Mr. Harris turns to me, his face red with anger. “Is that true?”
“Or maybe to eat,” Everleigh says.
“Yeah,” I say slowly, glaring over Mr. Harris’s shoulder at the girls. “I stole your nasty roaches and put them all over my books where everyone could see them when I opened my locker.”
He splutters in anger and goes chasing after one of the roaches that’s careening down the hall, everyone jumping back to get out of its way.
“I may be poor, but I’m not stupid,” I say to Devil Barbie. “If you’re going to try to get me in trouble, you’ll need to be a little more clever. That’s not even convincing.”
“I wasn’t trying to get you in trouble,” Royal says, his voice a low rumble that draws my attention and everyone else’s. His eyes lock on mine, and he waits a second, making sure everyone will hear it when he cuts me down. “I was reminding you where you came from.”
My throat squeezes, and my eyes ache again. If there was any doubt about being an outcast here, any doubt about getting by without being noticed, it’s gone now. Royal’s put a target on my back for the whole school, giving them permission to treat me like trash because that’s what he says I am. That’s probably what they all see already, but it still cuts into me deeper than I want to admit. I’m used to being ignored, being nothing. I’m comfortable with that. I don’t need attention. Especially not when it comes in the form of an entitled thug calling open season on me.
“Why don’t you go back to your trailer park and cry to your own cockroaches,” Gloria says. “No one wants you here.”
Someone does. I just don’t know why. Maybe it’s time I find out.
“I’ve got it,” Mr. Harris says, returning with the bug cradled between his hands. One creepy little antenna pokes out between his fingers, testing the air. My stomach hitches. “You’d better not have lost any of them, Ms. Apple. This is a very serious matter. Don’t think you’re getting away with tampering with my equipment.”
“See, even our roaches are expensive,” Everleigh says with a smirk. “Obviously you’re out of your element.”
“They probably cost more than her clothes,” Eleanor says, giggling behind her hand.
“Her clothes?” Gloria asks, giving me a haughty look. “They probably cost more thanher.”
I spot the giant roach that fell near my shoe, still huddling behind the heel of my cheap sneakers. I bend, snatch it up, and throw it in her face.
eleven
Harper Apple
Pandemonium erupts. The roach hits Gloria square in the face, and she shrieks like a banshee, slapping frantically at her cheek. The roach goes flying, and everyone scatters, running and screaming like it’s going to attack them. Mr. Harris is yelling to save the cockroach, but no one listens or probably even hears him. Gloria is flailing like she’s dying, screaming, “I can still feel it on me! Where is it?”
She dives at me, her fist pulled back like she’ll hit me.
So not happening. This bitch can cut me down all day long, but fuck if she’s going to lay a finger on me. Before she can swing, I do.
I throw a low, sharp jab into her ribs, and she doubles over.
I start to turn away, but before I’ve taken a step, she tackles me.
“You bitch,” she screams as we crash to the floor together. My head slams into the thick wooden lockers, and blackness blots my vision. I hit at her, jabbing her with my fists every chance I get, at the same time cursing myself for letting her catch me off guard. I know better. I just wasn’t expecting a rich bitch like her to fight back. By the time my head’s stopped spinning, she’s busted my lip and landed a couple good punches.
People all around us are chanting “Fight! Fight! Fight!”
I grab a handful of her hair and yank her to one side, thrusting my hips up and rolling at the same time. I manage to get my head away from the lockers and roll onto her, but just as quick, Gloria bucks her hips and flips us again. We go rolling down the hall, punching and pulling hair and cussing at each other. I have to give it to this girl—she’s not the simpering little southern belle I took her for.
By the time a couple teachers and a principal drag us apart, half the school is there cheering, their excitement palpable in the air. It just amps up my own excitement, feeds it like gasoline to a fire. I want to dance on my toes, throw a few more punches, but the principal is holding me back.
Maybe it just proves their point, that I am trash, but I fucking love a good fight. I’m still hopped up on adrenaline, my pulse racing, excitement charging my veins like electricity through a wire. That was just a taste. I want a real fight, itch for it the way a junkie itches for a fix when they just get a taste to whet their appetite. I’ve got a split lip, a loose tooth, and blood pouring from the wound on the back of my head, but I’ve never felt better.
Gloria’s nose is already swelling, and blood is pouring from both nostrils, not to mention the clumps of hair I tore out, but she looks fucking gorgeous, better than she ever will when she’s all coifed and painted. This is the real girl, a savage, and I have mad respect for her when her hair is all wild and her eyes crazy with bloodlust.
“My dad will sue the pants off you for busting up my face,” Gloria snarls at me, straining against Mr. Harris’s hold. “You better be glad it’s not our homecoming game tonight.”
I can’t help but snort at that. One minute she’s throwing down like a champ, and the next, she’s worried about her pretty face.
“Don’t worry, I saved some for later,” I say, flexing my hands and grinning at her, though I can taste blood from my split lip. “We can have a rematch in two weeks.”