5. Chapter 5
Chapter five
Bexley
T hose assholes ruined my orgasm, and now they have ruined my Tuesday.
I was ready to be all peppy and optimistic, but as soon as I turned the corner to the hallway, I spotted their backs as they walked off in the other direction. Thankfully, they didn't see me, but I did have half a mind to fling something at their heads.
After they left the beach, the vibe kind of died so we called it a night. Yesterday was exhausting—mentally and physically—and we decided it was better to get some rest for school today.
Gym for first period should be illegal and punishable by law. It's way too early to be running around and the weather is already heating up for the day. The Ford doesn't have a working A/C, so I had both windows down on the way here, but the stale, warm breeze just made me want to go back to bed.
Following the hallway to the other side of the building, I vaguely remember my bearings from yesterday. Thankfully, the track isn’t hard to miss when I emerge through wide double doors and I make my way down to the female locker rooms by the edge of the field.
It appears empty as I pull into a stall, changing into the slightly too-small black shorts, and an extra-large white shirt. It's not ideal, but at least the shirt partially covers my ass since it's threatening to break loose. Though, I’m not confident that it will help once I start to run. I hope the stitching is premium on these shorts and they don’t rip and flash my ass to everyone.
There's still no one in sight when I walk out of the stall, but a sudden " Fuck sticks! " has me jumping and looking around wildly.
"Uh, hi?" I ask, determining that the voice came from one of the toilets and not God himself.
"Oh, thank goodness," a soft voice mutters in relief. "This is embarrassing but do you have a spare tampon? Hell, I'll even accept a pad. Anything except for this one-ply sandpaper."
Laughing at the toilet paper comment, I open my bag and start to dig around. "No offence but you'd think with Willowbrook's money they would at least provide some decent toilet paper."
"You're telling me," she groans, letting out a tiny squeak when I reach under the door and hold out a Tampax. "You're the fucking best."
For some reason, I feel compelled to wait. It seems rude of me to run out now, so I stand by the basins, until the toilet flushes and a blonde girl with vibrant pink ends walks out.
Her green eyes look at me warmly and I take in our matching outfits, surmising she must be a senior about to start gym as well.
“Oh, I see,” she laughs, nodding at the blue sleeve poking out of my bag. “A Cedar Heights comrade.”
“Comrade is a stretch,” I joke back. “But yes, I’m still getting used to the toilet paper situation too since it’s only my second day.”
She grins, washing her hands under the tap. “I hate to break it to you, but you never get used to it. There’s a constant fear you’re going to accidentally finger your own asshole. But hey, that’s probably the least of your concerns. I bet it feels like you’re trying to swim in a pool of lava right now.”
"Something like that," I admit. "I can handle it though."
Her eyes meet mine through the mirror. "I bet you can. You're Bexley, right?" she asks confidently.
"I am," I confirm.
There's something about her presence that seems friendly. Even saying my name, there's no animosity like I'd expect.
She doesn’t seem so bad. Easily the nicest person I’ve come across the past two days. I actually think I might grow to like her. I'm not completely against the idea of an ally in this school, even if most of them are entitled dickwads. But she doesn't give that kind of vibe. If anything, she seems normal .
I still have to be on my guard though. I’ve learned never to trust people until they prove themselves. But hey, if anything was going to bring mortal enemies together, it was always going to be our disdain for periods. That’s why women should be in positions of power. Dick fights? Unproductive. Sharing tampons? World peace.
She flicks her hands over the basin, wiping the residual water on the sides of her shirt. But before she can respond, another voice cuts in.
"Argh, look what the trash dragged in."
I turn my attention to the doorway, eyes landing on three cheerleaders. Ahh, yes—this was the drama I was expecting.
"Fuck off, Liv. Don't you need to get your nails done or something?" the blonde girl mutters, walking away from the basin to stand next to me.
The girl in the center with auburn hair holds up a hand lazily, turning it over. "No need—got a fresh set yesterday since I can actually afford it."
I know that's a dig toward me, but I couldn't care less. Despite the fact these shorts are strangling my ass cheeks, I make do.
Crossing my arms, I face my bright-red nails toward her. "You're blocking the entrance," I tell the cheerleaders, noting the small crowd that’s gathered behind trying to get in. They are watching on, some with interest, while others glare at me. There's not a single familiar Cedar face among them but that’s fine. If they don’t move, I'm not above shoving my way through if need be.
"Don't pay her any attention. That's just Liv," the blonde girl murmurs dryly.
"Just Liv?" she laughs. "Try head cheerleader."
Oh, goody. I love a walking cliché first thing in the morning.
"Amazing," I reply sarcastically. "Well done, you."
Liv turns to the girl on her left. "Sierra, aren't they your old shorts from freshman year?" she laughs.
The tall, tanned cheerleader with a fresh caramel balayage snickers. "You know what Mommy is like—loves donating to charity."
"God, she can't even get the right size," Liv mocks. "They are so small on her."
And here come the fat jokes. Not an original thought or brain cell between the three of them.
I'm not overweight by any means, but I expected the bitchiness. When people have no more ammo, they target your physical appearance. I don't care though, but the girl on Liv's right shifts awkwardly. Her friends don't notice, but when her light brown eyes meet mine, she quickly looks away.
I take a few steps forward. "You're still blocking the entrance," I point out.
Liv smiles, glossy pink lips upturning smugly. "They can wait."
Rolling my eyes, I take a step to my left, but Liv follows, blocking my path.
"Move," I order with a warning to my tone.
"I'm not done speaking to you."
"That's hilarious because I have nothing to say to you. Just keep out of my way and I'll keep out of yours."
Liv laughs, stepping forward and closing the distance between us. She lifts one of her perfectly manicured nails, shoving it into my chest. "You listen to me—"
My hand snaps up, coiling around her finger and painfully squeezing it. Her words cut off as she tries to jerk her hand back, but I grip tighter, pulling her finger backwards. Not enough to break it, but enough to warn that I'll dislocate the damn thing if she touches me again.
"I don't think so," I start, pressing my thumb against the back of the tip of her nail. "I don't waste my energy on vapid, shallow bitches. Whatever you are going to say, forget it. Yes, I'm from Cedar. No, I'm not going to fuck your boyfriend. But yes–I will absolutely break your fucking finger if you touch me again."
I release her finger, the force sending her stumbling back into the black-haired girl.
"Peyton!" Liv hisses, apparently deciding it was her friend’s fault.
Making use of the distraction, I stroll past them, stopping in the middle of the gawking crowd. "You coming?" I say to the blonde girl, not keen to leave her behind to deal with the fallout of my actions.
"Absolutely," she laughs, following.
When we're on the track, she turns to me, grinning from ear to ear. "That was epic. I love seeing bitches get eaten for breakfast."
"Not friends of yours, then?"
"Hell, no. Me and cardio don't get along at the best of times—much less with a group of girls that will gouge your eyes out if you so much as disagree with them. I'm more of the reading type."
I laugh softly. "I hate cardio too."
A group of blue jerseys start heading toward the locker rooms, their faces lighting up when they see me. I wave them over, warning them to give the cheerleaders a wide berth before I turn back to the girl.
"I suppose we should do proper introductions. You know my name and I'd hate to just refer to you as Tampax girl," I say, holding my hand out.
She takes it, giving it a firm shake. "Sophia. But please don't call me Sophie. I'm one more incorrect name away from having a menty b."
"Noted."
"What the hell are you wearing, Spencer?" a deep voice asks from behind with a laugh.
I don't even need to turn around to know who it belongs to. His voice is embedded in my head, like nails down a blackboard.
"Fuck off, Rylan," I reply sharply.
He steps up next to me, giving me a full body scan before looking at Sophia. "Wow, this is early for you, Soph. I can't believe you're out of bed already."
"Oh, bite me, Rylan," Sophia retorts, but it's surprisingly playful. "Not everyone likes to get up at sparrow's fart like you."
Both Rylan and I turn to look at her, completely baffled. She chooses to face me, giving a sheepish smile. "Heard it on TikTok. Apparently, Australians say it when referring to early mornings."
A part of me wonders if I read her wrong. Maybe she's not as innocent as she seems if she’s friendly with this jerk. But still, I laugh at her weird comment, wondering how the hell bird farts have anything to do with early mornings.
I’m still perplexed by the exchange though. While I have made the effort to be an approachable leader for the Cedar Heights students, most of Willowbrook seem to fear their masters—tending to every command like they aren't worthy or equals. But this girl doesn't flinch at all with Rylan's remarks. And he doesn’t seem upset at her snark reply. If anything, he seems amused.
I hope they aren't dating or fucking. That would be awkward.
"I'm happy to bite you anytime, Sophia. You just have to ask."
"You can leave now," I shoot at him. "It's too early to be dealing with you, and to be honest, I've already used up my quota of patience for you this week."
Rylan gives me his usual smug smile. "Is it because of last night? Did I ruin your dicking?"
Sophia gawks at us in confusion. I turn to face him, propping a hand on my hip. "You ruin everything. Your presence alone in a five mile radius has that effect."
He scans me again, raising a quirky eyebrow at my itsy bitsy teenie weenie shorts that are barely visible. Returning the favor in an attempt to make him uncomfortable, I notice he's dressed in gym clothes too—dammit, apparently he’s in this class as well. I have the worst luck.
Wearing black shorts and a white shirt with the Willowbrook crest on his pec, part of me wonders if it was custom made for him since it fits him so well. His muscles cut through the white material, and I take a moment to breathe a sigh of relief that they opted for black as the bottom half of their uniform. I can only imagine the chaos that would ensue with white shorts if it rained. No one wants to see wet sausage flinging around.
"Well then, prepare to have every day ruined, Spencer,” he grins, unfazed by my intruding eyes.
Before I can respond, the coach summons everyone over. I whip around, giving Rylan a view of my back.
He laughs quietly behind me. "You seem to be missing your shorts."
I bite my tongue, ignoring the comment.
"Alright, folks. Let's begin," the coach says. "Cedar Heights students, you can place your bags by the seats next to the track. Then come back here and we’ll start splitting you into groups to start warmup laps."