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Silence filled the classroom as everyone computed the name in their heads, and from the depths of the silence, a scrawnier, younger Topher Elliot spoke up.Wait, your name is Pee-Yew?
Cue the riotous laughter.
The next year, Topher became King, and anyone lucky enough to be his friends became Royals. Everyone else? Well, we were nothing. Zeros.
So, as Ms. Stone now stared at my mute form expectantly, it was with dread that I muttered, “Penelope Ewe.”
A spurt of laughter came from the clowns behind me, and out of the corner of my eye, I glimpsed JT raising his hand and I braced myself as he began to speak. “But friends call her P.”
Beside him, Luca and Mikey held their noses while they fanned the air in front of their faces.
My gaze shot to Topher as laughter bubbled from his lips, and I narrowed my eyes, even as I felt the telltale heat of blush in my cheeks.
“Real mature,” the girl beside me muttered, and I wanted to hug her, but my happiness at having a comrade-in-arms died. All it did was make them laugh even harder, like a bunch of overdressed baboons, further eliciting the chuckles of several others around them.
Sixth grade to twelfth, and nothing had changed. Sometimes I wondered when it would end, if the joke ever would. I mean, it had to, right? It was so juvenile, it was pathetic.
Words burned in the back of my throat, unspoken, a pool of unspent rage. I turned around in my chair and fixed my gaze on the clock, watching the seconds tick by and waiting for the floor to swallow me up.
By the time class ended, I still hadn’t learned anything.
I slid my book off my desk and hurried from the room. Once outside, I yanked my bookbag off my back and unzipped it, then began to slide my things inside when I saw Topher and his posse coming at me.
I hurried, fumbling with my book as I began to walk faster in my hope to avoid further confrontation with them when my foot caught on the shoe of a passerby. Before I could even process what was happening, I was airborne. My feet left the ground and my arms flailed like the blades of a helicopter. To my horror, the freshly waxed linoleum greeted me with a hardthwack, and the air whooshed from my lungs.
Stunned, several moments passed while I tried to inhale, but my lungs refused to work. Just when I neared corpse status, I drew in a shaky breath.
With a groan, I lifted my head to see the contents of my bag sprawled on the floor around me. I grunted as I forced myself to my feet with as much dignity as I could muster—which wasn’t much.
JT, Luca, and Mikey snickered as they passed by me, treading on my things as if to show me I was beneath them. Like I needed the reminder.
Behind them, Topher followed, but when he got to my books, he hesitated. His blue-violet eyes stared down at my things with a frown before he glanced over at me as if trying to make his mind up about something.
Despite the fact I was one hundred percent sure I was turning into a human tomato, I stared right back, daring him to laugh at me some more or do something as equally jerky as his friends. But he did none of those things. Instead, he turned his attention back to my scattered things and bent over, reaching toward one of my books.
He picked it up and held it out while I held my breath.
Chapter 2
TOPHER
Igrippedherbook,waitingforhertotakeit,butshehesitatedlikeitmightbesomekindoftrick.
“Topher, let’s go man,” JT called from down the hall.
My eyes locked with hers like this was some kind of defining moment. The next few seconds determined what kind of man I was.
I glanced up at JT, who watched on with a frown, no doubt wondering what the hell I was doing helping Ewe. Somewhere along the line—I don’t even remember when—she became our scapegoat, the brunt of all Lakeview jokes.
So I did what was expected. A smirk slid over my face, and I dropped the book out in front of her before she could grab it, like I was playing with her all along. Then I straightened and stepped over her belongings, shooting a wink over my shoulder.
Once I caught up to JT and Mikey, I listened as they droned on about some chicks we met over the weekend, but my head and heart weren’t in it. Instead, they were approximately six yards behind me, sprawled on the hallway floor where Penelope continued to gather her things off the ground, cramming them into her bookbag with sharp, angry movements, and I cursed myself for being such a pansy.
A curtain of dark hair fell in her eyes, obscuring her face from view. A better man would’ve helped her.
Once again, I proved to be the douche everyone expected me to be, and the expression on her face when I paused by her things would probably haunt me for the rest of the day. There was enough anger undulating in those dark eyes to cut me like a knife. But maybe more than the animosity, the disbelief slayed me the most. Was the idea of me pausing to help her so unbelievable?
Who was I kidding? I was “King.” Whatever that meant. Some stupid title given to me and the group of kids I hung out with, dubbed Royals. A title I never wanted in the first place. Because with it, came a whole persona, this impossible standard to live up to. And I had enough of that in my life at home, thank you very much.
