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Madison is taller, toned from cheerleading. Features defined, and shiny hair that always looks as if she’s just strutted out of the salon.
I glance at my reflection and straighten with pride. I’m beautiful in my own way; radiant and smooth brown skin, curves, and hair that defies gravity in its natural state.
The three of them giggle with each other at my expense.
Madison throws her wavy hair off her shoulder, a smug expression on her face.
“You must think you’re something special,” she mocks. Her friends stand guard behind her, glaring at me.
I cock my hip and fold my arms. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me, bitch.” She inches forward. “I’ll be damned if trash like you comes here and steals Brandon Decker.”
That pisses me off. How dare Madison demean me as if I’m worthless.
I raise my chin, tone biting as I speak. “Snooty bitches like you don’t faze me, so save your breath. Where’s your dignity, anyway? Brandon had years to approach you, but claimed me after a week.”
Her features warp with fury, and her eyes expand. “You…”
I suck my teeth and make to walk past them.
One of her minions grabs my arm. I gasp as the other splashes red polish at my white shirt and tie.
They giggle afterward.
“Bitch!” I shriek. “What the fuck is your problem?”
Madison snickers. “Oops. Oh, honey, is that your only shirt?” She nods to her giggling friends. “Let’s go. Poor ghetto people make me itch.”
Their mocking laughter persists as they exit the bathroom.
“Dammit,” I snarl. I hope the nail polish comes out because I only have two uniforms, and they’re not cheap due to the academy’s revered goldcrest.
I grab napkins and wet them at the sink, then quickly dab at fabric.
My heart sprints even more at the realization the red polish isn’t coming out. “Fuck!” I can’t walk around like that, and I certainly don’t have two hundred dollars to spare for a new shirt.
Dad and Momma will worry if I tell them what happened.
Ugh!
What the hell am I going to do?
I have work in art class, and I won’t make it home to change and reach back in time.
Wondering if Sam, by some chance, could help, I quickly call her.
She answers in a whisper, “Hey, what’s up?”
I massage my temples and try to relax. “Um, do you have a spare shirt at school, like for P.E or something?”
“No.” Her tone heightens with concern. “What happened?”
“Madison Sutton and her friends. I have nail polish on my shirt, and I don’t have time to go home to change.”
“Oh, no,” she gasps. “That bitch.” She utters something in the background and comes back on the phone. “I’m sorry, Kayla. I would drive you home, but my presentation starts soon.”
My shoulders slump. “It’s okay. I’ll figure it out.”
“Oh!” she blurts at an idea. “The guys wear white tees under their shirts. Ask Brandon for his.”
He’s the reason this happened to me in the first place. Sam didn’t mention Rajid, so I won’t either.
I sigh and tell her, “Okay. I’ll see you later.”
When I end the call, I suppress my pride and text Brandon.
Could we meet somewhere
in school that’s private?
