Chapter 12 – Clover
Chapter Twelve
Clover
We practiced so late that we barely got any sleep.
Sylvia’s still scared to sleep in her room with the vandal at large, so I let her climb into bed with me.
Molly seemed okay with having Sylvia stay over at first, but now she’s acting all huffy and passive aggressive.
I’ve never really had a roommate before, so maybe I should talk to her.
Sylvia can always stay with Kola if Molly isn’t cool for some reason.
Plus, nearly everyone in the dorm offered up their room for Sylvia to stay in. That’s what’s so weird about what happened to her bedroom. Everyone who meets Sylvia loves her. She’s not the type of person to have enemies with her warm Southern smile.
“Warm” didn’t work in my world and I always feel so cold and uncool compared to her.
I have no desire to go to the dining hall for breakfast for the next few days considering what happened the last time, so Sylvia agrees to take me off campus, even if it’s not exactly allowed without us actively signing out.
Kola has an early class so she can’t join us, but Sylvia invites Roger and Molly along.
Molly doesn’t seem as frustrated in the morning, so maybe she’s over whatever she was going through last night.
She still declines our invitation, which doesn’t surprise me, but Roger jumps at the chance to come with us.
Sure, he’s been to a dance rehearsal or two, but I don’t know why Sylvia invited him.
“Do you like Roger or something?” I ask Sylvia, slinging my bag over my shoulder.She shakes her head but then gets a bright smile on her face. “Nope. Nobody knows my crush.”
“A crush?”
“I always have a crush,” Sylvia says cheerily.
I hazard a solid guess. He doesn’t always have the best personality, but Sylvia seems to like him and even I have to admit he’s good looking for an asshole.
“It’s Thomas Bainbridge, isn’t it?”
Just thinking about him irritates me, but they knew each other before school, so I think I’m onto something. It would make sense if Sylvia was crushing on him, even if he has the worst personality He’s attractive. Beyond attractive, actually. But that doesn’t make up for his stank attitude.
Sylvia’s face wrinkles in disgust. “Girl, just no.”
Seriously? His tattoos? His hair? His ripped body?
“What’s wrong with Thomas?”
Sylvia shrugs, but keeps her nose wrinkled.
“I don’t like tattoos.”
“Are you joking?”
How can she say that? Thomas doesn’t just have tattoos. He’s like… completely ripped. He makes the Hemsworth brothers look fat. His muscles are insane. I don’t even know how he keeps his physique so perfect. Can those weird rowing machines actually turn a guy into a fucking beast?
“No!” Sylvia says, shrugging her shoulders as if throwing away the whole damn idea. “I’m not into Thomas. No way. We are just friends and honestly, he’s a bad friend. Now let’s get breakfast with Roger.”
“Wait, is Roger your crush?”
“No. You’ll never guess.”
She’s probably right. Sylvia might be fun and bubbly, but there’s a part of her she keeps so close to the chest. I get it.
I can be the same way too, especially since my whole life is on the internet.
I just appreciate Sylvia for never bringing it up, even if she confesses that she used to watch the channel in high school.
It’s weird that she can know every awkward moment in my life and I don’t know half as much about her.
We get breakfast together, and Roger makes good company. He’s a little flirty with both of us, but that just seems to be his personality. He’s a great dancer for a white guy, which definitely counts for something. Too bad I just see him as a friend. He would probably make a good boyfriend.
After breakfast, I head to my first class, which I unfortunately don’t have with Sylvia.
We probably won’t even run into each other until it’s time for bed.
Just in case Molly is still in a weird mood, Kola agrees to let Sylvia sleep in her room for the night.
I don’t mind getting my alone time. Growing up with a camera in my face, I would come up with anything to do to get away from everything.
I’m lucky I didn’t end up more of a loner.
My little brother could end up that way.
He already hides away for ages playing video games. I miss you, buddy.
We don’t have a dance rehearsal tonight, so I head to the studio alone to practice once the boys are done with rowing. They practice for so long and the studio isn’t even available until 8 p.m. They don’t even help clear the room knowing I have it booked for dance practice after. Assholes.
I’ll have to move all the stupid machines myself to get room to do my kicks and jumps, but since Kola has me dancing the lead, I need to put the extra work in, so maybe I can consider dragging these raggedy rowing machines around a warmup.
Throwing my headphones on and moving to a beat always made me forget the crazy world outside the music.
Before rehearsal, I throw on some old Brandy albums on shuffle.
The Boy Is Mine comes on first. I love this song.
Why doesn’t anyone make music like this any more?
I swear I was born in the wrong generation sometimes.
I prefer baggy tees to crop tops and baggy track pants to leggings.
I’d rather listen to Aaliyah than SZA, even if I have nothing against her.
I guess I never fit in with the other kids my age. I’m lucky to have Kola and Sylvia now. They get why I’ve never had super close friends before and they don’t judge me for any part of my past.
Once I move the stupid rowing machines, I have to put on my hardcore warmup music. Get Me Bodied by Beyoncé has been the best warmup song on my playlist for the past two years and nothing has changed. After that, I play Freakum Dress to stretch my legs and practice my jumps for our dance pieces.
I work up a sweat to Baby Boy while moving my hips and I am ready for this. I don’t mind rehearsing alone and since no one sane is in the gym this late, I have the whole place to myself. I can sing while I dance, practice the same part a hundred times and lose myself and my body in the movements.
Now that I know Kola’s choreography almost by heart — and the parts I don’t know I have on video on my phone — I run through my part over and over until I get it perfect.
The faster I learn this dance, the faster I can get into the other one.
We have five pieces to put together before the end of the semester and I want this to be our thing.
Our black girl thing. There’s nothing at the Fox Academy for black people.
British people don’t even have the obligatory ‘diversity’ departments and they seem to think mentioning race at all invokes racism like the damn ghost of Christmas past.
There aren’t many black kids at this school but maybe more would want to come here if we had a hip-hop dance team and a few other clubs that weren’t totally lame.
I catch my breath after an hour straight of dancing and blast loud music as I close my eyes and lean against the mirrors in the dance studio. Just breathe, Clover.
If I stop moving I just start thinking of everything going on at home.
I feel guilty for leaving my brother behind.
I feel guilty for not staying on the channel.
I feel guilty for wanting an education instead of doing what my parents wanted and trying to get into a low budget movie and then marrying up in the entertainment industry.
I just want an education. It’s the one thing my parents never had and were convinced they never needed, but I don’t want to have to act like an idiot online to make a living.
I’d rather dance professionally or teach people how to dance, or just…
wait until I find a better way. When my eyes flicker open, the lights in the studio are off, and I’m plunged into darkness alone.
Crap. I didn’t realize they had these automatic lights down here too.
Some parts of the library have motion detecting lights so students can’t hook up there.
I never stopped moving in the studio long enough to find out.
I walk toward the light switch in the dark.
I know my way, so I don’t think twice before stepping away from the mirror.
I take several steps away from the wall and then a long arm wraps around me and someone grabs me.
I scream and the noise echoes in the studio before my assailant covers my mouth. I know he’s the same man from the party and I freak the hell out. I’m a little stronger from a few days of dancing, but not strong enough to overpower a grown ass man.
I thrust my elbow into his stomach. Firm.
He has a really firm stomach. That’s all I can tell because it’s dark and he’s holding me against him, finally lifting me off the ground so I can’t even fight.
I hate feeling so fucking powerless, so I at least try to bite his hand which only makes my assailant clamp down on me harder.
I squirm in his grasp and make several desperate movements that yield nothing.
“Are you blackmailing me?” he snarls. There’s something off about his raspy voice. It occurs to me that he may be disguising it. I squirm again and throw my elbow to no avail.
I can’t answer the idiot because he has his hand over my mouth. My response comes out all muffled and he takes his hand away.
“Scream and I’ll hurt you.”
It’s the same voice as before but this time I have a name on the tip of my tongue. Who the hell is this?
My heart pounds a million miles a minute.
“Who are you?”
“Turn around and I’ll hurt you,” he growls. His chest heaves against me and I feel the washboard abs pressing into my back. My attacker must be ridiculously strong. If I want to get out of here, I’ll have to fight and fight hard.
“Who are you?” I snap more forcefully, wriggling again, but still failing to free myself.
“You know who I am. You sent the email. You figured it out.”
“Sent what?” I hiss, throwing my elbow again. He doesn’t budge and his muscles hurt my elbow when I slam into them. My heart races faster. He’s the same guy as before, I know it, but why the fuck is he so determined to mess with me?
“Fuck’s sake, Clover. Don’t lie to me…”
“I don’t know who you are! Now let go of me!”
“I can’t. I can’t let you see me.”
He’s holding me so tightly that even if I wanted to, I couldn’t turn around.
I can’t recognize the voice, but if I saw his face, this little game would be over.
I would have more than enough to go to the headmaster with and whichever boarding school fuck boy is responsible for this wouldn’t get away with just a slap on the wrist.
I kick my attacker’s thighs again, but he just grunts and edges his hips forward. Fury shoots through me as I feel that thing jutting from between his thighs.
“I’ll tell as soon as you let go of me.”
“No, you’re not,” he says. “Because if you talk about this, Clover, I’ll make your life a living hell. I promise you that.”
“I don’t have anything to do with you. Just let me go.”
“Oh, I will,” he whispers. “But I need assurances that you won’t talk.”
He reaches his hand into the front of my sweatpants and he covers my mouth again so I can’t scream. He doesn’t push his hand into my underwear, but he boldly runs his fingers along the outside.
“I want your knickers.”
My throat tightens. What is it with the white guys here and their trophies?
“Who are you?” I mumble into his hand.
“Matter of fact,” he whispers. “I want you to take your clothes off entirely and once you’re naked, I’m going to cover your eyes and you’re not to open them until you count to 100.”
He removes his hand from my mouth, but keeps the other in my pants, holding me against him by my crotch. The apex of my thighs throbs unwillingly against his hand. No. I don’t want to feel anything. Not like this and certainly not from the way he’s invading my space.
“What happens if I don’t listen? One look at your face and you’ll be expelled.”
His fingers move gently outside my underwear and he grabs me closer to his body possessively.
“I’m going to kill you,” he whispers, pushing a dreadlock away from my neck and kissing me. “If you don’t listen, babe… I’m going to fucking kill you.”
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