Chapter 8 – Clover
Chapter Eight
Clover
Sylvia and Kola can’t come to breakfast with me this morning.
I’m the only one with an earlier class and after what happened to Sylvia, she needs Kola’s support right now.
I just wish I didn’t have to eat alone. Better yet, I wish I didn’t have to eat at all.
Walking into the dining hall alone as a black woman at this school feels like walking across hot coals.
The dining hall even emanates heat as I approach the door in my school uniform.
I never had to wear a uniform before and despite my best efforts to customize this thing, I look like a prep.
I am the furthest thing from prep you could imagine.
This skirt is way too short. Whoever the hell designed this didn’t have thick thighs in mind.
My forest green pleated skirt makes me look way too young.
I finally breach the dining hall and glance around the room for any familiar faces.
Molly never came back from the party last night, but I assumed she would at least have to eat breakfast. Damn it…
There’s only one person sitting alone. Roger.
I don’t know if he’s waiting for someone but then he looks right at me and waves me over.
Thank goodness I have somewhere to sit. I point to the food and then nod, mouthing that I’ll be right over.
Roger flashes me a thumbs up and I walk toward breakfast. Everything here is so greasy…
I love it. I get scrambled eggs with toast and a little ketchup on the side with a glass of cranberry juice before I happy-dance my way to Roger’s table with my delicious meal.
“Hello, Clover,” Roger says. His voice is so deep and British.
My friends back home wouldn’t believe that I get to hang out around British accents all the time.
Then again, they also might not believe that my closest friends here were actually American.
I’m not the only one from the land of the free.
“Good morning.”
“Early class?” The way they pronounce everything is so cool.
“Yeah, Ethics.”
Roger smirks. “I’m taking Ethics next semester. I’ve got English.”
“Cool.”
“Is that what you like then? Ethics and dancing?”
His eyes are incredibly blue. Wow. I never noticed at dance practice and I definitely didn’t notice at the party, but they’re so intense I get a little nervous.
“I like dancing. I don’t know about ethics.”
“All the boys and girls in my family danced,” Roger said. “But I dunno. It’ll be a leap from ballet to hip hop.”
“Not as much of a leap as you think.”
“I’m not gay, by the way. You know… the ballet.”
“I didn’t think you were,” I mutter awkwardly, hoping he can’t see through my lie.
Our eyes flicker to each other’s, and I feel really weird. Is he trying to flirt with me? Honestly, I did think Roger was gay until he blurted that he wasn’t.
A loud whistle from across the room drags my attention away from Roger, but I immediately regret glancing over my shoulder. Thomas. He wasn’t the one who whistled, but he’s staring at me from his table of absolute assholes. Kit Barclay’s the one who whistles.
“Hey Clover!” Kit calls. “Show me your knickers!”
The entire table bursts into laughter, including Jude who thumps Kit on the arm and Thomas, who doesn’t exactly burst into laughter, but he has that annoying smirk plastered all over his face.
I seriously regret everything that happened with Kit and I regret it even more now that I know how annoying he is.
He promised he would be cool about what happened with us.
Roger clears his throat, but he doesn’t smirk. He looks a little… angry. It’s nice to feel like there’s someone on my side when I blatantly ignore Kit Barclay.
“Do you know them?”
“Not really.”
“Kit’s a cunt.”
I guess Roger knows him.
“Do you live together?”
Roger shakes his head, but he adds no further explanation as to why he seems completely certain that Kit Barclay is in fact, a cunt.
“I have a single,” Roger says. “Lucky.”
I want to blurt out that I thought they only gave out single rooms to people with mental health issues, but it seems inappropriate to pry.
I just hope Roger doesn’t ask me anything about America or my past…
or my last name. My worst fear is someone at this place having the sense to Google me. I just want to be anonymous, you know?
“CLOVER!” Kit calls again. “DIDN’T YOU HEAR ME ASK FOR YOUR KNICKERS.”
I want to bury my head into my half-finished plate of scrambled eggs. Roger clears his throat.
“That’s rather rude.”
If Roger says anything after that, I don’t hear it because I’m staring over at Kit and his friends.
Kit’s laughing hysterically as they all huddle around him whispers.
I don’t like what I see and after what happened to Sylvia this morning, a terrified chill runs down my spine.
I quickly swallow my last bite and mutter to Roger that I have to go before slinging my bag over my shoulder and attempting to clear my tray.
I don’t make it five feet before half the rowing team encircles me.
I try to step back and slam straight into Jude Fox.
“Where are you going, Clover?” Jude taunts me, pressing his lips dangerously close to my ear. He sounds nothing like the guy from the party, but his closeness brings back the horrifying memory and I stumble forward like an idiot, my half empty glass clattering off my tray onto the ground.
“Clumsy, clumsy,” Kit taunts. “Now, are you going to listen to me or not?”
I muster up as much dignity as I can, raising my head high the way my parents taught me to in the face of any and all negative criticism. I’m a Robinson, from a proud black family of Robinsons. I won’t let anyone speak to me like I’m nothing.
“No, shrimp dick. I’m not going to give you my underwear, so get your band of fuck boys out of here.”
“Fuck… boys… isn’t that what you like to do, slut?” Jude teases.
They all laugh again and my throat tightens with memories from the other night. I can’t let Jude or any other asshole guy at this school get under my skin.
“Can you please move?” I snap. “I have to get to class.”
“If she won’t give you her knickers, we can take them,” Thomas suggests.
I flash him a glare. Has he lost his mind?
I step back, in case Thomas or the rest of the rowing idiots have any intention of making good on their threats.
Again, I land against Jude who roughly pushes me forward.
I yelp in surprise and drop my tray. Food remnants and liquid fly everywhere, splattering Thomas’ uniform.
I glance up at him and the look on his face is pure outrage.
“Slut,” he growls, grabbing me by the forearm and wresting me around as I scream.
“Stop it! Let go of me!”
“Kit. Get her knickers,” Thomas commands as if this were the most normal thing in the world.
We’re in the middle of the dining hall. There should be teachers here to stop this type of bullying from going down but according to rumor, ever since the events of the previous semester, teachers petitioned to have a separate dining hall away from the students.
There’s no one to help me except my fellow students.
“Bloody serious?” Kit asks.
“I have her. If she fights… I think we can handle it.”
Jude laughs. “I’ll get her skirt.”
I scream loudly and throw elbows and then I call for help. There’s someone in this dining hall who’s going to help me, right? Someone, please.
I thrash as Kit slides his hand up my thigh, but before I know it, more hands than Thomas’ are holding me still. The only people in the dining hall who stand up and do anything are the people standing up to watch. At least none of them have cameras.
My stomach lurches as Kit’s hand brushes my mound and he reaches for the waistband of my underwear.
“This doesn’t feel like a thong,” he mutters, examining my butt with his hand until I actually land a small kick against him.
“Be done with it,” Thomas snarls. “She’s a fighter.”
“Almost got it…”
I squeeze my thighs together as my final act of protest, but I can’t fight off multiple men over 6’ tall.
They easily rip my underwear off and Kit hoists it in the air to meet cheers from the rest of the dining hall.
Thomas unleashes me from his grasp and I fall to the ground, unable to regain my balance so quickly after fighting so hard. Everyone in the dining hall laughs.
I don’t know where Roger went, but I can’t make him out in the crowd. He probably saw trouble and wanted nothing to do with it. I can’t blame him. But I also can’t let them have the last word. I can’t let them win. Kit crumples my fire engine red underwear and slides it into his pocket.
I scramble to my feet and lunge at Kit, pushing him as hard as I can.
“I hate you!”
Okay. Not my best work, but at least Kit Barclay looks bewildered. He’s probably never had anyone throw hands on him in his life. Well, he’s about to learn today. I ball my hands up in a fist and let it fly at Kit’s face as hard as I can. I’m going to get in huge trouble for this.
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