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My sandwich is ripped from my hand, smearing mayonnaise along the tips of my fingers. I watch it fly a few meters away, scattering ham and lettuce along the concrete sidewalk at the bottom of the stone steps.
“That’s what you did to my family when my dad got suspended,” Presley says, a twisted smile on his face. “You took food from our mouths.”
Carter slides down the metal railing and lands beside a slice of the bread.
“I didn’t do anything to your father,” I snap back, scowling at him. “He tackled me unlawfully, not the other way around.”
Carter kicks the remnants of the sandwich as I reach for my bag but Presley grabs it before I get the chance.
“For every day my dad is suspended, I’m going to make your life fucking miserable,” Presley tells me, stepping into my space, my bag hanging from his fingers.
He tosses it to Carter and my hands ball into fists by my side.
“It’s not my fault your dad is just another meathead cop that doesn’t know how to do his job.”
Carter throws my bag to somebody behind me as a hand grabs my hair and pulls me backwards. My neck bends and cracks right before my ass hits the stone steps.
“What did you say about his dad?” that black-and-pink-braided bitch asks, hand still in my hair.
I grab her wrist and twist myself free, managing to stand again only to be shoved into Presley who then shoves me into Carter.
“Stop!” I yell, feeling hot tears in my eyes and I curse myself for allowing them to push me around like this. I’m not sad, or even scared, I’m just really fucking angry. And when I’m this angry, I cry or I snap and when I snap, people get hurt.
I’m shoved into the tallest of them and he throws me to the side so hard I stumble, almost falling but my excellent balance helps keep me upright.
“Touch me again…” I hiss through my teeth. Glaring at all of them one by one.
“What the hell is going on?” Mr. Jefferson bellows, his voice booms so loudly birds flee from their nearby perches.
They all fall silent and the stocky one tosses my bag to Carter who then shoves it into my chest.
“Just returning the new girl’s bag.” When he’s confident I’ve got it, he slings his arm around my shoulders and hugs me into his side. He smells really good, like vanilla and sandalwood, which is a shame because he should smell like dog farts and venom.
I slip my hand into the back of his pants, grab the elasticated band of his boxer briefs and pull until I hear them tear. Carter grunts and clenches his entire body but his smile remains on his face. I can see his pain and discomfort in the lines around his eyes and the way he’s now standing so stiff.
“All of you, inside now,” Jefferson commands and they skip ahead, laughing at Carter when they see what I did as he tries to pull his wedgie from his ass.
The principal stops me with a hand on my arm but I yank free as quickly as he grabbed me. I keep my eyes on the ground so he doesn’t see my distress and anger.
“Are you okay?”
“Peachy keen.”
He sighs heavily. “I will handle this; you have my word.”
“Nothing to handle.” I dust off my bag, spy my destroyed lunch, and head back into the building. “Don’t make it into something it’s not.”
He remains silent as I walk ahead, eager to just put this shit behind me. I head up to the roof again despite my ass being numb from the steps and the fact I’m trembling with barely contained rage. What better way to contain it?
This time I take the stairs and this time I only skip one class.
“How was school today?” Lane asks when I walk in with Stanley trailing behind and Curlyfry prancing along beside me.
I see Stanley shake his head at her, we already had a brief chat on the way home which consisted of him asking gruffly, “You getting bullied?”
To which I replied, “Nope.”
“Just tell me a name, kid. Just one name.”
“I’m fine.”
“Mal—” He scrunches up his nose in frustration. “Scandal, it doesn’t have to be like this.”
I stop talking because I feel myself getting mad at this too.
“That bad?” Lane whispers and I feel her eyes on me as I ascend the stairs. “Honey—”
“Don’t call me honey,” I snap, taking my anger out on the wrong person. “I fucking hate pet names.”
“Language,” Stanley admonishes.
“If you don’t like my language, Stanley, throw me the fuck out.”
He starts mumbling to himself, trying to calm himself down and I go to my room. I take the dog with me.
It’s like this all week.
I go to school, I get shoved, I get called names, I get ignored, my locker gets vandalized, I go to my roof and dance each lunch to avoid the world, I skip fourth period twice, and then I come home and ignore the people who have taken me in with motives unknown and stay awake as best I can so I don’t have to relive my waking nightmares in my sleep.
