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I jerked my gaze from his pecs to the twisted grin on his face and my stomach plummeted to somewhere a gazillion meters below Earth’s atmosphere when I realized who all those muscles belonged to.
Topher.
How mortifying.If I had a dull blade, I’d probably pluck my eyes out.
I swallowed as Topher’s smirk turned into a megawatt smile and all the guys around him burst into laughter. Several reached over and jabbed him in the ribs in jest. Someone, I don’t know who, maybe Mikey, asked, “You never see a dude without his shirt, Ewe?” Then someone followed it with the classic, “Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” and I wanted to melt right there on the tile floor, which was saying something, considering I’d probably contract athlete’s foot or some unknown disease.
I turned away from the boy toward Bell and Coach Paul, and by this time, even they were chuckling under their breath.
Fantastic.
When Bell reached out and handed me a sheet of paper I assumed was my tutoring schedule, I took it with as much grace and dignity as I could manage, then turned on my heel and proceeded to speed walk out of there. It was all I could do not to snatch and run.
I muttered the whole way to the girls’ locker room, where I found an empty stall and bolted myself inside. Tears stung the back of my eyes as I leaned my head against the cool metal of the door.
Was there ever any end to my humiliation?
I pounded the wall beside me. A quick one-two with my fists.
“Ow-ow.” I bounced on my toes, clutching my hand in pain, and as if the hand of God himself came down upon me and turned my head, out of all the graffiti scribbled on the back of the door, my gaze homed in on one in particular.
Topher Elliot, 804-786-5555.
I narrowed my eyes on the phone number, and pure unadulterated rage like I’d never felt before surged in my veins.
For four years, I watched him strut around like he was King. Well, no more. It was time I stood my ground. It was time I told him exactly what I thought of him and put him in his place.
And since I knew I’d never have the guts to do it to his face, his phone number was a gift.
My hands shook as I pulled my phone out of my pocket and opened a new text. With great care, I typed in his number, triple checking to ensure I got it right, then began to type my message.
To the King of Lakeview . . . You think you’reSOspecial, but you’re nothing more than a washed-up pretty boy driving your daddy’s car. And actually, I feel sorry for you. You're like “The Picture of Dorian Gray.” Beauty and youth might reign in the halls of Lakeview, but what will you do once you graduate and all of that is gone? You’ll be just another face in the crowd. Another pretty boy in the world.A zero. Andeven though right now everyone might see your beauty, I see the cruel boy inside.What will happen when you realize the price you paid to be King wasn’t worth the price of your soul?
Okay, maybe a little dramatic, but it suits my love of literature and will probably send him into a tizzy, researching the classic novel, which gives me chills just thinking about it—Topher, reading in his free time. Ha!
I double check for spelling errors because there’s no way I’m risking the beauty of my heartfelt message on autocorrect, then hit send.
I gasp in relief. Or shock, I wasn’t sure, because I actually did it. I said all the things I’ve been dying to say to him for the last four years. And it felt good.
Slipping my phone back into my pocket, for the first time in a long time, I felt in control, powerful, like I dictated my worth, not them.
Chapter 7
PENELOPE
Isatinoneoftheprivatestudyroomsinthelibrary,waitingformyfirsttutorsessionwithafreshmannamedJen.Istaredoutofthelargeglasswindowpanesintotheconfinesofthelibrary,tothehundredsofbookswiththeirbrightlycoloredspines.
My phone vibrated on the desk in front of me, and I quickly snatched it up, wondering if it would be a retaliation from Topher. But instead, I found a message from Scarlett, asking if I’d heard back from him yet.
Me:Nope, not yet. I’ll let you know . . .
With a sigh, I clicked off my phone, then slipped it into the front pouch of my bookbag because I didn’t want any distractions. That, and if I was being honest, a part of me was a little nervous at what his reaction might be. I mean, it wasn’t like he knew it was me. But still. In one more hour, I’d sit face-to-face with him. It didn’t matter that all the things I said were true or the text was anonymous.Iknew I said those things.
Despite my mounting anxiety, my tutor session with Jen actually went rather well. She reminded me a little of myself—quiet and soft spoken, maybe even a little bit of a nerd who just so happened to have a distaste for literature.
If all my sessions went as smoothly, this whole tutoring thing would be a piece of cake.
After helping Jen with her literature assignment, I said, “So I know your paper isn’t due for a few weeks, but I think that you should definitely start considering what angle you’re going to use. It will help to know as you read. Kind of get the juices flowing.”
