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I still smell like stale milk, my shirt is damp and stained, and the floor around me is littered with trash.
The students in the hall all hang back to watch me, and fuck me if I’m gonna get on my hands and knees in front of all of them. But Chase is still hovering behind me, and River, Dax, and Lincoln are all gathered close by too.
Clenching my jaw, I walk over and throw the cup and wadded paper into the sideways trash bin. Then I kick the scattered pieces of garbage in the general direction of the large metal cylinder, ignoring the whispers and titters that spring up around me.
When I feel like I’m about to explode, I shove my way between Lincoln and River and storm down the hall. Behind me, I can hear them mocking my cleaning abilities in loud voices, and I want to fucking scream.
The corridor starts to empty out, and I shove my way into a bathroom just as the bell for first period rings. Great. Now I’m covered in trash and late for my first class.
I splash water on my shirt and try to sop up the milk, but I’m sure I don’t get all of it. And the wet spot, while temporary, looks even worse.
Political Science is a nightmare. The class itself isn’t anything too intense, but some kids behind me keep throwing shit at the back of my head when the teacher isn’t looking. That trend continues and grows throughout the rest of the morning, spilling into the halls too. I’m sure everyone who didn’t actually witness the “Pool Girl introduction” this morning has heard the whole story by now, and these rich kids really must be bored as hell, because they all go after me with a fucking vengeance.
Gym sucks, but that’s nothing new. It sucked at my old school too. We run some laps and do some calisthenics, and I don’t push myself, so I barely break a sweat.
Changing back into my street clothes makes me realize my shirt definitely still smells like garbage, and I grimace. Ugh. Gross.
Dressed in my bra and jeans, I take my shirt to the sink to clean it a little better, then hold it under the hand dryer for a few minutes to let it dry. The dryer only works for thirty seconds at a time though, so I have to keep pulling the shirt away and putting it back to re-trigger the sensor.
Behind me, raised voices blare over the hum of the dryer.
“No, Savannah! Jesus, I already told you I don’t want him. You’re such a fucking bitch sometimes!” a high, breathy voice shouts.
“I’m not a bitch. I just expect honesty from my so-called friends!” This voice is harsher, more shrill.
“Oh, like you were honest about why we need to have tryouts for the cheer squad? I know you’re planning on fucking dumping me, so don’t pretend you’re not.”
“Iris, I wasn’t—”
The dryer cuts out again suddenly, and the two girls break off, turning to stare at me. One’s blonde and lithe, and the other has full lips and strawberry red hair. They’re both model pretty, and they’re both glaring at me like I killed their entire families.
“Excuse me,” the redhead drawls with a curl of her lip. I think she’s the one called Savannah. “This is a private conversation.”
My eyebrows shoot up, and a choked laugh escapes my mouth before I can stop it. “Oh, is it?”
Her cheeks flush, and several different emotions cross her face before she settles on anger again.
“It would be, if you’d stop listening in, you skank! Don’t you have something to go clean?”
Oh Jesus. So that really has made it around the entire school.
“I could clean out your locker,” I offer with a shrug. “But I forgot my extra strong bitch bleach.”
“Why don’t you just go? It’s rude to fucking eavesdrop, didn’t anyone ever teach you that?” The blonde girl, Iris, walks up to stand beside the redhead. They may hate each other, but apparently they’re willing to team up against an outside threat.
What’s the word for that? Frenemies?
“Love to.”
I pull my shirt over my head. It’s still damp, but fuck it. It’ll dry eventually. Shoving past them, I grab the rest of my stuff from my locker and sling my backpack over my shoulder. Then I turn back to the two girls.
“Oh, and for the record—if I were going to eavesdrop, I’d pick a much more interesting conversation than one about boys and the fucking cheerleading squad. Try being more predictable next time.”
Someone in the corner behind me giggles. Then someone else. Savannah’s face is now almost as red as her hair, and the other girl, Iris, is glaring at me.
Yep, that’s definitely going to cost me later. At least, it will if these girls are anywhere near as vindictive as their male counterparts in this school. But fuck it. I’ve already got one target painted on my back. Why not make it two?
Shaking my head, I slip out of the locker room before shit can go any further downhill.
