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The fucking bitch put the pecans in my salad.
Rage that I don't usually feel courses through me, and I slam open the door, only to be met by Stacy and her friend’s surprised faces.
"It was you! You did this to me! You could've killed me!" I shout in outrage.
To her credit, Stacy quickly wipes the look of shock from her face at being caught red handed.
"I don't know what you're talking about," she has the audacity to say.
“Yes, you do!” I yell. “I heard you, Stacy. Don’t try and deny it.”
Even though her minions shrink behind her, Stacy holds out strong, schooling her features to show absolutely nothing.
Fury boils inside me, that even now, even when she’s been caught, she refuses to acknowledge what she’s done. Refuses to even consider the real repercussions of her action. If Noah hadn’t been there…if the paramedics hadn’t arrived in time…I would no longer be here. Because of her. And she doesn’t even care.
“I knew you were a bitch, Stacy. You’ve had it for me since I came to this school. But I had no idea that you could be this soulless.”
There’s a flash of shame in her green eyes, but all too soon does it disappear, proving to me that my suspicions of her are correct. She really doesn’t care that because of her little prank, someone’s daughter, sister, could have died. That the little joke she played didn't only hurt me, but also the people I love.
Shaking my head in disgust, I push past her, knocking her shoulder on the way out of the bathroom. Right as I open the door, she yells behind me, "It's not like you died. Drama queen much?"
But to both of our surprises, Noah is standing right outside the door and hears Stacy's comment perfectly. An icy anger spreads across his features. Noah stalks towards the door.
"What did you just say?" he growls pulling Stacy out of the doorway.
She gulps.
"Nothing, Noah. I was just saying I was glad that your sister didn't die."
"Stepsister," he and I both correct in tandem, causing Stacy to give us a curious look.
"That's not what you said. You said, ‘it's not like you died.’ Was it you? Did you put the pecans in her salad? Was this your fucking handiwork? Answer me, Stacy!”
Noah’s furious, and it's honestly terrifying.
Stacy’s shaking in her boots.
I decide to defuse the situation by answering his question.
"I overheard her and her friends talking about it. Sheisthe one that did it."
Stacy shoots me a death glare, but it disappears in an instant when Noah slams his hand against the wall.
"We’re done, Stacy. You're done... And I’ll be urging Skylar to report you to Sheriff Boyd as well as the school."
Stacy's features immediately transform to panic.
"Wait, Noah. It was just a little prank. I thought maybe she would break into hives or something. I didn't know she would get so sick. I promise. I didn’t know,” she cries, her hands clasped in front of her like she's begging before an altar.
He looks down at her like she’s vermin at his feet.
“Listen closely, Stacy. Don’t ever talk to me again. Don’t look at me. Don’t even come near me. And if I catch you giving Skylar anymore shit, you’ll be sorry.”
“Noah, please,” she stammers through her now flowing tears.
"Fuck your pleases. You’re done," he says coolly before placing his hand on my back and pushing me out of the bathroom right as the bell rings, signaling the next class is about to start.
We leave a sobbing Stacy behind us as we walk down the hallway.
