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I lean toward him and kiss him. “Then we’ll make him.”
CHAPTER 31
BRYNN
Ihurry to thebasement below the school gym and enter the locker room with the note from my secret admirer clutched in my hands. Light from the hallway spills inside, illuminating the metal lockers for brief seconds before snicking shut and plunging me into darkness.
The dance is nearly halfway over. The bass from the music in the gym fills the darkened space, matching the rapid beat of my heart.
Maybe I’m a romantic or just foolish, I’m not sure which, but when I started getting anonymous notes from a secret admirer nearly three weeks ago, I felt flattered. Some of them were cute rhymes or poems, but most of them were simply an ode to all the things they liked about me: the sound of my laugh, my lips, hair, eyes, or the way I carry myself in the halls. Each one was a mini declaration. Each one sent a shockwave straight to my heart.
So when I received the note today at school, asking me to meet him in the locker rooms during the dance at half past ten, I couldn’t resist.
Finally, I would get to meet him and take his hand in mine. Maybe even kiss his lips and share a dance with him.
I wonder who he is, if I sit beside him in class. Maybe I talk to him every day. Or maybe he’s never even mustered the courage to say hello. He could be a freshman like me, or an upperclassman. I have no idea, but the suspense is killing me.
I’m nearly vibrating with excitement by the time I carefully cross the locker room floor, my heels echoing against the hard floor.
I can’t see anything, and I have no idea where the light switch is. For the first time tonight, I wish I hadn’t left my phone in the car, but I didn’t want to worry about looking after it all night.
I can barely see my hand in front of my face as I spread my arms out, feeling my way, until I meet the cold, hard metal surface of the lockers and decide to turn back for the door. There has to be a light switch somewhere, and I’m guessing that’s where I’ll find it.
I feel my way, but quickly realize at some point I’ve turned around, as my hands meet the cool porcelain of what feels like a sink.
Shit.
I hear the creak of a door behind me, so I turn my head, listening carefully as it echoes shut. Maybe I can follow the sound to the front of the locker room?
The snick of a lock follows, and my head lifts at the same time my stomach plummets.
That must be him . . .
I swallow, my pulse accelerating as I call out, “Hello?” The sound of my voice ricochets off the walls as I wait for him to answer.
Nothing.
Fear creeps down my spine as I call out, “Can you turn the light on? I can’t—”
A rough hand clamps over my mouth while the other presses something hard and cold against my throat.
“If you make a sound, I’ll slit your throat,” a low, quiet voice skates over my skin. I try to place it, but the shock of fear is making it hard to think.
I take shallow breaths, almost afraid to breathe, to move, as the hand holding my mouth slowly releases me while the other one stays in place, holding the hard object I assume is a knife against my windpipe.
If you make a sound, I’ll slit your throat.
I swallow, cringing at the hot breath in my ear and the sour scent of booze.
The telltale sound of a zipper pierces the quiet, and I can feel him grappling with his pants. The knife tightens. Hips grind into me from behind and I whimper.
His free hand reappears, groping my breasts over top of my dress while a tear slides down my cheek.
My body begins to shake as I squeeze my eyes shut, letting him feel me up.
Thoughts ping-pong in my brain.
Do I fight?
