CHAPTER4
By the time lunchtime rolls around, I’m starving but also wishing the day was over already. All I want to do is curl up in bed and sleep.
Only I don’t have a bed.
Or a roof.
Well, I kinda have a roof.
My funds are severely limited, and it's not as if I have a secure spot for holding food, so today, I have to buy my lunch. Don't have a choice. Tonight, I'll head to the grocery store and then bring whatever I purchase and store it in my locker. No perishables, but I'll make do. I don't have a choice. Until I can work something out to have a real place to live, I just have to scrape on by.
If I had time to plan and prepare, I would’ve been all set when I ran away, but life doesn’t always give you a blaring warning siren. There’s no flickering red light. You might know shit’s about to hit the fan, but you don’t know how to handle it. You don’t know how you’ll react. Sometimes, there’s no time to think, to even breathe. You just gotta move, and I moved across state lines to feel safe.
And out of all the schools I had to pick, there’s gotta be a gang of alpha male pricks who think they can bully and get their way and do whatever the hell they want. They’re the kind of boys who never grow up to become men. They’re assholes who will never learn, never change, never love.
In short, they’re just like my father.
I want nothing to do with him or any of them, and, yes, that includes Tyler because there’s no way he won’t hear an earful from Brett about me. Then, shit might hit the fan for me all over again.
But I’m not running. Not this time. I’m here to stay at least until I graduate. Afterward, well, that’s a huge ass question mark, one I do have to start worrying about because I’ll need to start applying to colleges. I applied to some already last year and had been accepted, but I will not set foot at any school my father knows I even thought about.
He will never find me.
I’m free.
And if the unthinkable happens and he does somehow locate me, I will not run again. I’ll fight him. I’ll go down, there’s no doubting that, but I’ll fight him tooth and nail.
Maybe before I find myself a place, I should get myself a gun.
Yes, those are my priorities. A weapon and then shelter. What kind of messed-up, fucked-up, bullshit life do I have?
A gun and a baseball bat. Can never hurt to have a baseball bat. Or maybe one of those heavy-duty Maglite flashlights. Those things can do some serious damage if wielded like a bat.
Finding the cafeteria isn't that hard at all. It's the noisiest place in the whole school. All things considering, I haven't gotten as terribly lost as everyone worried I would.Shut it, Erika. You don’t want to jinx yourself.
I hesitate at the doorway of the café. Big mistake. A horde of students are still piling in, and they shove me forward. I manage to not lose my balance, but I do bump into the back of a sitting student.
“I’m sorry,” I call over my shoulder as I walk around the table and try to get my bearings. The café is massive, and I don’t see how there are enough tables for us all. Where can we buy food?
“Someone looks like a lost little lamb,” a voice says from right behind me, just as the crowd of students forces me to stop walking.
Laughter sounds. “More like a lamb about to be led to the slaughter.”
The first speaker I’ve never heard before. The second?
Brett fucking Russo.
Don’t turn around. Don’t engage. Don’t respond.
“The lamb’s shaking. Doesn’t it look like she’s shaking?”
Why the hell is asshole number two bothering me? Do the Mutineers really have to do everything Brett wants and dictates? Well, he’s actually number three if I consider Tyler number two, which doesn’t seem fair at all, but I wouldnotbe swept up by his charm.
The crowd has barely moved. Maybe this is a line of some kind. I can't see the start of it or its end. If it's for food, I'm screwed. I'll never be able to buy my lunch, eat, and get to my next class, which is on the fifth floor. There should be a rule that if schools have a certain number of floors, there has to be at least one elevator, if not three, four. It would be clogged with students in no time, but then it would free up the stairs some, too.
One of them yanks on my hair. I still refuse to react and shoulder my way through the people. It is a line, but I still don’t see the front of it. For all I know, it leads to a vending machine for soda or candy.
“She’s so scared of us she won’t even bother to let me introduce myself,” the stranger says.