“I said get lost. Or are you just braindead?”
His hand reaches out, and in a flash I’ve got my elbow on his neck and his back up against the locker. My movement surprises me. His fleshy neck bends under my pressure, and his eyes bulge.
“What the fuck do you want, you twisted fuck?”
It actually feels good to take back some control.
“Let him go,” comes Vincent’s voice from over my shoulder. I freeze. “You hear what I said or are you just braindead?”
My words come spitting back out to me, but this time they drip with malice and promise. Vincent will hurt me if I don’t do as he asks.
I drop my elbow and step away, but Vincent grabs me. My wrists are behind my back before I know it.
“Let me go,” I growl, trying to struggle out of his hold. “Ouch, fuck.”
“Shut up,” Vincent says, and I stop, chest heaving and my wrist reminding me that it’s still fucked up. “Go on, Nico, what was your proposition?”
The kid suddenly looks greedy, and he’s looking at my chest like I’m the last cheeto in the world. “Boobs, under the bra, thirty dollars.”
“Nah, I think he can touch them for free,” Vincent whispers in my ear like we’re conspiratory partners. “What do you think, Ophelia?”
“Over my dead fucking body,” I snap.
I struggle violently, putting all my weight and strength into freeing myself. One of my wrists gets free, and I twist around. I will fight until my very last breath. I must have surprised Vincent though, because his dull eyes are widened. My foot comes up, connecting with his crotch, and he hisses in pain. He lets go of my other wrist, and I take off running down the hallway.
My feet slap the tile as I pick up speed – I race past doors and lockers and dodge other people. When I look back, Vincent is nowhere to be seen. My breaths are sharp and frantic – Vincent was going to help that kid assault me.
What a sick fuck.
* * *
The rest of the day, I’m propositioned by at least two other weird kids. I brush them off, but I don’t touch them. In the hallways, Vincent passes by and wiggles his eyebrows at me. He thinks this is hilarious. I’m just some sort of object he can toy with.
I desperately want the day to be done already.
I just want to go home and sleep.
In seventh period, I debate whether to go to practice or not. It’s what’s expected of me. It’s what Coach Granger wants. But my body is bruised and tired and achy. I’m mentally strung out, from being on high alert each moment, waiting for the next thing the Elites throw at me. The teachers are looking at me different – that is to say, they won’t meet my eyes.
I’m betting the teachers are under the Elites’ thumb just like the police. Figures why I haven’t been called into the principal’s office to talk about the blatent nudity and minor pornography littering the hallway. The trash-cans are full of the pictures – I see them everywhere I walk.
Screw practice. I need a nap.
There’s a small form waiting for me at my car after school. I almost turn around and call a cab before I recognize Lily.
She has a hood over her head, and when she sees me, her eyes light up.
“Come on,” she says, nodding impatiently to my vehicle. “Get in.”
“Lily, I can’t talk,” I say, and my voice cracks with strain. “I’m exhausted.”
“I-I-I know,” she says. She looks at her loafers. “I just wanted to say that I’m sorry. And that I can’t imagine how rough it’s been. And that I’m glad you’re staying strong.”
Her kind words touch me, and unshed tears burn my eyes. I want so desperately for things to stop, for everyone to just leave me alone. Lily doesn’t understand just how much her words mean to me.
A tear spills over and slips down my cheek. I hastily wipe it away.
“Thanks, Lily,” I say, struggling to keep my composure. For some reason, just knowing that Li