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Tugging her arms behind her back, I loop the fabric around her wrists and then grab her ankles, bending her knees and twisting the belt around quickly. I knot it off, and stand. Closing my robe with my hands, I walk away leaving Chelsey tied up, face-first in the dirt.

A guy behind me bellows, “Holy shit! Yankee Chick hog-tied her!”

The comment spreads through the crowd like a wave and as I storm away. More students are rushing over, phones out, with flashes flaring as they take pictures. Rushing at a grouping of shrubs, I pluck my suit from the branches and scurry inside as more students race out. Someone claps me on the back, thanking me for putting that bitch in her place. When I get to my hall, my resident advisor smiles at me as she passes by me.

Was Chelsey horrible to everyone? I thought she was only picking on me.

When I’m in our room again, I shut the door and look out the window. She’s still lying there, screaming. No one helps her. A sinking feeling slithers across my stomach and I feel bad for her. Even her friends post her red face and hogtied hands and feet on Facebook rather than helping her up.

I ditch the robe and pull on the suit. I have no stockings and no bra. I grab an extra pair of undies from my gym bag and pull them on. Meeting Ferro with no bra is insane. He’s going to think I want him or something worse. I button the suit jacket and look down at my figure. It’s harder to tell that I’m swinging free.

I whip my hair into a quick bun and look out the window for my shoes. They’re by the parking lot. I pad back down the stairs, rush past Beth who watches me with sad eyes, and shove through the doors. As I slip on the second shoe, I glance back into the square. Chelsey is still there. Campus police didn’t show up. What the hell? They should have stopped this by now.

I could turn and walk away. She deserved everything she got, but the prolonged humiliation and heckling from the wild crowd around her pisses me off. Someone should have helped her up by now. I can’t believe there’s not one Good Samaritan in the lot of them.

“Damn it,” I growl and march across the lawn. I shove my pointy elbows into the crowd, forcing my way to the center. When I get there I see Chelsey crying, still lying on her stomach, but now she’s covered in marker.

Someone wrote on her. Across her forehead it says BITCH. Along her cheek, smeared by tears, is the word WHORE. She whips her face the other way and the letters C.U.N.T. are on her other cheek.

Oh. My. God. Chelsey is screaming as tears run down her face. Grass and dirt stick to her once perfect skin, obscuring the words. A fat permanent marker lies next to her on the grass. Students are shouting demands to roll her over and keep writing on her legs, suggesting more insults to brand her with.

I bellow at them, red-faced, “WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?”

I don’t wait for a reply. They’ve turned into a mob of crazy people. I swoop in, lifting my batshit crazy roommate, and carrying her like a baby in my arms. Holy crap, she’s heavy. I need to do more pushups. I run-walk across the lawn, making a beeline for my bus at the edge of the parking lot. I’m turning into a sweaty mess and my suit is sticking to my body. The parking lot is so close. I think about putting her down and untying her once there’s enough distance between the crowd and Chelsey, but after a few moments some of the guys in the crowd follow me.

“Come back here, we weren’t done yet,” one guy with dark hair and really broad shoulders calls out behind me. They walk slowly and I feel frantic, like I’m being chased by zombies on steroids.

When my feet hit asphalt I know I can get on the bus before they reach me. Thank God they don’t decide to run. I round the front of the bus and grunt up the stairs, hoisting Chelsey higher, and banging my knee into her butt by accident. My center of gravity shifts and I trip.

Chelsey falls on the floor and cries out, “You stupid bitch! You did this to me and now you’re kidnapping me! I’m going to sue your ass off and make you so poor you’ll have to hang your toilet paper up to dry!"

“Shut up, Chelsey. I’m trying to save your pampered ass.” I hurry and shove the handle that closes the doors. They shut and I crawl up into the driver’s seat, grabbing the keys from the floor and then forcing them into the ignition and turn over the engine.

A group of guys rushes the bus and one of them manages to pry open the door. They’re acting insane—like they want to beat the crap out both of us. I can’t get the bus into gear and drive away with them inside. I don’t know what to do. I don’t have pepper spray on me. It’s in my purse. I’m lucky I left the keys in the bus. No one stole it as hoped for, but we can get away if I can keep these guys from storming my bus.

Three of them shove up the stairs at the same time, two in front and one in back. They make it to the second step when the wild hissing starts. It’s coming from the seat above Chelsey’s head. Pita, that rabid fur ball, is perched on top of the seat. He swats an inky paw at them as spittle flies from his black lips.

The bus lurches to life and the startled men fall backward. They land on the pavement in the parking lot in a pile. I don’t stop. I keep driving until we’re off school property.

When I stop at the traffic light, still shaking, Kevin the bike cop starts yelling in through the open door. “Pull over!”

I glance at him and then back at Chelsey who’s cursing and crying in the aisle. She got quieter when the raccoon decided to sit on her hair. Pita is picking foliage from it and sniffing each piece like he might want to eat it.

I glance at Kevin and put the bus in park. This looks really bad, but I could use his assistance. Maybe he won’t report me. At this point, I expect Chelsey to set me on fire and take everything I own. I’m screwed either way.

I sigh at him. “I am pulled over. Come up here. I need your help.”

Kevin blinks, surprise washing across his face. I rush down the aisle, which makes Pita rush back to his hiding spot at the back of the bus. I untie Chelsey, bracing for her to claw my face off when I pull her up, but instead she falls apart in my arms. Sobs shake her body and she hugs me tightly.

When Kevin walks up the stairs, he sees her and freezes. The guy is one hundred percent dork with shortly cropped hair and ill-fitting uniform. He’s the kind of guy that would never approach Chelsey, but today he does. He carefully asks, “Are you all right?”

Chelsey looks up at him and bawls louder.

I pry her off of me and loop her arms around Kevin’s neck. “Please take her home. Wash the marker off her face and give her something to eat.”

He swears, muttering, pulling back her long blonde locks to see what’s written on her skin. “Is that permanent?”

“I think so. There’s acetone in our room.” He stares at me like I’m speaking Greek. “It’s nail polish remover. It’ll strip off anything.”

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