8. Sydney
eight
sydney
Andi Sharpe seems, for all intents and purposes, to be a good student. But she has a serious grudge against me, so much so that she showed up to class yesterday and glared daggers at me the whole time. But she didn’t call me any names, which probably would’ve made our professor excuse her from class again.
Miranda is bright. She speaks up when she has something to say, and the two girls don’t sit next to each other. Which is why I’m surprised that she’s here with Andi.
“Oliver asked me to send you a message.” Andi tips her head. “Ambush is what you did to us , snitch. This is a warning.”
I hold up my hands. “I should probably wash before you do whatever you’ve got planned. You know, hygiene.”
She glowers at me but waves me to the sink. It gives me time to try and think of a fucking solution, but… I’ve got nothing.
I glance over at Miranda. “Why are you here?”
“What?”
I make a face. “You’re not the bullying type.”
Andi’s scowl deepens. “Don’t talk to her.”
“Uh-huh.” I eye her. “What are you going to do, pour water over my head? Or beer? That shit’s expensive, but you’re welcome to do it if it makes you feel better.” I shake the water droplets off my hands. “Or, hmm… public humiliation? Or just humiliation in general?”
Andi’s gaze flicks over my shoulder. Someone grabs me from behind, manipulating my arms until my shoulders torque. Pain spikes down to my fingers, and I wince.
I didn’t even have a chance to freaking struggle.
“Public humiliation sounds great,” Andi murmurs.
In the mirror, I make eye contact with the person holding me. The sad part is, I don’t even recognize her. Her light-brown hair is up in a severe ponytail, her eyeshadow is an interesting shade of purple, and her face is utterly ordinary.
Minus the hate in her gaze.
I squirm, trying to wiggle loose while focusing on Andi. She’s clearly the one running this show. The one holding me is strong, though, and doesn’t allow me any leeway.
“How long did you wait for me?” I ask.
She huffs. “Fucking forever. Oliver texted me that you were here before the game started, but you were with the coach’s wife. Thank God she decided to leave you alone, right?”
Because Perri and my father don’t really know the extent of bullying… or how much the entire school seems to loathe me.
Like my unknown texter said, maybe I just need to wait for someone to fuck over the football team. If only they had made it to the playoffs.
“The last thing we need is you showing up at a hockey game,” Andi continues. “Miranda, do you have it?”
She pulls out a roll of duct tape from her coat pocket, coming into the bathroom and placing it in Andi’s hand. She quickly retreats to the doorway, her gaze turned outward.
“Now…” Andi tilts her head. “Maybe off with the sweatshirt.”
The girl behind me immediately yanks it over my head. I throw myself backward, crashing into her, but the mountain of a girl barely stumbles. She shoves me into the counter, bending me over until my cheek is pressed to the faucet. They get the hoodie the rest of the way off, and the rip of duct tape comes a second later.
They bind my wrists together and hoists me upright.
The muscle turns me to face them, one hand on my upper arm.
“You seem cockier now that my hands are bound,” I observe. “What’s your name?”
She frowns. “You don’t know?”
“I don’t really care minus having someone on my mental shit list. Unless you want to be called Ogre…”
“Kate,” she snaps.
“ Kate ,” I repeat. “Got it. Not sure why you’d think I would know that. Do you just follow Andi here around like a little lamb?”
Andi punches me in the stomach.
The pain of it is surprising—as is my unpreparedness. I let out an unholy grunt, nearly doubling forward.
“Careful.” Andi grips my hair and yanks my head back. “You’re all alone here.”
“Sorry,” Miranda suddenly says. “There was an overflowed toilet, it’s flooding… we already called maintenance.”
“Have you seen Sydney Windsor?” Perri asks.
I open my mouth, and Andi lunges forward. Her palm connects with my lips, her sharp nails digging into my cheek. I stare at her. Because really, is it worth this? The anger in her eyes seems visceral, though. How far she’ll go is anyone’s guess.
“She hasn’t come back to her seat,” Perri finishes.
“No, ma’am, I’m sorry.”
After a long minute, Miranda pops her head back in and gives us a thumbs-up.
Well, gives her friends the motion.
Andi rips off another few inches of tape and covers my mouth. I shake my head, scowling at her. There will be fucking payback for this.
Kate pulls me sideways. I nearly trip over my feet as I try to follow her quick movement.
Fuck.
This.
I struggle harder, headbutting her and digging my heels into the floor. I connect with something important, because while my head hurts from the collision, it’s got nothing on the way Kate yelps. She clutches at her nose with one hand, the other still death-gripping my arm.
Andi groans. It takes both of them to shove me into the stall.
While I fear they’re going to dunk my head in the toilet— they might not be above drowning —instead, they turn me around to face them. The backs of my knees bump the toilet.
“Hold her,” Andi orders.
Kate grabs my hair with her free hand, tugging hard. My head automatically goes back, trying to lessen the burning in my scalp, until I’m staring at the ceiling. My eyes water. I blink, but the pain doesn’t ease.
My stomach aches, and I fight the tape around my wrists without success. The edges dig into my skin, and my fingers tingle.
Andi moves fast. She undoes the button of my jeans and pulls them all the way to my fucking ankles. My phone falls out of my pocket, and she kicks it away. It slides and scrapes across the tile, out of reach.
“Thank fuck you’re wearing underwear, slut.”
They shove me down, and the tape materializes back in Andi’s manicured hand. I stare at her long, purple nails as she pulls a little free and slaps it on my thigh. She takes her time winding it around my legs, pressing them together.
When she goes for my ankles, I kick at her. I catch her in the side, knocking her on her ass. She comes back just as fast, slapping me across the face. She hands the tape to Kate and grabs my chin.
“This is nothing,” she whispers in my ear.
They continue to secure my legs… and tape them to the toilet. My thighs are taped to the bowl, the tape securing my wrists attached to the hardware at the back. I can’t go forward, there’s nowhere to go backward.
When they’re done, my gray shirt is barely visible beneath the layers of silver tape. My bare legs already smart from the pull and adhesive.
My cheek burns. But it’s nothing compared to the helplessness that rushes through me when they both step back and I can’t fucking move. I squeeze my legs together more; the only saving grace is that my red underwear covers enough for me to not feel completely naked.
A flash goes off in my face, and I jerk back as much as I can. Stars pop in front of my eyes. I blink rapidly to clear it, only slowly registering that this isn’t humiliating enough—they’ve gone and taken a picture, too.
“This will make a great photo on your social media, Sydney,” Kate sneers. “Enjoy your night.”
They leave.
They leave me there.
And here I thought this shit only happened to high school nerds from the eighties.