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Mr. McCoy lunged over, taking up the space in front of me. “Where do you think you’re going?”
I aimed to duck under his arm, but he shoved his body to block.
“Let me go,” I said, in what I hoped was a tone that would make him realize I’d do whatever it took to get out of there.
“Do you think you can walk out of here? I’ve caught you red-handed stealing from other girls.”
“You have no proof,” I said. “You’re assuming.”
“My logical conclusions are rarely wrong.”
I turned again, trying to get around him on the other side. His hand shot out to the center of my chest and he shoved.
I hadn’t been expecting it and I fell back, landing hard against the tile on my butt. A sharp pain radiated from my tailbone. Did it crack again?
I forced myself up, jumping to my feet and backing away, holding my hands up. “Let me go,” I said, in a voice as loud as I could muster.
McCoy grinned in a way that made my skin crawl. “Did you think you could walk out of here? What did you assume would happen? I would forget about it? I could call the police right now and have you arrested for being a thief.”
“Why haven’t you?”
He sputtered. “What?”
“Why haven’t you called the police?” I asked. I was tired of this, tired of him. He had spooked me before when he had grabbed me in the hallway. This time, I knew what I was supposed to do. My heart still thundered in my chest, but my mouth flew open. “That’s what you want from me, right? You want to get rid of me? Here’s your perfect excuse. Call the police. Use my phone, if you’d like.”
He smirked. “You’re trying to dare me?”
“I don’t think you’ve got any evidence. You just want to intimidate me. Why? What interest is it to you what I do?”
He frowned, held my cell phone out in front of him and dropped it to the floor. Another crack echoed through the shower room. He staggered forward, pointing a chubby finger toward me. “Listen to me, Miss Sang. You are a conniving little girl and no one will believe you for a minute. I’ve been at this school for twenty years. You’ve been caught stealing. Not to mention all the trouble you’ve been in since you first started here.” He took another step forward, within arm’s length now. His eyes lowered from my face to my chest. “I’m doing you a favor. Cooperate and I won’t call the police.”
“I said call them,” I urged, although with less conviction this time. I backed up until I met with the shower wall.
He grunted, lifted a hand toward my face, fingers a breath-width away from my nose.
In a panic, I struck out, swiping away his hand. I wasn’t thinking, only reacting. My brain wasn’t working enough to tell me what to do. All I knew was here was the vice principal telling me I was in trouble.
Mr. McCoy glowered at me, raising a fist. “Think you can hit me?”
What else could I do? Never when Kota or Nathan was showing me how to hit someone else did I imagine I’d have to ever use it. I never thought he would go this far. They had trained me, but somehow still never thought he would go this far. How would I ever recover if I hit him? He could charge me with assault and I’d be arrested. Wasn’t I supposed to stay out of trouble?
His hand shot out again, gripping at my shoulder and shoving me hard against the wall of the showers. His voice dropped several octaves. “You think you can hit me and get away with it?”
The pain that hit my back as I met with the wall sparked the anger I needed. My hand made a fist and I aimed for his solar plexus.
He jumped back, letting go of me and out of the reach of my fists. His face reddened, enraged.
I held up my fists, readying my feet, ready to kick. “Stay away from me,” I said, my voice a squeak and cracking.
The corner of his mouth lifted. Was he enjoying this? “You’re in trouble, now. Hitting a vice principal. You’ll end up in jail for a long time. You’ll be expelled.”
I gritted my teeth, aimed my knee and kicked out. If I was going to get expelled now, I was at least going to get a good strike in.
He must have been expecting it, because the moment my foot struck out, he lurched away. He caught my ankle and shoved.
I fell sideways against the wall, my leg twisted and he let go. I dropped to the floor, my knee throbbing in pain.
“Do you think you’re the first student to attack me?” Mr. McCoy stepped forward. He crouched and hovered over me. “I’ve had all manner of students, many much bigger than you, trying to get out of trouble by fighting and running away. That never works.”
I moaned, struggling against the pain. I gripped at the tile, trying to crawl. Kota was right. I was too slow. I give too much warning.
His fingers wrapped around my ankle, pulling me back toward him. I slid across the tile, scrambling to grip at the floor to get up and get away. He held strong, easily pinning my leg to the ground.
“Let me go,” I said, meaning to yell at him but fear captured my voice and my voice box wouldn’t let me get out much more than a few cracked syllables.
“You might ask for mercy,” he said, frowning. “And if you cooperate now, you might get some. Maybe. You don’t deserve it, though. I’ve seen your type before. You with your perverted fanfare of boyfriends following behind you. You flaunt yourself at them and they come for you, doing whatever you ask. Getting detentions all at the same time for you.” He glowered. “It’s disgusting.”
I kicked out toward him but his other hand found my second ankle. He wrapped his arms around my feet, holding them down against the floor.
“Don’t fight me,” he said, a warning growl under his voice, his grip on my ankles strengthened.
Fresh waves of pain shifted up my leg. I sat up, blindly striking out at him, wild. When he dodged my flying fists, I tried pulling myself up, reaching along the wall to try to yank myself out of his grasp.
He sighed heavily. “Will you stop? You’ll only wear yourself out.”
My hand clutched something metal and I pulled at it, trying to pick myself up. The handle twisted.
A stream of water shot out from the showerhead above us.
The moment the water streamed down into my face, against my body, I recoiled into myself, covering my head with my arms. My breath escaped me. I bit my tongue to keep myself conscious. If I fainted now, I couldn’t fight off McCoy. Memories and waves of queasiness sashayed through me, threatening to take me down.
Mr. McCoy let go of my ankles. “Stupid girl,” he snapped at me. He shook his arms over my head, standing away from the stream of water. He reached around the water, grabbing at the collar of my shirt. He used it to pull me out away from the wall and from the falling water.
He gripped at my stomach and started to drag me for a distance toward the archway of the shower room. I scratched at his arms, trying to get him to release me. He shook me hard enough that my head was rolling. I struck out blindly, trying to hit anything I could.
Panic seeped into every atom inside me. I called out, with what little voice I had. Where were the coaches? Where was he taking me? I couldn’t let him carry me off
. Somehow I knew if I did, that would be the end.
“Let go of her,” thundered a commanding voice. A thud followed and I was dropped.
I crawled away, my skirt and blouse sticking to my body and my trembling and pain making it difficult to stand. I looked up in time to see Mr. Blackbourne standing over the slumped body of Mr. McCoy. I blinked, and blinked again. I couldn’t believe my eyes. I held my breath, assuming Mr. McCoy would get up. He would scream after us. He would come at me again. He would call the police now and have us both arrested.
No. He was down. One hit, and Mr. Blackbourne had knocked him out cold.
Mr. Blackbourne jumped over Mr. McCoy’s body, and raced to me. He hovered over, his steel eyes flashing. “Miss Sorenson,” he said, his voice a thousand times softer than I’d ever heard it before. “What hurts?”
I breathed out a groan, swallowing. In that split moment, I really didn’t know anything hurt at all. I was in shock. My mouth moved, trying to tell him this but my voice had disappeared. My eyes wandered to Mr. McCoy, trying to determine if it was safe.
Mr. Blackbourne frowned. He brought his hand to hover in front of my face and snapped sharply. “Don’t worry about him,” he commanded. The cool and collected Mr. Blackbourne I knew was taking over. “Can you get up?”
I gritted my teeth, shifting to get up on my knees. “I don’t know,” I said honestly, my voice small and unusual to me.
Mr. Blackbourne’s face steeled over. “Let me help,” he said. He wrapped his hands around my arms, pulling me up along with him.
My foot hurt, probably the old bone bruise having been aggravated. I was able to stand next to him. My knee felt like it had been twisted.
Mr. Blackbourne’s spring scent filled my nose as I breathed in deeply. It helped me to find my strength and I forced myself to put pressure on my foot, despite the pain, just to show I could walk on it if I had to. Every other part of me felt numb. My clothes dripped, sticking to my skin.
Screeching from running shoes against tile closed in on us. Mr. Blackbourne planted himself in front of me, blocking my view and presenting himself as a shield.
“Where are you?” North’s voice called from deeper within the locker room.
