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If twerking in my ballroom counts.
“Exactly – Cleo and Daphne are our flyers. They execute the more complex stunts.” She looks me up and down. “I remember you from junior prep, and you always had a perfect sense of rhythm. And if you’re interested in pulling up your grades – you just have to shake your booty and you get extra credit.”
Extra credit. Those magic words. I toss my hair over my shoulder. “I’ll think about it.”
Cheerleading. Antony’s going to laugh his ass off when I tell him, but I have to admit, I’m excited about tryouts. This is a normal thing normal teenage girls do. I want to be part of it.
Besides, if I end up on the team, Cleo’s head will explode, and I want to be there to watch the carnage.
When Mrs. Anderson dismisses me, I’m the last girl to enter the changing rooms. Steam rises from the showers as Cleo and Daphne step out. I strip off and drop my uniform and towel onto the bench, then shove my way into a cubicle as the warning bell rings. Outside, I can hear Cleo and her minions giggling. “Bye, Mackenzie,” Brandy yells as the gym door slams shut. Peels of laughter echo through the walls.
Since I’m already late and my last class is mathematics, which I don’t understand anyway, I take my time under the water, shampooing my hair with the fancy organic products the school supplies. When I reek of lavender and lemongrass, I step out of the water and reach for my towel and clothes.
They’re not there.
I left them in a pile on the bench in front of my locker. I know I did. Now they’re gone.
From outside, a fresh wave of laughter rises.
Those skank-ass bitches stole my clothes.
My head spins. Water droplets roll off the ends of my hair and cascade across my back. I debate my options – I could change back into my gym clothes… except I put them in my backpack, inside my gym locker, and the locker key was on top of the pile of clothes they stole. I slam my fist into the metal.
Fuck. Fuck.
My feet slap against the non-slip mats and I pace along the stalls, pressing the heels of my hands into my eyes until I see squiggles.
You’ve dealt with worse than this.
You’ve lived through a hell those princesses can’t even contemplate.
Get your shit together.
I scan every corner of the locker room for a possible solution – some discarded clothing or even a towel I can wrap around myself. My foot skims something. I bend down and pick it up – someone’s discarded Sharpie. I pull off the cap and test it against my palm. It still works.
Hmmm.
Maybe it’s time someone shows Cleo what happens when you mess with someone who has nothing to lose.
Mackenzie
The snickers hit the moment I step outside.
Cleo and her crew are waiting for me, and they’ve roped several guys into hanging around, forming a gauntlet of shame along the corridor.
The laughter lasts for three steps. Three agonizing steps where I relive a world of agony. Where I remember another sound – my scream echoing back on me inside the coffin – and the horror it seared into my soul. Even though I hold my chin high, my insides burn with all the rage and terror of that night.
Three steps, and the laughter dies.
Three steps, and they read the words scrawled across my skin.
WHORE.
BITCH.
ICE QUEEN.
GHOST SLUT.
