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I have to keep from flinching. I made a deal with Breanna, as well. Her brains for my protection. Does everyone use her?
Breanna lifts her head, holding herself proud, but I can spot the anguish on her face. “I want nothing from you.”
“Your choice.” He regards me again. “This doesn’t involve you, so stay out of our way or she’ll pay for your sins.”
He breaks eye contact with me first, not even lasting longer than two seconds before bailing for the door. Breanna crumples with her head in her hands. The anger that had been pulsating within me disappears.
“Hey.” I ease into her personal space and tuck her hair that had swept forward over her shoulder. “Look at me.”
She doesn’t. My fingers slip under her chin and I nudge until
she lowers her hands and raises her face. I swear at the pain in her eyes. “I’ll take care of this.”
The warning bell rings and Breanna bolts. Damn. She doesn’t believe me.
Chevy sticks his head in and looks me over for signs of a fight. “We good, bro?”
I meet his eyes and he nods as he understands that I’m not. He inclines his head to the hallway and the two of us head to class in silence.
Breanna
IT’S ONLY THE third day of my senior year and today already ranks as one of the worst three days of my life. The first being yesterday, the second one belonging to seventh grade, the third is award-winning today.
Reagan slides a tray of food in front of me. There’s plenty on it—pizza, a hamburger, French fries—but there is not an ounce of me that is hungry. She volunteered to stand in line and buy lunch for the three of us while Addison and I claimed the outside picnic table as far from everyone else as possible.
“It’s just rumors.” Addison props her chin on my shoulder in an effort to draw my attention from my cell. “It’ll die down by tomorrow.”
It’s a sunny day. Enormous blue sky. White fluffy clouds. It’s hot, though, like sweat-through-my-shirt hot, and because of that, there are only a few people outside, which is why we chose to sit here for lunch. I need alone time to regroup.
I lower my head into my hands. “Todd posted Razor from the Terror is trying to screw Breanna Miller. Yes, I can see how this will die down by tomorrow.”
“Could be worse,” she says in a light voice. “They could be saying you are definitely screwing Razor. Everyone seems to have enough common sense to keep the rumors somewhat realistic.”
My head slips down farther and my fingers creep into my hair. If Kyle posts that picture, that is exactly the story that will be flying around. Breanna Miller: Reign of Terror slut. There are girls who have earned that title from rumors and they have never lived it down. Boys harass them. Girls ignore them. The world has such a double standard and girls are on the bottom of this filth-ridden pond.
“I’m sorry for not finding you faster,” Addison says. It’s the millionth time she’s apologized for the night at Shamrock’s. She thought she saw me go into the bathroom after I ran from Kyle, and she’d been waiting outside the stall. My best friend was shocked when someone else walked out and then she went into panic mode.
“It’s okay.” And it is. Maybe life would be different if she had found me before Razor did, but I don’t regret my time with him. I just hate Kyle.
Four more Bragger messages pop up. Because I’m a glutton for punishment, I click on the new messages, and sure enough, two of them involve me.
Lily @lilybear · 20 s
This morning was interesting. Is she sleeping with Razor from the Terror?
Because the use of pronouns and not my real name will mislead me to thinking the message isn’t about me. Blah...just blah.
Deke @deke575 · 10 s
Y’all crazy. Twenty dollars @breanna212 is tutoring his stupid ass and he tried something and Kyle came to her rescue.
My heart hurts. I went to the bar to find magic and I did find magic—magic that combusted into a curse when Kyle invaded my privacy by snapping a photo. No one deserves to have their private moments put on display and to be called names. It’s like we’ve regressed to age two and we all need to relearn basic kindergarten manners.
“Finally,” says Reagan as she sits across from me and Addison, obviously reading my cell. She doesn’t understand the term personal boundaries. “A reasonable explanation, plus points to Deke for at-mentioning you instead of talking about you like you aren’t watching the feed. I should totally accept his invitation to next week’s dance for that.”
“What are people saying?” I peer over at Reagan and she purses her lips.
Reagan’s small, but she’s full of personality. One of those people you know is there the moment she jazz-hands her way into a room. She’s shorter than me, shorter than most of the girls at school, but she’s runway pretty.
