Chapter Four #4
As I dug my schedule out of the bag, my eyes found that group of now-familiar bikes.
I glared at them, but was grateful that I had yet to run across their riders.
Returning my attention to the crumpled paper, I scanned it for where I was to be next.
Room 117, some elective I needed to graduate.
I was halfway to the stairs when movement under the front alcove caught my eye.
Miranda. And her entourage.
They had some poor girl cornered, her back to the wall like a trapped animal. My stomach twisted. I fucking hated bullies. But it was my first day. I needed to keep my head down. Blend in.
One foot on the first step. One second from walking away.
“Jesus, look at you. Where the fuck did you even get that shirt? I mean, you could’ve at least gotten it in your size. Which is what? An XXL?”
I balled my fists as the cackle of mean girls filled my ears. I wasn’t the only one in the hallway. I hated this. How could people just walk on by like this was ok? No one ever stepped in. I should know but, still, I was on the fence. Did this poor chick really need the new girl to step in?
But the second I heard her voice, my mind was made up.
“Miranda, come on. It’s the first day of school. We’re freaking seniors. Please just leave me alone.”
Maria.
Oh, hell no. I spun so fast that the walls around me blurred and marched right up to the little group cornering the girl I had been trying to befriend all summer. They parted for me, giving me a clear shot to Miranda, who turned to me, surprised.
“Hey, Miranda, right?”
She gave me a sickly-sweet smile, “Hi, Holly! Change your mind about cheerleading?”
“No. I hate cheerleading almost as much as I hate pick-me bitches who think it’s ok to bully other people just to make themselves feel better.”
Someone behind me gasped. I looked over Miranda’s shoulder at Maria, who was shaking her head like she was trying to tell me to stop. Miranda’s jaw dropped, and then her face turned a very unattractive red color. Like a beet. “What did you just say to me?”
“You heard me. Now, fuck off.”
“Do you know who I am?”
I rolled my eyes at the cliche line. “Did you know I don’t give a damn? Get a better hobby. Don’t you have some shitty routine to practice? A shitty boyfriend you need to text?”
I heard a male voice behind me. We must have drawn a crowd.
Typical. They wouldn’t stop to help someone but for a show?
The chance to watch a cat fight? They were all over that.
Miranda took a step towards me, shoving her face in mine.
I didn’t budge, wrinkling my nose at her floral perfume and raising a single eyebrow at her.
Come on. Do something. I dare you. I’ve got anger issues and a busload of trauma.
I’ll lay into your ass until you feel two inches tall.
“Ok, new girl. I see you. Think you’re hot shit? Well, let me tell you something. I own this place. I was doing you a favor. Now? I’m going to make your life a living hell. You’re gonna wish you had never crossed that line for some chick you don’t even know.”
“Get out of my face, Miranda. Ten years from now you’ll be dressing in designer to hide how much you hate your life. That girl behind you? She’ll be somebody. She’s already twice the person you’ll ever be. So: fuck off.”
Miranda’s mouth moved, but no words came out.
The whispering behind me grew louder. Just when I thought she was going to burst from the indignation, she stomped her foot and marched off, shouting that I would be sorry over her shoulder as her little posse followed behind her.
I glared at her retreating back, then I turned my attention to Maria as the bell rang and the crowd began to disperse.
“Hi.”
She stared at me, beat-up backpack clutched to her chest, and that same jean jacket hiding the bruises I knew were underneath. “Do you have a death wish?”
I shrugged. “Honestly? Yeah, a little.”
“That was social suicide.”
“I know. I just don’t care. It’s senior year, and I’m a stranger in a small town. I’ve already accepted my fate as an outsider.”
She squinted at me, pretty brown eyes taking me in. The bell rang again, and she shrugged her backpack over her shoulder. “Well, new girl. We’re gonna be late. What’s your next class?”
“Ummm, I have no idea. Some elective. Room 117?”
“Oh, like half the senior class is in that class. Stupid freaking graduation requirements, am I right?”
“Are you?”
“Am I what?”
“In the class?”
“Yup.” She popped the P. “Wanna follow me? Seal your fate as a social outcast?”
“I thought I already did that when I called Miranda a pick me bitch.”
She grinned, “Yeah, you totally did. That made my day. But hanging out with me is like the nail in the coffin.”
“Why?”
“I moved here a couple years ago. I’m not pretty enough to be a cheerleader, not smart enough to be in any academic club. My hand-eye coordination is shit, so sports is out of the question. And Miranda has made it her life’s mission to torment me.”
“Hmm, a California loner and the school’s head outcast. Seems like a perfect match.” My attempt at humor was lousy, but at least I was trying.
Maria laughed and headed up the stairs, “By the way, I’m sorry I never texted you.”
“It’s ok.”
“It’s not. It was kinda rude. But, well, you know.”
“What I saw in the bathroom.”
“What you think you saw.” I cast a skeptical side eye at her and she scoffed, “Listen, let’s just agree to never talk about it. And we can brave Hurricane Miranda together. Bet you’re more used to those than I am.”
“What, to hurricanes? Yeah, I’ve been through a few.” Figuratively and literally. “Fine, friends with secrets. Like friends with benefits but more fun and less complicated.”
Maria laughed again, “Yeah sure, blondie. Whatever you say.”
? Jackson ?
I sat on the crumbling brick wall that lined the parking lot, the late summer sun warming the brick as I watched the teal Mustang pull in like it owned the place.
It was old school—sleek, loud, and unapologetically pretty.
I had never seen that car before. Not in town, definitely not at school.
It stopped, the engine purring, before continuing across the blacktop and turning for the student lot.
Dalton was going on about something his mom had caught him doing, and Diego was calling him a dumbass.
Neither of them was aware that something else had caught my attention.
When she stepped out like she was exiting a movie scene, I stood up and swore.
Blonde hair, long tan legs, shorts that skirted the dress code by about a millimeter.
A green top hung off her shoulder and she straightened as she looked around the place.
She didn’t look nervous. She didn’t look lost. She looked like she’d been waiting for this entrance.
I saw her pause when she noticed our bikes but she shook her head and continued inside.
I watched her go, watched every head turn as she made her way up the steps.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” I muttered.
Dalton followed my gaze and gave a low whistle. “That the new girl? I was right! Romeo and Juliet here we come!”
“You mean Malibu Barbie,” I said, not bothering to hide the disdain.
“Pretty sure she’s more Cheerleader Assassin than Barbie,” Diego chimed in, squinting toward the car. “Remember what she called you?”
“I remember. That tongue could cut glass,” Dalton replied.
I glared at them. “What does that have to do with her showing up here of all places?” They both shrugged.
“Well, ya know…even if she hates you, maybe she would give your best bud a chance,” Dalton smirked. “I would be happy to give her a personal tour.”
I rolled my eyes. “Jesus, Dalton. Grow up. You’ve got fucking issues.”
“Hey, I’m just saying. Some of us have magnetic personalities.”
“You’re a walking code of conduct violation,” Rodney muttered from where he leaned against the school’s brick wall, arms folded across his chest. He also played on the football team with us and kind of just lurked around. Dalton grinned like it was a compliment.
“Bet Coach puts you on the bench if he hears that shit,” Diego said.
“I’m not worried. He loves me.”
“You’ve been benched three times for skipping weights,” I pointed out.
“Technicalities.” The warning bell rang, pulling us from our conversation. I glanced at the door again, but she had already disappeared inside.
“Let’s go before Coach decides we need a pre-practice lap around the entire goddamn school,” Rodney said, pushing off the wall.
He was trying so hard to fill Mac’s shoes, as the new LB1.
The whole team was meeting at the field.
As we made our way toward the locker rooms to stash our stuff, the conversation turned toward the weekend.
“We still good for Friday?” I asked.
“Yeah,” Dalton replied. “I heard Lindsay’s throwing something at her place. Her parents are out of town.”
“Doesn’t she have a boyfriend?”
Dalton shrugged. “She certainly didn’t seem to when she was all over me the other day.”
Diego made a sound of disgust. “Man, seriously?”
“Relax, Saint Diego,” Dalton teased. “We can’t all be pious little virgins.”
“I’m not—Jesus. I’m just not a jackass.”
“That’s because he’s got eyes for one girl,” I grinned, elbowing him. “What was her name again? Maria? That one chick Miranda’s always being a bitch to?”
Diego flushed, immediately defensive. “I do not—look, I barely know her.”
“But you want to.”
“Bet she does,” Rodney said with a smirk.
Diego groaned and shoved open the locker room door. “I hate you all.”
“Hey, didn’t your dad say he needed help at the clubhouse this weekend?” I directed the question over my shoulder as I opened my locker.
“Yeah. Saturday morning. Didn’t say for what, though.”
“Cool. I’ll be there. Got nothing better to do.”
“Same. If I survive this week,” Diego grumbled.
The rest of the day passed in a blur of classes and Coach barking about footwork.
I didn’t see the blonde again, though Dalton and Diego proudly informed me they had discovered her name from one of the cheerleaders always hanging around us.
Holly McCarthy. From California, of all places.
Fitting. At the end of the lunch hour, we made our way back inside.
There was some sort of commotion over by the stairs.
“Miranda’s on the warpath again,” Dalton muttered.
Diego’s face darkened, his brow furrowed.
We all knew Miranda’s preference for victim.
And whether he admitted it or not, it bothered the hell out of the guy.
Sure enough, Maria was cowered back against the wall.
But, much to my surprise, she wasn’t the one Miranda had her attention on.
Malibu. Again.
Standing tall. Standing loud. Miranda’s nose was about an inch from Malibu’s. And the chick didn’t seem the least bit fazed. The crowd parted a bit, allowing us close enough to see her raise one eyebrow in a quiet challenge. Oh, cat fight.
“Did she just call Miranda a pick-me bitch?” Diego asked, leaning a bit closer to the two girls who looked about a second away from tearing each other’s faces off.
“I think she did,” Dalton cocked his head, watching the drama unfold.
I crossed my arms and watched as Malibu, aka Holly McCarthy, verbally dismantled the most feared girl in the school without blinking. That same sharp tongue that had laid into me, ripping Miranda to bits. The crowd was eating it up. Miranda looked like she might explode. Holly? She didn’t flinch.
I shook my head as Miranda stormed off, Holly watching her go with a gleam in her eye. “Still don’t like her,” I muttered. “But damn. She’s got balls.” My friends all nodded in agreement, and with that, we headed to third period.