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"Stop it!" I snapped, pulling my armback.
My punch landed on Thomas' shoulder and I gasped in pain when my thumb crunched under the rest of my fingers. It was tight and I curled and uncurled my fist, trying to relieve the pain. Thomas bent his head back and looked at meagain.
He stared. I gritted my teeth and decided that the best course of action was to brazen my way through. The air in the circle was no longer charged with the threat of anger. It was finally empty ofnoise.
I straightened my shoulders, cradling my wounded fist. "Get off of him," Irepeated.
When people began to back up as he stood, I realized just how large this guy really was – or maybe I had always been two feet tall. At least, it felt like I was as I stood next to him. The freshman got to his knees, taking the opportunity to scamper out between the legs of theonlookers.
"What's going on here?" The authoritative voice that sounded nearby caused many of the students in the circle to dashaway.
I almost groaned – half in relief, half in frustration. After all of the action had ended and the victim had disappeared, someone finally showed up. Life wasn't fair. I glanced over my shoulder to see who itwas.
No. The world could not possibly be that cruel. Bellamy held his position, his back straight, shoulders back, eyes intent on me and Thomas, as he stood next to PrincipalWiggins.
"I asked you students a question." Principal Wiggins stopped in front of me, and Thomas shifted back as if he was getting ready torun.
The rest of the remaining students – save for football guy, who watched on with mild interest as he leaned against the doorway of a classroom – dispersed quickly. "Thomas, is that blood on your hands? Whathappened?"
"Nothing." Thomas rubbed his knuckles up and down the side of his jeans, smudging the obviousevidence.
"I would say it's not nothing." Principal Wiggins glanced back at me, recognizing me as one of his previous students when he had been a Biology teacher my freshman year. "What happened here, Miss Hampton? I expect thetruth."
The real problem with breaking up a fight is that it always led to this. In the spirit of a twisted, Shakespeare, angsty prince,to snitch or not to snitch, that was the question.I stood there, with my lips slightly parted, contemplating how to settlethis.
I glanced at Bellamy out of the corner of my eye, who raised a brow my way. No help there, then. I sighed. I needed to tell the truth. I didn't care if that meant I was a snitch. It meant that Thomas would get what he deserved for beating up a poorfreshman.
"Thomas thought it'd be funny to use Jimmy Dawson as a punching bag. He ran off before you got here, when Harlow steppedin."
My mouth hung open and every head in the vicinity slowly twisted towards footballguy.
"Is that so, Mr. Caruso?" Principal Wiggins glanced back at Thomas who glared at thefloor.
"He doesn't know what he's talking about," Thomassnapped.
Football guy – Grayson, I reminded myself – shrugged. "Bet if someone tested the blood on your knuckles – now on your jeans too, by the way – they'd be able to prove it." Thomas rubbed his knuckles on his jeans again, trying to wipe the blood off as fast as he could. "Still on your jeans, genius," he said with asigh.
"Alright, Miss Hampton, Mr. Caruso, please go to the front office and wait for me to meet with you. Thomas, you come with me." I wondered if Principal Wiggins would grab Thomas by the ear like teachers and principals did in old movies. He looked just angryenough.
I picked up my fallen backpack and followed behind Principal Wiggins who had Thomas walk in front of him. Bellamy continued to glance my way. Hot fire licked along my cheeks and I knew, without a doubt, that I wasblushing.
"So, about that phone number." Football guy – Grayson or Mr. Caruso or whatever – walked backwards as we strode through the nearly empty halls of the high school, eyes watching me in their peripheral like they had the night before when his friends had catcalled tome.
I did the same thing as I had before, I ignored him. Instead, I thought of the complicated mess I had now gotten myself into. I would definitely need to call Erika and see if she or her dad could give me a lift home. My bus was likely long gone. I hoped my mom wouldn't notice my extendedabsence.
"Let's make a deal, you give me your phone number and I promise to wait twenty-four hours before I call," Graysongrinned.
"I don't have a freaking phone, so no, you can't have my number," Isnapped.
The last few steps to the door of the front office were the longest. I reached it and threw it open, ahead of everyone else. Despite my extreme desire to slam it shut behind me, I held it open until they had all passedthrough.
"Hmm, that is a problem," Grayson mused, sidling up next to me again. "I guess I'll just have to take you home, so I can drop you off, and you can accept my offer to take you on a date." He nodded as if that idea somehow solved all hisproblems.
"Are you messing with me? Am I on a new edition ofPractical Jokers?" I honestly could not fathom his interest. I sank down into one of the front office chairs and he sat next tome.
He shrugged, those wide shoulders of his taking up more space than what his cushioned visitor's seat offered. I slid over a little bit. Mrs. Donovan watched us from her perch, eyes curious as if we were acting out her favorite soapopera.
"I'm not messing with you," he assured me. "I like you. I think you're cute and we should go on a date." He smiled. "And you should let me drive you hometoday."
