or thought wakes you up again. Denying you the escape of sleep.
Chapter Eleven
BOOK 1
I don’t know how long I’ve been awake before I finally resign to having to open my eyes. I had half-hoped I would just fall asleep again and wouldn’t have to worry about it, but it became apparent that wasn’t going to happen this time. The room is still mostly dark, but the harsh rays of light darting through the openings in the curtains tell me it isn’t early morning anymore.
I look over to the nightstand. 12:00pm. Shit. I slept in again. This is becoming a more frequent pattern, seemingly beyond my control. I lay here for hours, tossing and turning, not falling asleep until it’s almost dawn. Then I’m unable to stay awake when I should be getting up.
One week has gone by. Still nothing. No one will look at me. No one will talk to me. Aside from the moments I desperately cling to with my mom and Brendan, which are scarce around their busy work schedules, I am completely alone.
I slide out of bed, my still-tired body aching with each movement. My legs seem to buckle underneath me, not wanting to cooperate. I go downstairs, finding the house to be empty. My parents have already left for work.
I make it into the kitchen and see that it is mostly empty. Well, not exactly empty. There are eggs and bacon and bread for toast. A normal person would jump right in to making a nice breakfast, but the thought of cooking right now repulses me. I have zero appetite or energy to prepare food.
I throw on a t-shirt, secure my hair up into a sloppy bun and put on a pair of leggings and tennis shoes. Most importantly, I put on sunglasses to hide my tired eyes from the world. Walking out into the sun is painful. It burns into my eyes, my head and every bone in my body.
Once I’m at school, I wander through the halls, accepting my fate in exile. At least no one cares that I’m late. I look around and see a gangly kid approaching me with an apologetic look on his face. Finally, this is it. Someone is going to talk to me. But instead he just rushes past to his friends on the other side of the hall.
Coach Granger has been absent for a family emergency. And none of the other teachers will acknowledge my existence. Even when I try to corner them with direct questions, the other students always find a way to distract them or steal the attention back.
I am completely and utterly alone.
A state that at times, especially recently, I thought I wanted. But now that it is happening, I am more miserable than I have ever been.
I understand the concept now of children misbehaving for attention. Because negative attention is better than no attention at all. They would rather be punished than be ignored, and that is exactly how I feel right now.
I miss the punishment of the Elites. That’s how insane isolation has driven me.
It’s lunchtime, and I am over hiding away alone in the bathroom. I thought if I faced down being ignored, something would change. But then I realized it didn’t matter if I tried to hide or put myself out in the middle of everything. The result is the same. So there’s no use in hiding.
Instead I sit here in a room full of people completely alone. I can hear cackles from the Elite table. And it makes me want to smack each one of them in the face until there’s nothing left to laugh about.
That’s it. I have reached my breaking point. Finally, I’m so desperate for human contact that I decide to do something drastic. Something that can’t be ignored.
I scan across the room, inevitably landing my sights on the Elites’ lunch table. I hate how happy and arrogant they look. They don’t deserve to be so carefree with the misery they inflict on other people’s lives, and I’ve finally had enough.
I can feel my muscles quake as I stand from my seat and charge straight for them. My nostrils flare as sweat beads across my skin. My shoulders bump against people as I go, which they still do their best to ignore, and I don’t stop until I’m at the edge of their table.
They keep looking everywhere but at me, but I see their eyes give the faintest glint in my direction. Everything closes in around Vivian in pure tunnel vision. She is the only thing I can see now.
I bare my teeth and with one sweeping, swift motion, I slap Vivian right across the face. A violent clap echoes through the silent lunchroom as my flat and stiffened palm strikes her cheek.
Vivian looks up to me with a vicious growl, her hand still pressed against her red cheekbone in shock. Her eyes bulge out of her head so far, I think they might burst.
Before I can think or do anything else, she is pummeling toward me. My body slams to the ground beneath her attack, her hands pinning my arms down long enough for her to break free and go for a punch.
I am too high on jealousy and anger. My adrenaline is pumping, giving me what feels like special powers. I am alert and sharp enough to catch her blow midair with my hand gripped around her wrist. I roll over, reversing our positions so that she is now the one pinned below me.
I go into a flurry of punches. One right after the other. Anywhere I can manage. Her face, her ear, her side. She knees me a few good times, but other than that is completely helpless beneath my rage. I can’t even feel the scratches she manages to get in across my hands and arms in defense.
I stare ahead blankly, cold and hard as jeers and taunts swell up around us. Finally, I think. At least they’re acknowledging that they can see me. I don’t even care that they are cheering for Vivian, encouraging her to get the upper hand again.
I’m surprised that no one jumps in to stop me, but I imagine I look like an absolute mad woman running on nothing but pure anger. They’re afraid of me. I also like to think everyone secretly wants to see Vivian get the shit beat out of her.
Finally, an arm across my chest snaps me from my red blur o
f fury, but barely. I feel a man’s firm chest push to my back as I’m raised into the air, my arms still flailing viciously. Just before I’m hauled through the swinging cafeteria doors, I see Vivian glaring as she’s left to pick herself up off the floor.
I don’t know who is carting me off until he’s pushing me up against the wall of an empty classroom. Emmett.
His hand grips around my neck, his own neck muscles bulging and his breath heavy through his nose. I don’t recoil as I normally would. I’m so desperate for his eyes to be burning into mine. His hands across my skin, even if they are holding on too tight. Instead I melt into him, drawing my chin up to meet his gaze.
The desperation in my eyes softens his touch, drawing the curve of his finger across my jaw.
“What the hell were you thinking?” he hisses, his skin roiling with desire. I can feel it coursing through his fingertips, and I know how it is burning into him because I feel it too.
“You can’t do this to me,” I respond breathlessly, his fingers clutching harder into my neck as I speak. “You can’t just pretend I don’t exist.”
“You did this to yourself,” he groans, his head swaying with the rhythm of my squirms. “If you had just been a good little pet and done what you were told…”
“Enough of that shit!” I try my best to shout, but it cracks into a whisper. “I’m no one’s pet. Not even yours. All I’ve done is defend myself.”
“Oh no?” he grins devilishly. His hand drops below my neck, forcefully pressing down every inch of my chest before resting across my abs. “You’re not my pet?” His eyes move hungrily over me from top to bottom, taking in every inch of me.
I want to scream no, but I can’t say anything. I’m too high on the ecstasy of human contact.
“I like you like this,” he croons softly, leaning closer to my ear. The soft graze of his lips sets my skin on fire. “Broken down…desperate. I bet I could do anything I wanted to you right now, couldn’t I?”
“Key word being want,” I shoot back in a moan. “You do want me. You have wanted me this whole time.”