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“Fuck them,” I offer with a shrug. “Way worse things have been sent out over that app about me.”
My comments only make things more tense and awkward. Especially as I am left remembering how it was Emmett who once stole my phone when I was the old Elite’s number one target. I find myself instinctively inching closer to the car door as the memories flood over me. The vile things he sent me, both sexual and predatory all at once. The nude photo they found of me and sent to every single student and teacher in the school.
I’m lost in all these things I’d rather forget as Emmett puts the car into park at school and waits. I start to unbuckle and grab my things but freeze as I notice him not moving at all.
“Aren’t you coming?”
“No,” he huffs. “I’m going back home today.”
“Then why did you pick me up? How am I going to get home?” I ask in confusion.
“I picked you up because I promised I would,” he explains tensely. “And I’ll be here to pick you up after school too, just like I said I would be.”
The tone of his voice sounds almost condescending and resentful, making me angry. I could have driven myself to school and maybe would have preferred that if I had known he was skipping today.
“Is this because of the text?” I ask with a sigh, tired of dancing around it.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” he grumbles through clenched teeth. I can see his knuckles turning white as he tightly wrings his hand around the steering wheel, causing the leather to creak.
“Emmett, you can’t let them have that kind of control,” I urge him, speaking from experience. “You know better than anyone…that’s what they want. You have to march right in there with your head held high, so they know they can’t hurt you. Even if they do hurt you, you have to carry on anyway. Otherwise they’ll never lay off.”
He shakes his head and looks out his window. I can see the torment twisting inside of him. He’s humiliated, but safe hiding here in his car. Walking through those double doors puts him right into the hands of unkind, snickering assholes who will use the text as ammunition. Messages through the Elites app is like an arrow pointing to the person everyone is supposed to give shit to. Anyone who doesn’t make their best effort at pouring salt on Emmett’s wounds could become the next victim.
“Maybe we should get revenge,” he perks up suddenly. “Find something on Malcolm to put out there and get back at him. I have some old embarrassing photos of him from when we were kids.”
“It’s just a waste of time,” I insist. “Even if we do manage to strike some kind of nerve with him, it’s only going to make things worse. He’ll retaliate with something much bigger. They’ve already tried to kill me this year, Emmett. I don’t have time to wage a war against them right now. I need to focus on school and getting into college so I can get us the hell out of here.”
He’s immediately turned off by my refusal to play their games, shaking his head and growing more irritated by the second as I talk. “Well, who says you have to help at all,” he shoots back begrudgingly. “I’m not worried about getting into college right now or anything else really. I’ll go after him myself.”
That thought scares me even more. Emmett humiliated and desperate, feeling like he has nothing to lo
se, going after Malcolm for revenge. Two entitled, fucked-up high school boys going head to head with millions of dollars and a disregard for human life on the line. It’d be a nightmare. One in which I can’t see everyone surviving.
“What happened to what you said last night?” I argue, even though it still causes a huge lump to form in my throat. “Partners, remember? Your problems are my problems?” He softens a little but still seems insistent on clinging to all this bubbling rage. “Let’s just walk in there and get through this together. I’ll hold your hand the whole way and march you right up to your first class. Like I said, Emmett. Fuck them. Don’t let them send you running off and hiding.”
He lets out a long heavy sigh before finally, slowly turning the key in the ignition, shutting down the engine. He’s still a while afterward, gathering up all the energy he has to go through with this. Or maybe he’s just turning himself to stone. Compartmentalizing and shutting down. His upbringing forced him to become very good at detachment.
But he must still be feeling something because he squeezes my hand tight as we walk inside. When the doors swing open, it’s as if everyone has been waiting for us. They all go completely silent and turn to us with wide eyes as we make our way through. All of the students are divided up against the lockers, leaving plenty of room for us to go right past them down the middle of the hall. But it also puts us in perfect view and we’re all too aware of their growing snickers and whispers as we walk by.
I can feel the muscles in Emmett’s hands tense the further we go. His heart pounds through his wrist. The further we go, the louder and more blatant the taunting becomes. As they grow bolder in their insults, directing them at Emmett rather than each other now, the crowd seems to be closing in. The students push out from the lockers lining the walls on either side of us and put themselves in our path. We’re forced to zig-zag to dodge them, but as they close in on us, each time we avoid bumping into one of them, another is waiting just behind them.
Emmett’s hand twists in mine, growing damp and I see beads of sweat forming on his brow. Everyone is shouting at us and cackling, jumping all around like crazy people, not letting us move any further. It’s so loud and suffocating that we can barely make out their words, but every once in a while, an awful jab will stand out among the rest. Terrible things about Emmett and his father. They throw Thomas’s death in his face and blame him for it, all while making fun of him for being poor.
I’m not immune to the insults, of course. If anything, I give them more ammunition. Vivian coined me as the white trash girl who didn’t belong here and needed to go back where I came from. The fact that we’re a couple only spurs them on more. They mock Emmett for having found a poor, white trash girl just like him to fuck in whatever dirty shack we come from. The worst part is, knowing how these kids live, my little house and his little apartment are like uninhabitable shit holes to them.
As the shouting worsens and the crowd folds over us, we both begin to duck and shield ourselves with our arms as fruit and opened packets of condiments fly at us. I feel something soggy splash against my cheek just as a packet of ketchup smears across my jacket. They sound like a mob of crazed monkeys on the attack.
I grip Emmett’s hand tighter and begin fighting our way through, dragging him along. He’s stronger and scarier than me, but I can feel the panic coursing through his veins. He’s never experienced anything like this before. Even I have to admit this is more dramatic than some of the shit the Elites pulled on me.
Finally, we pierce through the bulk of them enough for me to hear his hyperventilating pants. I shove the remaining stragglers out of the way and pull him into the closest closet, where we can find some peace. His nostrils are flaring in and out as he heaves. I grip his shoulders and try to get him to look at me, but he looks lost. I’ve seen that empty look in his eyes before. It’s from whatever scary place he goes into when he’s put into a position he finds himself unable to handle.
“Hey!” I bark, trying to snap him out of it as I firmly shake his shoulders. “Hey, Emmett! Look at me!” I try again, but he’s unresponsive. He looks in every direction, doing his best to avoid making eye contact with me, still breathing wildly.
“Stop it!” I scream again, become afraid. The shrillness of my voice causes something in him to snap and one of his hands rears back above me. I flinch, throwing my hands up and whimpering slightly, convinced that he’s so out of control he’ll actually hit me. But when nothing strikes me, I slowly lower my hands just as he starts coming back to reality.
His face softens and fills with remorse. His brows wrinkle and he looks like he’s about to start crying. He collapses against my shoulder with a breathless series of gasps. Short, shallow cries with no tears to back them up.
“I’m sorry,” he groans listlessly, clinging to my body. “I don’t…I don’t know what happened…I just…I couldn’t take…that.”
