Room 245. The second floor, maybe? But where is a staircase?
I rush through the hall, bypassing doors marked 160 on up. Maybe I should’ve gone the other way. Brett walked off this way, but he went to his class, whatever that is.
Finally, I find a staircase, but the first door I see is for 372. What the hell? It must’ve been a double staircase that leads directly to the third floor. Great. Just what I need. First day. Late for class. At this rate, maybe I should just look and see what my next class is. Ah. English Literature and Composition in room 421. How many floors did this place have? The school had looked huge from the outside, but I had been more worried about getting inside. I had to cross so many streets, and the long lights had made me late. I hadn’t time to stand around and gawk.
I rub the face of my golden watch before looking at the time. Twenty minutes left in the first period. Well, if I find a staircase down, I'll go to calculus. If I find one to go up, I'll be early for the next period.
Just then, a door opens, and a girl enters the hallway. She closes the door, spies me, and does a double take.
“Who are you?” she asks, not taking a step toward me.
No one here is exactly friendly.I smirk to myself, thinking about Brett and Jess.Or too friendly.
“I’m Erika. Erika…”
Crap, what was the last name I gave? Considering it’s in the forged paperwork, I should know, but I’m on edge from Brett. I swear I can still feel his beefy hand on my throat still.
I glance at my schedule. “Erika Armstrong.”
“You new?”
I shrug. “Is it that obvious?”
“I know just about everyone here.”
“Impressive,” I mumble.
She furrows her brows. Her skirt is about five inches above her knees, her thighs as small as my arms. Her boobs are tiny but proportional to her body. Her hair might be natural, might be dyed, a light blond color. A real queen bee, if I have to guess. She and Brett would make a terrible power couple.
But then she smiles. “Are you lost?”
“Yes, actually,” I admit.
“Come on.” She motions me to come over. “Didn’t the office assign someone to help you?”
I rub my throat and then hand her my schedule. “They did. Some guy named Brett.”
“Brett Russo.” The girl scowls. “He’s a real bastard, that one.”
I almost collapse with relief. I couldn’t help being paranoid that she was only pretending to be nice, but if she agrees about Brett, then she can’t be bad. I feel bad for judging her.
“You’ll want to avoid him,” she says as she starts to walk down the hall. I fall into step beside her. “Brett’s the head of the Mutineers.”
I burst out laughing. “Mutineers? What the hell is that?”
“Simply put, a quartet of bad boys at the school. They think they run the place, and for the most part, they do.”
We round a corner and stand before a stairwell that goes both up and down.
“Go down and make a left and then the second right. You’ll be at your calculus class. Don’t worry. I’ve heard a lot of good things about Mrs. Ice. She won’t give you a hard time for being late.”
“Thank you, ah…”
“Andrea.” She gives me a half-smile and then sighs. “Fucking Brett.”
I furrow my brows.
“He dumped me two weeks ago,” she says. “Just as well because I was planning on dumping him, only…”
“Only no one dumps him.”
“Yep. Pretty much.” She waves with two fingers and heads off, most likely to the bathroom.
I hesitate at the top of the stairs and rub my throat. Brett’s phantom hand lingers, and it makes my skin crawl. Assholes who manage to climb to the top need to be toppled from their perch.
But that’s not why I’m here. And I haven’t toppled any assholes yet. I just ran away.
Living is all that matters.
Yes, but living to be bullied is not what I have in mind, and it willnotbe my future. I won’t allow it.