Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
Sixteen Years Old
The bathroom by biology is notorious for fights. How do I know? ‘Cause this is the second time I’ve gotten cornered here.
Today, Harley has recruited Bethany and Hannah to the bullshit brigade. They aren’t even in my class, so how the hell did they know I’d be in here?
“You think you’re just everything, don’t you?” Harley sneers, her fake blonde hair piled into a perfect messy bun. It’s always so perfect, and it makes me mad. Everything about her is always so perfect. I tried to do my hair in a messy bun today, but it’s looking more messy than bun.
“I just need to go to the bathroom.” I shift from foot to foot, eyeing the stall. I don’t normally have gut issues, but after that burrito at lunch today, things are getting serious.
Harley doesn’t care. “The fuck did I tell you about Connor?”
I can feel my bowels rumbling. She’s on this still? I need to get in the bathroom and quick, but Bowel Blocker Bethany is standing in front of the pale pink door.
“You think turning yourself into a princess and joining the team will make him want your loser ass?”
Annoyance bubbles up in me. She’s referring to my hair.
I have vitiligo on a patch of my forehead that goes back into my scalp, turning the small patch of hair white.
People always talk about it like it’s the most interesting thing about me when in reality, it’s the least. I snap my gaze to Harley.
“It’s genetic. And I don’t want your loser boyfriend. Now let me pass.”
Harley and Connor aren’t dating as far as I know, but Harley has practically pissed on him.
The hatred in Harley’s eyes makes my stomach turn.
She’s pretty. Unfairly so. If only she weren’t such a cunt.
I don’t like dealing with her, and I don’t want her fucking man.
I joined cheer cause I like the athleticism.
Sure, is it a perk to see hot guys grunting and fighting each other? Yes. But I’m not after her man.
I just want to go to the bathroom before I shit myself.
Harley notices me shifting, and a cruel smirk crosses her face. “What? Need to take a shit?”
“Yes, now get out of the way.” I motion to Bethany, who smiles at me, and I can see her crooked front teeth. It takes a second for my brain to catch up. How did she know I was going to be here? None of them have the same classes. Unless…
I stare at all three girls. Bethany and Harley look pissed. Hannah looks ashamed.
Come to think of it, Hannah did bump into me at lunch and spilled my drink. I had to go get a new one. Did they do something to it?
Harley smirks.
I want to groan. Oh my god. She laced my drink. She fucking laced my drink? No man is worth all this. If I push through Bethany, I wonder if I can make it to the toilet before they give me another shiner? Mom and Dad were pissed about that last time.
My stomach grumbles.
Fuck it. If it’s shitting my pants in front of them or shitting my pants while knocking Toothany into another dimension, I’ll take the latter.
I launch forward, throwing a fist straight at Bethany’s smile.
My fist makes contact, immediately exploding in pain as my knuckle bashes into her teeth.
There’s a scream, then chaos. A hand grips my hair and yanks so hard my head snaps back.
I thrash, but there are hands on me, ripping and clawing, destroying my attempt at a bun.
I throw my own fists, getting a moment enough to realize that their hair isn’t even messed up. I make weak contact with a chin because the bitch behind me hasn’t given me enough room to make a full swing.
Suddenly, my head is grabbed and shoved forward. It knocks off the toilet with a crack, and I groan, but not before my head is being shoved inside, and splitting pain rocks my world.
I growl, struggling to break their grip, but three sets of hands are on me, holding me down. My face is shoved down to the bottom of the bowl, knocking my chin and forehead against the porcelain and dipping my nose in the cold water. My escaped hair is plastered to the bowl.
Fear fills me, and I really struggle now. If they push hard enough, I won’t be able to breathe.
“Quit the team.”
I scream, thrashing, but it makes water splash up into my mouth and face. I choke, hacking as water gets sucked up into my lungs.
“Quit the team, bitch. And never talk to my man.”
I turn my face so I can suck air in through the side of my mouth. Harley gives my head a slam against the toilet again, which makes a bolt of pain shoot up through my cheekbone. I groan, my head feeling fuzzy.
There’s a sound, and the girls are whispering. Harley leans down into me. “Say a word about this, and it’ll be worse next time.”
She lets the pressure off my head. I swing my arms back, trying to hit them, but my head is spinning. They leave the stall, and I think I’m going to throw up.
Then, they’re gone, and the bathroom door slams.
I groan, picking my battered head up and laying it on the toilet seat. Fuck, my heart is racing, and now that they’re gone, true fear burns in my veins. My legs tremble.
That sucked.
Tears well in my eyes. I hear voices in the bathroom, then the door shuts, and pure silence settles around me. I hold my breath, and doing that makes the throbbing in my cheek worse, which only makes the tears burn more. And in a moment of weakness, I let them fall.
After a few minutes, I pull myself back together and sit up. I realize my thumb is throbbing. Looking down, I see the joint is swollen. When did that happen? I don’t remember them doing anything to my thumb.
This will be hard to explain to Dad.
Sniffling, I face the toilet, then stand up.
And that’s when the tight control I have releases, and then a warm stream of something runs down my leg.
I stand there for a second, brain catching up.
Ah fuck. I’ve shit myself.
“Whoa, what happened, killer?” It’s a few days later, and I’m trying to get to math class.
I glance up to see none other than Connor Delruse standing there in all his glory.
He’s easily six feet with golden hair and a killer smile.
He’s a year older than me, on the football team, and talented as hell.
It’s fucking disgusting.
Connor smiles at me, and I narrow my gaze.
“Fuck off.” I go back to walking, head down, hair curtaining around my face. Because I don’t really care to be kissing the inside of the toilet again.
“Hey, just trying to meet all the new cheerleaders.” I hear Connor’s steps jogging to catch up with me.
“I’m sure you are,” I mutter. I’m certain his version of meeting and mine are very different.
Connor must pick up on my tone, ‘cause he laughs. “Hate the game, not the player.” Then, he’s in front of me, forcing me to stop. I look up at him, and he looks down at my face. He has a cocky look with an eyebrow cocked before concern flashes across his gaze.
Immediately, I wish my hair was still in my face. My bruises are getting a nice dark color as they heal, and I can’t quite cover them up with concealer. I push past him, snapping, “Did you not hear me? Fuck off!”
Connor sticks with me. “Not even a ‘you should see the other guy?’”
“Why do you care?” I’m only a few classrooms away. So close.
Connor just laughs. “Well, you’re the only girl who won’t talk to me. Won’t even look at me. Call me intrigued.”
“What part of not interested do you not understand?” If Harley sees me with him, she’ll lose her ever-loving mind. And I can kiss phone privileges away for a year. Dad doesn’t care about much, but he hates it when I embarrass him.
“Does it hurt?”
“Huh?” I glance at him, and he motions at my swollen right hand.
“You gotta untuck your thumb when you throw a punch,” Connor says, like we’re friends.
I glare at him. He must be exceptionally stupid because now I’m considering using that punch on him. Mr. Can't-Take-A-Hint.
Connor ignores me. “Keep it on the outside of your fingers, and you won’t break it.” He throws me a conspiratorial wink. “I can teach you how to fight if you want.”
“Pass.” I’m close to my class, and people are starting to pass us in the hall. I can’t help but look over my shoulder.
Connor follows my glance. “Cool, I’ll see you after practice.” Then, he bounces off.
All I can do is stare after him. What is this guy’s problem?
A throb of pain moves through my hand, and I massage my swollen thumb.
Dad said I clearly didn’t think about the consequences of getting in a fight, so I wasn’t going to go to the doctor to ‘pussy out’ of the pain.
Then he seemed to forget about it, asking me to help him move a bunch of shit in the garage, despite the fact that it made my hand hurt like a bitch.
I hid the pain, knowing that would only make Dad’s behavior worse.
Connor noticed the pain, though. Which means I’m fucking slacking, because now he knows a weakness. He doesn’t care; he’s pointing out that he knows I’m vulnerable.
He can fuck all the way off. I don’t need anyone pretending to care about me. I’m strong enough to be alone, and I prefer it that way.
Connor does not fuck all the way off. In fact, he catches me the next day at lunch.
“Hey!” Connor slides next to me at my table.
I jump up like he poured boiling water all over me. “What’s your problem? I told you to fuck off.”
Connor winks at me. “What, you afraid to be seen with me, fourteen?”
I blink at him. He just nods at my shirt. I glance down and see I’ve picked my Sooner’s 14 jersey. I don’t wear it often, but I haven’t done laundry in way too long.
I just grab my tray and start moving away. I spot an isolated table in the corner and slide in. Thankfully, Connor doesn’t follow me.
Then, my phone dings.
Unknown: It’s okay, I like playing chase ;)
I glance up, and Connor has his phone out, grinning like an idiot. I glance around. Harley is at her table of bitches, glaring at me.
Cool. Awesome. Instinctively, I check my drink.
Me: I’m blocking you
Unknown: C’mon 14
Me: That’s not my name
Unknown: Okay, Ice Queen
Ice Queen. As in the queen with the sister who has a streak of white hair. Only, he’s calling me the character that doesn’t match my hair. Classic idiot.
Me: At least get the right princess
Unknown: Got it, frying pan
I snap my glare up at Connor. He’s not looking at me, but he’s smiling at his phone. A quick glance at the bitch table shows they’ve moved their attention away from me.
Unknown: I’ll send you some videos on fighting techniques. Just to be clear, are we fighting knights or evil stepsisters?
I narrow my gaze at the phone. Why the hell is he trying to pry me for information? It’s none of his business.
I put the phone back in my pocket and ignore the buzzes that follow. When I leave the lunch room, I don’t look back.
As soon as I’m out of the presence of the table of bitches, I feel like I can breathe again. My phone buzzes throughout the day. Eventually, when I’m sure no one’s looking, I scroll through Connor’s messages.
Unknown: Are you a cotton candy person or not? For some reason, I feel like you’d HATE cotton candy
Unknown: No one on the team says they know you. You’re like a ghost
Unknown: A ghost with no boyfriend. Yes, I asked. No girlfriend either
Unknown: Get back to me on the cotton candy, fourteen
He’s also sent some videos on Fighting 101 and basic self-defense. I roll my eyes, turning off my phone. I’m sure he just wants to get in my pants.
Connor messages me daily for the next few weeks.
He asks about stupid things like my favorite color, what government secrets I’m keeping, and if I think all humans see color the same way.
At first, I ignore him, thinking he’ll get bored.
But as time goes on, he finds ways to sneak me little treats without anyone noticing.
One day, I open my bag to find a bunch of candy fingers stuffed between bread.
He’s labeled it “knuckle sandwich, for your enemies”.
It makes me laugh, but I quickly stuff it down.
Harley has increased the stink eye, if that’s possible.
I think she knows something’s up, and I can feel her starting to boil over.
So, I start watching the fighting videos Connor sends. At first, to mock him. Then, I realize the videos might actually be legit. I hate it, but in the secrecy of my room, I practice the moves. It’s not long before I find out it’s not enough to do them by myself, fighting the air. I need a partner.
Finally, one day before practice, I work myself up. If Connor wants to harass me all damn day and get my ass beat for it, then the least he can do is teach me how to defend myself. But first, I want to see if he’s just blowing smoke up my ass to try to get in my pants.
So, I catch Connor in a rare, alone moment as he comes out of the locker room dressed for practice. I shove off the hallway wall where I was waiting and stalk up to him.
Connor’s face lights up. “Well, hey fourt—”
I swing at his face.
Connor ducks immediately, stepping into my space and shoving me back against the wall.
He’s there, all up in my face, his eyes wild for a second with something like terror.
It makes my stomach clench up in fear until he freezes there, not hitting me, just staring.
Staring like he’s seen a ghost. Then, that look is gone, and Connor’s gaze softens.
“Well fuck. Dangerous little thing, aren’t you? ”
I swallow, feeling how close his body is. Close and muscled and…
“Get off.” I shove at him. “I just came to say I accept.”
Connor’s eyes widen. “You’re accepting me into your super secret spy shit?”
“No. You’ll teach me how to fight.” I shove out of his orbit, even though my body never wants to leave that orbit.
Connor doesn’t say anything, and I turn to look at him. A slow grin creeps over his face.
“Don’t,” I warn him.
He raises his hands. “I won’t. I just think it’s cool that you chose today.”
“What’s today?” I narrow my gaze.
Someone shouts down the hall for Connor, and he grins. “The fourteenth.”
I frown. Is it a holiday or something, and I forgot?
“It’s your lucky number.” Connor starts backing down the hall. “Lessons will go well, I already know it. No one messes with fourteen!” Then, he’s gone.