By lunchtime, I was able to force down a measly handful of roasted peanuts and a small carton of milk. Vee assuming my nonexistent appetite was due to still being upset over Friday night. Luckily, other than the few points and giggles at the girl who got dunked in the ocean, there wasn’t much to do about it.
It was the least of my worries.
That is, until now, as I head out of East Hall toward the student parking lot.
The stench hits my senses first. As I walk slowly toward my Jag, my nostrils flare, and I scrunch up my nose. Then I see it. A creamy residue covering my car, dried and baking in the afternoon autumn sun. Condoms plastered to the paint. My car is littered with what looks like broken prophylactics and ejaculate.
For a short second, dread creeps over me, wondering if it really is… Until I recognize the sour smell of spoiled milk. It’s curdled on the hood, the plastic condoms peeling off in places. It looks like it was attacked by those disgusting monkeys at the zoo—the ones that sling their feces at you.
I walk closer, anger seizing my limbs and causing me to shake. Scribbled on the driver-side door, as if someone just ran a finger through the drying milk: Prude.
“Oh, A.” Vee’s voice sounds from behind me.
I spin on my heel, my face tight with strain. “Really?” A mock laugh bubbles out of my mouth. “Really?” I repeat, as if she can read my thoughts and I don’t have to voice the lunacy jumbling my brain. As if she can somehow put into context the reasoning behind this. But I already know.
“They did something similar to another girl’s car, if it makes you feel better.”
It does not. I only feel bad for her now, too. Who do these assholes think they are? I mean, it’s fracking football! Not the Olympics. They are not gods. They shouldn’t be allowed to do whatever they please and get away with it.
My anger is mounting the more I witness the sympathy in Vee’s green eyes. “Let’s take it to the carwash,” she offers. “I’m sure the paint’s not ruined.”
Screw that.
I’m storming off, my feet marching me right back toward East Hall, before I can fully register her words. I’m not all that worried about the paint—but she’s pleading with me to just let this go.
No way.
For the whole of my life, I might not have been a lot of things—
I’ve never been brave; I was mousy. I did what I was told by my family, because that’s what was expected of me. I’ve never been outspoken; I took the dishonoring from Dartmouth and my parents for my ultimate mistake. The embarrassment at having my “illness” outed. I accepted my commitment to a rehab facility with humility, regardless of the fact that I’ve never abused any substance.
—but I was always a Wyndemere. Bred and raised not to take shit from anyone.
And for the past half year, I’ve been taking a lot of shit.
Ryder Nash will be the last.
As I push through the doors, the thin thread that’s been stringing together my fragile sanity ever since I was kicked out of school snaps. The world cracks, and I literally hear the pop in my head as I make my way toward the group of jocks.
6
Ryder
“Oh, shit. Incoming. Duck, bro, duck!”
The urgency in Gavin’s voice makes me do the exact opposite of his warning. I pivot and come face-to-face with a scowling little carrot cake.
Against my will, my mouth tips into a smile as I spy the pinched frown pulling at her full, soft lips. She’s so cute, it’s actually painful. I’m starting to see her in a whole new way—so distinctly unalike the Alyssa from my past that I can’t believe I ever compared the two.
She’s obviously still pissed about the ocean dunk. And honestly, I felt like a total shit later that night—my actions reminding me of his. I’m ashamed I somehow channeled any part of him. It scared me, that split second of realization, where I behaved just like him.
But with how things turned out at the game, I haven’t given it any more thought. Maybe a subliminal form of denial, of rejecting that initial realization—I’ve worked hard at being the exact opposite… But I should apologize. Stuck up or not, this girl didn’t deserve to get that side of me.
“You arrogant ass,” she seethes through clenched teeth, and my head snaps back.
Okay…she’s still really pissed. “Hey, you got me first. Can we call a truce?”
She mock laughs. Again with the manic cackle. It’s a little disturbing and raises the hairs along my skin. As she glares at me, I can almost see the storm of angry thoughts swirling around her little head. “Truce? After the crap you pulled?”