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Shit has shifted between Rylee and me. While I may not be opposed to Oliver pulling harmless stunts against Rylee, I refuse to let anyone else fuck with her. That includes Tiffany and her gaggle of girls.
I stand, ready to demand some answers, when Tiffany spins around and flounces out of the cafeteria. I stalk over to Oliver.
“What the hell was that about? What are you two up to?”
There’s something in his eyes that I don’t like. Something calculating and sinister.
“Not a clue. She just told me to keep an eye out for something big.”
I’m not sure if I believe him or not, but unless I’m prepared to beat the truth out of him, Oliver won’t say shit. He’s a stubborn bastard when he wants to be, and from the hard set of his jaw, I know this is one of those times.
He smiles and winks at Rylee, before turning and walking away, whistling a happy tune.
I have no clue what he and Tiffany are up to, but whatever it is, it can’t be good.
Not for Rylee anyway.
RYLEE
“UM, WHAT THE HELL was that?” Pierce looks about as confused as I feel when Oliver smiles and winks at me.
“Oh, so you saw it, too. Here I thought maybe I was seeing things,” I admit, shaking my head slightly as I watch Oliver speed out of the cafeteria, Zayden following directly behind him.
“He’s up to something,” Pierce voices the very thing I was thinking.
“I agree. Unless….” I trail off.
I think about the conversation I had with my mom yesterday. I might have expressed some concerns over Oliver’s behavior toward me—though I left out the part where he’s harassing me every chance he gets. She didn’t seem too concerned. Probably because she doesn’t know how badly he’s actually treating me. But I still have no doubt that she talked to Paul about it. Maybe Paul said something to Oliver. Maybe this is his way of being a sarcastic asshole about the whole thing. I can’t very well complain that he’s smiling and winking at me now, can I?
“Unless?” Pierce presses when I haven’t finished my thought.
“Maybe his dad said something to him.” I shrug. “I talked to my mom yesterday. I kept it pretty vague, but I got my point across that I was having a hard time. If his dad said something to him, maybe that explains his overdramatized smile. He can’t be genuinely nice to me, so he’s going for asshole nice instead.”
“What’s his problem with you anyway?” Brielle chimes in. She’s a friend of Pierce’s, and though I’ve only just met her this week, I really like her.
“That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it?” I shrug. “He hates that my mom married his dad.”
“So he messes with you because he’s mad at his dad?” Brielle doesn’t know the full extent of Oliver’s shenanigans, but like everyone else who goes to this school, she’s heard about a lot—especially the party fiasco. That seems to be what most people are still talking about. I can’t walk down a hallway without someone snickering or offering up their detachable shower head for me to use. “Seems pretty childish if you ask me,” she tacks on.
“I’m not going to argue with you there.”
“Come on.” Pierce stands, grabbing his half-eaten tray of food. “We should probably get going.”
“Is anyone else dreading this pep rally?” Brielle asks as we drop our trays off on our way out of the cafeteria.
“That would be me,” Pierce agrees.
“I don’t know. It might be fun.” I shrug.
I used to live for things like football and basketball games and pep rallies. Of course, that was back when I had a lot of friends and school was less of a prison and more like social hour. At Bristol I was involved in everything. Student council, dance committee, volleyball, and I ran track, among other things.
I miss it. I miss walking through the halls, laughing with my friends without the worry of someone doing something to embarrass or hurt me. You don’t realize how incredible it is not to have to look over your shoulder until you’re forced to do so with every corner you turn and every hallway you walk down. It also doesn’t help that I seem to be the laughingstock of the entire school.
I’m trying so hard not to let it get me down, but some days it’s really quite exhausting. The constant laughing and finger pointing. The whispered comments. The looks. A smarter person would probably try to be less visible—maybe hoping to melt into the background. But that just isn’t me. My mom didn’t raise me to cower.
So I take it all—everything everyone throws at me. I absorb every ounce of it, and I do so with a smile on my face. If they think it doesn’t bother me, maybe they’ll stop… eventually. Or at least, that’s my hope. To this point it hasn’t done me much good. But as I said, I’m not a tuck my tail between my legs kind of girl.
“Did I hear you right?” Pierce finally comments. “A pep rally… fun?”
