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Fury boiled in my gut.
As other students began to enter, they laughed, whipping out their phones to snap photos of the school’s newest spectacle. Class clowns gain popularity ifthey’re classy, but these bad boys were beyond clowns. They won over the majority of the school with their old money, lethal good looks and legendary pranks, but their charm was only cosmetic.
Thanks to him and his ass-hat friends, I’ve stepped into Woodman every day for the past four years feeling like fresh meat. So much for the title of second-semester senior.
“Give it back to her, Elliot,” Pierre tried, but his words might as well have come out as a hoarse whisper. I couldn’t blame him. He’d never been able to stand up to Elliot. In the grand scheme of things, I’d consider this his most gallant attempt.
“Holy shit,” I heard someone say. I turned around to find the crowd of students staring into their phones, snickering. They kept glancing up between me and Elliot.
“Oh, damn,” a boy said.
“Slut alert,” a girl giggled, standing beside him.
They kept going. The voices blended together, throbbing in my head. Sweat beaded on my temples. They weren’t taking photos of Elliot and his friends. They were looking into the phone screens,readingsomething.
I turned to look back at Elliot, only to find myself face-to-face with the screen of my phone, which Elliot had shoved into my face. He had up myInstagrampage, and a photo under my account, with thousands of likes—way more than I’d ever been capable of garnering in a little over a week.
It was a screenshot of some notes in my phone. Notes I’d written about him.
About howfuckingmuch I liked him.
“That’ssoembarrassing.”
“Oh my God.”
“This is, like, psycho.”
“Ell, you better run, man.”
The voices wouldn’t stop. More students jammed into the lobby.
Pierre reached for my arm again to drag me away, but I lashed out for my phone—and instead of missing Elliot’s wrist, I smacked right into him. He stumbled to the floor, phone still tight in his grasp, while I rolled off his chest to the floor. My cheeks burned.
Of course, the one day he isn’t wearing shirt is the day I impale his abs with my dirt-packed fingernails.
“Hey!” A school security guard burst onto the scene just as I lifted myself off the ground. “What’s going on here?”
Elliot was already bounding down the hall. Before whipping around the corner, he paused to taunt me by flashing that bright smile, waving my phone above his head.
“Kat,” Pierre called, “don’t.”
Ignoring him, I tore down the hall. I didn’t give a shit about Elliot showing the world what basically qualified as pornographic love letters penned for no one’s eyes but my own. It was the last day of school. I didn’t care what these bystanders thought of me, and didn’t care that he hated me—but if I was leaving Woodman forever, I wanted to leave with a grand fucking flourish.
He pushed through the door into a stairwell and I slammed my shoulder against it as the metal came swinging back to hit me.
“You know how to hunt,” he shouted as he stumbled down onto the last landing. My phone flew out of his hands and smashed against the brick wall in front of him. He turned around and backed himself against the wall, raising his arms behind his neck. “Feral Kat.”
I paused at the top of the set of steps.
“If you’regonnapounce, do it,” Elliot said, and spat onto the floor. “Come at me.”
I continued down the steps, my heart pounding so hard that I could feel the blood swelling up in my face. One more step and I was at Elliot’s eye level.
“I’m curious,” he said, eyes dropping to my chest, “wheredoyou get the inspiration for your stories? ’Cause I’m not seeing much action, sweetheart.”
I snapped.
“Just because I’m a virgin doesn’t mean I intend on staying one,” I blurted, and bit my tongue.
