Chapter 8
“I’m sorry, you what?”
I flinched at Morgan’s high-pitched tone, glancing around rapidly to see if anyone was eavesdropping. “Can you be a little quieter? I don’t really want this getting around.”
“You don’t—I don’t—Gemma.” Her brown eyes couldn’t have gotten any wider if she tried. “You’re meeting the Grim Reaper in private and you don’t want anyone to know?”
“It’s not like that.” We stood in front of my open locker at the end of the school day, when the hallways were the busiest. “Don’t make it weird.”
“Oh, right, me make it weird.” She took a step closer to me, and even though she was shorter than me, her fierce gaze was instantly intimidating.
I inched backward, closer to my locker. “No, Gemma, what’s weird is that you met with death himself yesterday and didn’t tell me.
Did you at least say something to Jaden? ”
I pretended to be super absorbed in my English textbook. “No.”
Even though I confessed to her about Hudson, I didn’t tell Morgan about getting off the bus this morning.
I knew I should’ve. There was no guessing what her reaction would be, but she surely wouldn’t understand the decision.
I didn’t understand it in the moment. I hadn’t understood it while Hudson’s body rocked into mine with every bump in the road, and I hadn’t understood it when the driver dropped us off at Walnut Street.
We’d run the rest of the way. His legs were definitely longer than mine, but somehow, our strides matched.
Side by side, no doubt looking like maniacs trying to book it before the bell.
I’d done it despite everything. Landon’s warnings, Morgan’s worries, and all the rumors.
I was clearly out of my mind, but we both made it. Hudson had stopped for a brief second when I got to my classroom’s door, and then, with an expression I had no time to read, he hurried off toward his homeroom.
“Isn’t it better to have more people know? I mean…just in case?” She narrowed her gaze at me, leaning closer. “Please tell me you told your parents.”
“I thought you said that I shouldn’t tell them everything.”
“Jeez, Gemma, not when it comes to Mr. Death himself! He could take your soul. Or suck your blood. Or—”
“He’s not a vampire, Morgan.”
She let out a sharp sigh, one that I knew was accompanied by an eye roll. “Who are you, and what have you done with Gemma Settler?”
My hand grabbing my backpack strap froze, fingers curled around the nylon.
It wasn’t that I wasn’t acting like myself, but I wasn’t acting like the version that everyone expected.
Like the shy prude everyone thought I was.
The codependent daughter. But it didn’t feel like I was acting fake or anything—it sort of felt like I was digging up someone I’d always been, just buried underneath.
As terrified as meeting with Hudson made me, it didn’t stop a small smile from springing to my lips.
Something hard bumped into my back with enough force to shove me forward into my locker, and I caught myself before face-panting into the metal. At first, I assumed Morgan had been the one to give the shove, at least until she shouted. “Hey! Watch it!”
“You were in my way,” the male voice responded without a care in the world, and when I looked over my shoulder, I found a boy looking well past high school age standing there.
He was taller than Morgan, barely, but menacing enough that height didn’t seem to really matter.
Though his reputation didn’t precede him the way Hudson’s did, he fell into the other bad seeds at Brentwood High.
Wes Torres. It wasn’t quite clear if he fit into the druggie or gang category, but he was definitely a jerk to steer clear of, along with the girl who lingered over his shoulder.
He had an affinity for picking on underclassmen, and apparently, we were next in line.
“You should respect your elders, fresh-meat.”
“Hey, look at the goody-two-shoes Settler,” the girl over his shoulder called to me, narrowing her cat-liner eyes at me.
“Since the girl who runs Babble included everyone’s pictures for the Most Likely Tos, we can finally put a face to your name.
Nice skirt, grandma. I guess that prude label fits you perfectly. ”
Wes looked newly interested in the two of us and took a step closer. No, his attention wasn’t on the two of us—it was on me. “You’re the golden boy’s little sister, then? Part of that prissy family? I mean, I thought I knew he had a sister running around, but never knew what she looked like.”
I dropped my gaze to my feet, too freaked out to look him in the eye.
“You know, if I squeeze hard enough, I could probably get you to fit in that locker. Maybe we can even get two-for-one.” He looked at Morgan.
“You shouldn’t,” Morgan said. “H-Her brother is the quarterback. And her mom is the school board president.”
“You shouldn’t,” the girl added, “because who knows what kind of rumors that family would spread about you?”
Wes advanced farther, and his sneakers came into the view I had of the ground. Too close. “It’s people like you that really piss me off, you know,” he said in a low voice, sending a shiver up my spine. “More than the other nameless freshmen. You.”
I had no idea what he was talking about, but I didn’t move an inch. Didn’t throw out a comeback. My body had already locked down—there was no fight or flight. Only freezing. Keep your head down, Gemma.
“You all think you’re so much better than anyone else,” he went on. “Making up rumors, ruining people’s lives. So, this? This isn’t bullying. It’s payback.”
Morgan piped up beside me, sounding like a mouse. “She—she has nothing to do with the Most Likely To list!”
“The list,” he scoffed, barely sparing her a glance. “You think I’m talking about the stupid list?”
Wes slammed his hand on the locker beside and drew in close, close enough for his hot breath to waft across my face.
I flinched back, my shoulder slipping half into the locker, the side of the metal cutting into my spine.
I waited for him to grab me, to seal me inside the open locker, when the scene before me seemed to freeze, like everyone held their breath.
Morgan’s sneakers squeaked as she backed up, but I still didn’t lift my gaze from my own white shoes.
There was dust and dirt smeared into the canvas from climbing out of the bus this morning.
As I studied them, Wes’s, too, took a sharp step backward, his looming presence receding.
I didn’t want to look up, but I couldn’t help it.
Hudson Bishop stood like a shadow beside me, his hands in his front pockets.
His blond hair fell in a side part that exposed a section of skin on his forehead, showcasing plenty of his flat, bored expression.
For a brief second, I thought he stood there to assist in closing me into my locker, but the guy in front of me just took another step back.
“Pick another underclassman,” Hudson said, voice monotone. “Because if anyone’s going to mess with this one, it’s me.”
Yeah, see, that wasn’t quite a comforting sentiment.
“I was just helping you out,” Wes said, lifting his hands lazily as if someone pointed a gun at him. He didn’t look Hudson directly in the eye, though. “Just doing your dirty work for you.”
Hudson didn’t even blink.
Wes took another step back, the sneer smeared on his face faltering. “Have at it,” he said. “You do have dibs on that family, don’t you?”
Hudson didn’t reply, but Wes didn’t really wait for him to. He walked away, the girl trailing behind him with a glare.
I let out a big breath, the relief loosening my lungs. Morgan shifted her wide eyes from Wes’s retreat to Hudson to me, leaning forward to mutter, “That was kind of cool.”
I shoved her away, because Hudson definitely stood within earshot, and his attention focusing on her proved it.
There wasn’t a trace of amusement—if anything, it was like he was debating to follow through on the boy’s threat to seal me in the metal box.
My heart had squeezed upon seeing him, but now raced in double-time. “This—this is Morgan.”
Hudson absolutely didn’t care. He looked down the hallway, but the seniors had already walked down the sophomore wing. “Were you really going to let Wes put you in that locker?”
“I wouldn’t have let him,” Morgan answered, raising her tiny fists. “He’s probably double my weight, but I could’ve taken him.”
Her boldness was back now that the two students had walked away, which made her sentiment that much weaker. Hudson still wanted an answer, but I wasn’t sure what to tell him. I didn’t know what I would’ve done if Wes grabbed me. So instead of answering, I turned to Morgan. “I’ll text you.”
She dropped her voice lower, eyes widening. “Remember—your elbows and your knees can be your best friend for self-defense.”
Hudson’s flat gaze fell on her, and if she turned around, no doubt she’d have a heart attack at drawing his attention. I shut my locker door and gave her a nod, and when I walked away, it felt a little bit like I was walking to my own funeral.
I only got a few feet away before Hudson caught my arm again, grinding me to a halt in the middle of the hallway. Not many students remained, and those who did didn’t look at us directly, almost like they were afraid to do so. “Answer me,” he demanded.
“You really like grabbing me,” I muttered as I looked at his hand, swallowing the butterfly fluttering in my throat.
“You really wouldn’t have stood up for yourself?”
“I’ve always been told not to fight back.
To turn the other cheek.” It was something my parents said often, though mostly metaphorically.
Never throw a punch. Never be the one someone can point a finger at.
Turn the other cheek. “He wouldn’t have gotten away with it, and if I just put up with it, I wouldn’t have gotten in trouble, too. ”
“Is that what your parents who forgot your birthday said?”