I buck and twist, slamming my head against Baron’s chest, but they’re both twice my size, and there’s no breaking free now. Everything in me is screaming in panic, but I force myself to go still, be a deadweight in their hands. I need to save my energy for escaping whatever they have planned when they put me down.
A crowd has gathered to watch, chattering excitedly at the prospect of entertainment. The Dolces march me out of the cafeteria and down the short hallway to the door that leads outside. I’ve gone out these doors to escape to the bleachers, but they turn the other way once we’re outside. I have no idea where they’re taking me, and terror knifes through me, but I don’t move a muscle, even though adrenaline is spiking through me, making my whole body shake with anticipation.
“Good girl,” Baron says. “See, it wasn’t so hard to be obedient, after all. Was it?”
They carry me around the corner and stop at a pair of Dumpsters and a recycle bin.
“Really?” I ask. “This is the most original thing you can come up with?”
“Open her up, girls,” Duke says, starting to swing my feet.
Baron gets in on the action, the two of them swinging my body back and forth to get momentum. Okay, I can deal with a Dumpster. Not my favorite place to be, but better than what I thought was about to go down.
One of the girls steps forward and unlocks a padlock hanging from the front of the thing, since apparently even Willow Heights’ trash is so fancy it needs to be protected. Dawson Walton and DeShaun Rose step forward to throw open the lid before stepping back. The twins are about to send me flying when a familiar, tattooed figure comes strolling up beside the Dumpster.
He leans an elbow on it, watching the proceedings with casual disinterest. “Is that really necessary?” he drawls.
“Fuck off, Dynamo,” Royal snaps. “This has nothing to do with you.”
“Hell, yeah, it’s necessary,” Duke yells, and with a final heave, they send me sailing into the bin. I crash onto heaps of black, plastic bags, warm and reeking of spoiled milk and rotting food. My head hits the back wall with a thud, and for a second, all I can hear is a loud, metallic ringing in my ears.
“What’s it to you?” Royal asks.
Colt ashes his cigarette over the edge of the bin. “Nothing.”
“Let’s toss him, too,” Duke says. “Trash with trash.”
I’m just getting my head clear enough to struggle upright when they grab Colt and heave him over the side. I try to jump up before he lands on me, but he slams into me before I can stand, and we both go sprawling. I kick at him, struggling frantically to free myself while he groans and rubs his head. The rubber lid of the bin falls closed, plunging us into dank darkness. I shoot out from under Colt, jabbing at the lid. It pops up about a foot, but someone crushes it back down. Scrambling on the sliding, hot bags of trash, I shove at the lid, but it only jounces a bit.
“Let me out,” I yell. Outside, the guys laugh as I throw my shoulder at it, trying to get out. This goes on for about five minutes.
“I’m bored,” Royal grumbles. “Let’s go.”
For a second, relief washes through me, and I sink back, wiping my hair off my sweaty face. And then I hear the horrible click of finality as the lock snaps closed.
“Let’s roll it,” Duke yells, pounding on the lid with his fists.
Oh god. I’m going to die in here, suffocated under bags of rotting trash. “Let me the fuck out,” I yell, banging on the lid again.
“Leave them,” Royal says. “They deserve each other.”
Someone bangs a fist on the lid one more time. “Rape her once for me,” Baron calls, and they all bust up laughing. The voices move away, and after a minute, we’re left in silence.
“You couldn’t have helped me out there?” I ask, jiggling the lid, trying to see if I can bend up one corner.
“It’s better not to fight them,” Colt says. In the sliver of light that comes in when I push up the lid, I can see him reclining on the bags of garbage like it doesn’t bother him at all. Meanwhile, I’m trying hard not to lose my shit. Let’s just say small spaces and I don’t get along that well. I press my nose and mouth to the opening, trying to suck in a breath of the clean air outside. In here, it feels hotter by the second, and I can’t seem to get my lungs full without wanting to gag at the smell. I can feel a layer of damp, nasty sweat breaking out on me.
“Are you just going to lie there?” I snap at Colt.
A second later, he flicks his lighter, and I think he might help. Instead, he lights up a cigarette. Just what this sweltering, smelly, tiny space needs—smoke.
“Do you mind?”
“Nah,” he says. “It’s not my first dumpster dive. Chill out there, Appleteeny.”
That’s when the smoke hits me, and it’s not the acrid scent of tobacco. When he holds it out, I nearly fumble it I’m in such a hurry to get it to my mouth. I’mthis-closeto freaking the fuck out, and I know that’s not going to help anything. I take a few deep hits before passing it back. Fuck weed etiquette right now. Desperate times.
Colt doesn’t seem to mind. He’s scrolling on his phone.