Chapter Three
Rosalie
Charlie is my saving grace. She picks up quickly on the hierarchy of Mystic High, but never lets my obvious lower status bug her. I know she hears the whispers and sees the vile, knowing smirks. She’s entirely too smart not to pick up on it all, but she never mentions it.
As she begins to establish her foothold in the school, I notice more and more people ignoring me, and I have my new friend to thank for that. She’s unapologetically loud and isn’t afraid to put anyone in their place. It’s something I admire and envy about her.
She doesn’t care.
“Sooo,” Charlie drawls lazily as she leans back on the bleachers next to me.
She pops the red sucker from between her lips before pointing across the gym to Jordan, who is snuggled up closely and seated right between Kairo’s feet.
Maddox and Roman flank her sides, touching her hair and slinging an arm around her shoulder as they converse. “They seem close…”
I hum absently as I flip to a new page in my song notebook. “Mhm.”
My friend looks over at my blank page before sitting up and outstretching her hand. “Gimme. I want to see what you’re working on.”
My heart slams painfully as I wrench it away from her and tuck it closely to my heart. “I-I…no.”
She gives me a patient look. “Okay, I won’t read it, but can you at least tell me what you spend all your time writing in there? It’s been two months since we met. That’s like premium best friend status.”
I roll my eyes. “Premium status, huh? I’ve never had a best friend before, but I know that isn’t a thing.”
She squeezes her palms together desperately. “Please, please, please, Rose? I’m dying here.”
This is something I’ve never shared with another soul. This worn-out, dingy notebook stays with me at all times. My heart bleeds onto the thin sheets of stark white paper.
Sharing this feels…intense.
I’m not ready for Charlie to read what goes on in my fucked up head, but I’m steadily getting used to letting her into parts of my life. Hell, the other day she convinced me to choose a favorite color, even though I had never even considered it.
Purple.
As anti-climactic as that is.
“I write songs,” I blurt, feeling like my face is going to catch on fire. “That’s it.”
She blinks at me. “You’ve been holding out on me this whole time?”
“W-what?” I stutter.
She throws her hands up. “Just last week, we had to write a song for music, and I should have known you were damn good at it with how fast you came up with a perfect piece! The nerve!”
I groan, burying my face in my hands. “Don’t tell anyone, please.”
She makes a key-in-a-lock motion near her mouth. “Ride or die. I’m not saying anything.”
That’s another thing I admire about her. She keeps her word, no matter what.
“Alright, listen up!” Coach shouts as he steps onto the basketball court with his loose blue shorts and standard white Mystic High gym shirt. “Today, we’re playing dodgeball!”
“Oh, fuck me,” I sink lower in the stands, trying to hide myself from being called on.
“Jordan and Sierra are your team captains,” Coach announces as he steps off the court to watch from the sidelines.
Jordan bounces up, her perfect curls falling in ringlets over her shoulders as she takes the center court. Sierra slides beside her, her brown bob tucked neatly behind her ears as she scrutinizes the crowd of teens waiting in anticipation.
Jordan elbows Sierra’s side, making the brunette’s eyes fall on me in the bleachers.
“I pick Dirt—I mean, Rosalie.” Sierra smirks.
A few snickers follow from the crowd as I stand.
“Remember what I said,” Charlie encourages. “Don’t—”
“Don’t block with my face. Yes, I know.” I grumble as I step down.
“Knock ‘em dead!” My friend shouts, completely unaware that this is Jordan’s plot of revenge for getting her blonde boy toy detention when Mrs. Hurst reviewed the tapes on the milk incident.
It wasn’t my fault he did it, but for some reason, that won’t click in her pretty head. She’s been after me for weeks, only slightly deterred by Charlie’s presence when we’re in the same room together. This is her way of getting me alone.
I step beside Sierra, careful not to get too close as the captains take their time picking out their teams. Jordan ends up with all three of her boyfriends, Kairo, Roman, and Maddox, standing proudly around her like her watchdogs before Coach blows his whistle, and it’s do or die.
I shove to the back of the court, careful not to bump into anyone as I try to put space between and the three boys who have sick intent swirling in their irises. They aren’t even worried about the other players as they dodge balls in an attempt to get as close to me as possible.
I’m so worried about evading them that I totally forget about their girlfriend, who’s also cornering me. I’ve just dodged a slapping hit that bounces off the back wall of the gymnasium when I turn with triumph on my face.
Only to have rubber smack me so hard in the nose that I practically feel it burst. Specks dance across my vision as a piercing ringing drowns out everything around me. Something warm and wet trickles down my face, and I lift a shaky hand just as the first drop of blood hits the floor.
It’s stark in appearance, contrasting with the white floor so horribly that it makes my head spin. Or it could be the fact that seeing my own blood makes me violently ill.
“Jordan!” Coach shouts as the sound returns, rising to an unbearable level. “That’s the bench for the next hour!”
“She’s bleeding!” Charlie shouts with urgency as she jogs across the court.
I only stare at my essence, unable to move as traumatic memories are dredged up—the echoing wails of my own voice as I beg and plead for Dad to stop, the bits of torn flesh that never healed properly, the agony of bearing it all and waking up to do it again and again.
It all comes crashing down on me. I can feel my heart slow and the room tilt. The last image I see is Kairo smirking across the gym as Charlie reaches a desperate hand out to catch me.
But she isn’t fast enough.
Waking up in the nurse’s office is disorienting. The fluorescent lights are too bright, searing my retinas as I blink myself awake.
“She’s coming to,” a voice says to my right before a peace sign is thrust in front of my face. “How many fingers?”
“Eleven,” I lizard blink, shooing the hand away.
There’s the sound of scribbling on a clipboard that makes me wince. “Seems you’re well enough to be sarcastic, Ms. Beckett. You have a slight concussion, but nothing major. You took quite the tumble there.”
Nurse Nancy.
The voice is the nurse.
“What?” I can’t even think beyond the woman’s name as she comes into view. Her short hair hangs over her shoulders and dangerously close to my face as I realize she’s examining my pupils.
“You’re staying here until your guardian shows up,” she decides.
That has me rising from the dead.
I nearly throw myself off the table as I startle her. She holds an aghast hand over her pink scrubs, frowning at me as I scramble up.
“I’m fine!” I say quickly. “Please don’t call my dad—”
“I already have,” she interrupts softly. “He’s on his way.”
My hands fall to my sides, every ounce of hope at stopping this situation fizzling out before my very eyes. I stare at the nurse unblinkingly, and it isn’t until she waves a hand close to my face that I finally yank myself back to the present.
Nurse Nancy frowns. “Do you do that often?”
“No,” I lie quickly.
Her eyes narrow before she grabs her clipboard. “You’re free to wait here until your dad shows up.”
She disappears behind a curtain, and I plop back down on the bed. I rub my hands over my face in an attempt to wake myself up as I wait. My anxiety feels like it’s going through the roof as my foot taps on the floor.
Dad could be in any mood. I haven’t seen him in weeks, and there’s no telling who’s about to pick me up.
I wait for an hour, counting the stupid motivational posters on the walls and rereading the tacky sayings out loud until I have them memorized. Our trailer isn’t that far from here, so I have a few theories.
Either he lied and said he was on his way when he really hadn’t moved from the tattered sofa in our living room, or he fell asleep and completely forgot about picking me up.
Either one of those is good. It means I won’t be subjected to being dragged through the halls with his hand wrapped tightly around my bicep.
When another hour slowly passes, the nurse returns. “Still nothing. I tried to call him again, but there was no answer.”
“Can I just go back to class?” I ask with a pleading look. “It’s obvious he’s not coming.”
She sighs in resignation. “Fine, but if you feel like you’re falling asleep or anything happens, report straight to me, okay?”
I nod, shoving off the bed. “I will.”
She gives me some medicine for a building headache that’s starting in my temples before sending me off to my last two hours of classes. I make it to Music with a few minutes to spare, and Charlie pinpoints me from across the room. She frowns before leaving her chair and walking over to me.
“You’re back?” She asks quietly so the other students lingering around can’t hear us. “I thought you had a concussion…”
“I do,” I shrug, hiding my face as I pull my books out of my backpack. “The nurse said I was fine.”
My friend doesn’t believe me as her head tilts knowingly. “Okay…”
Keeping my home life from Charlie has been a feat. She’s naturally inquisitive and wants to know everything about me. I can’t blame her for being curious, but it’s better if she doesn’t know about the nasty parts of my life.
I don’t want her to look at me the same way everyone else does—with pity.
“Class will be starting soon,” Mrs. Christie, the music teacher, announces to the half-full room.
Charlie motions with a hand towards our usual chairs in the back of the room.
She’s careful not to touch me as she guides me to our designated spots.
Since my episode when we first met, she’s respected my no-touching rule, and it’s another aspect of being friends with her that makes me appreciate her.
She doesn’t push when she notices my discomfort, and I’m thankful for the easy connection we share.
She makes this effortless, never pointing out when I flinch or curl into myself.
We take our seats as more students file in. I notice that Jordan doesn’t saunter in with her usual entourage. The guys are down a member as they take their seats across the room from us.
I sink further into my chair, keeping my eyes on my lap so I don’t get caught staring at them.
“Today, we’re doing a band march!” Mrs. Christie claps her hands excitedly as agonizing groans fill the room. “Don’t make that tone with me. Everyone, grab the instrument you’ve been practicing with.”
I peek over at Charlie. “Help me.”
“Grab your tuba, and I’ll help you get situated.” She smiles.
Easy for her to say. She gets a fucking flute, and I have a god damned tuba that’s half my size.
I leave my chair before grabbing my designated instrument and cursing under the weight of it. As I plop back down in my chair, I jostle the brass before sending it into the back of the boy’s head who’s seated in front of me.
He whips around, scowling as he touches where he was hit.
“Sorry,” I wince.
“Watch it, Dirt.” He seethes.
“Turn around before I kick you out of your chair.” Charlie bites.
That gets him to face forward. My friend has her own reputation around school—from getting into fist fights with mean girls in the bathroom to pranking my regular bullies back, she’s created quite the stir in our little town.
“Thanks,” I mumble as she helps adjust my tuba.
“Ride or die,” she smirks before picking up her flute. “Let’s get this over with.”
Once everyone is settled, Mrs. Christie begins conducting each section of the room for their parts. It sounds like a dying cat’s last call as off-tune instruments fill the room. I close my eyes at the pressure in my skull, my ears ringing with every missed note.
Charlie elbows me. “Look alive.”
My eyes fly open as Mrs. Christie turns towards us. She lifts her hand, and I know my part is approaching. I raise the mouthpiece before blowing into it, and thick, white powder poofs out of the bell, dancing over and coating everyone in the front row as my eyes widen in horror.
A girl screams, standing as the substance clings to her skin and clothes. She turns her ire on me, her face twisting. “Dirt!”
I’m mortified and left blinking at the carnage. The floor and first row of students are coated in fine dust, and the air smells heavily of baby powder.
A cackling laugh from across the room is what breaks my concentration. Kairo is howling so hard that his face is turning red. Roman is chuckling with him, low-lidded eyes pinning me with predator-like intensity. Maddox smirks, sitting back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest proudly.
“Who did this?!” Mrs. Christie rages to the room. Her wide eyes bounce around until they stop on the three boys. “You three! Detention! Go to the front office!”
None of them looks remorseful as they push up from their chairs and abandon their instruments. Before the door closes, Kairo gives me a mocking wink that makes my skin crawl.