eight
Harper Apple
The moment I step through the doors of Willow Heights on Monday morning, every head turns my way. I’m so sick of this shit I could puke. If they’re trying to drive me back to Faulkner High, this is sure as fuck tempting me. The only thing keeping me going is the knowledge that enduring this for two years will ensure I never have to see a single one of these assholes again in my life.
I wish I could turn and walk out, that I could run to Colt’s house and smoke pot and make out and eat sandwiches at the island in the kitchen with light streaming in the picture windows.
But I can’t do that again because if I do, they’ll kill him.
I run my hand subtly down the back of my skirt, making sure it’s not tucked up into my underwear. On Saturday morning, I found my bike and backpack locked to the railing on my porch, and surprisingly, no one had raided the bag and stolen anything. The clothes were wet and the laptop was damp but still alive, since the rain wasn’t super heavy. A trip to the laundromat later, I’m walking into school looking more or less normal for once. Well, not normal for me, but at least I fit in with the other rich bitches, if I’m a little on the conservative, preppy side. Mabel’s style was more J. Crew than the popular crowd, but that’s fine by me. I’m not the stilettos type anyway.
A bitchy voice cuts through my determination to ignore the stares. “Oh my god, what is she wearing now?”
“Oh, bless her heart,” squeals the answering voice. “Does she really think this is going to make us forget she’s in a literal porn video?”
“Let’s go, girls,” Gloria says. “Everyone deserves a chance to start over and try again.”
I try to meet her eye, to thank her silently, but she ignores my attempt to acknowledge her scrap of kindness.
“Fuck this shit,” I mutter under my breath. I’m about to hand them their asses if they keep this up. But I’d rather not be suspended, so I don’t react. Instead, I forge ahead and don’t stop until I reach my locker. They follow me like bloodsucking mosquitos, their heels clicking down the hall behind us.
When I finish getting my books, those bitches are still standing there, watching me and snickering, probably waiting for me to lose my shit. “Don’t you have something better to do than follow me around gawking?” I ask. “I swear you’re worse than the guys asking me for blowjobs.”
Everleigh scoffs and exchanges a look with one of the other Bitch Pack girls. “You’re such a freakshow.”
“So, what is it?” I ask. “You want head, or you want a lesson on how to give it?”
“Oh my god,” Eleanor squeals, her face twisted up in disgust. “Is she hitting on you?”
“Ew,” Everleigh shrieks, grabbing onto Gloria like she’s scared I’m going to lunge for her pussy and start eating it in the middle of the hall.
I cock a brow at her. “Don’t knock it ‘til you try it.”
“Are you really such a whore that you don’t even care if you’re with a guy or a girl?” asks one of their sidekicks, gaping at me. “Would you, like, do an animal?”
I can’t help but laugh. “Y’all really need hobbies if you have nothing better to do than obsess over my sex life. Hey, maybe you could try getting one of your own. A good dicking might mellow you out.”
“Ugh,” Eleanor huffs, flipping her hair over her shoulder and giving me a once-over. “Clothes can’t change who you are. You’re still a skank underneath.”
“Again, why are you so obsessed with my clothes and what’s under them?” I ask. “Considering your pursuit of Dolce dick, I pegged you as a straight girl. My bad. But just so you know, you’re not my type.”
“Oh my god, ew,” Eleanor says. “We’re not trying to get in your pants, freak.”
“Could have fooled me,” I say with a shrug, closing my locker.
“Come on, girls,” Gloria says, linking an arm with each of her sisters. “I need to talk to Dixie before dance. You would not believe what happened to Royal this weekend.”
“Yeah,” I say. “It was wild.” And then I turn and walk away, just to deny them the satisfaction of doing it first. Yeah, I can be as petty as the next bitch, and I know she’s baiting me, trying to get me interested in her gossip about Royal. But fuck if I’m going to chase her down the hall like she did me.
Still, I hate knowing that she talked to Royal, that he told her what happened.
I slide into my seat in class, checking the back table where Duke Dolce usually sits with his buddies. Cotton and DeShaun are there, leaned over a laptop.
I turn back to the front and start getting my stuff out, tuning in to the voices around me.
“Did you hear—”
“…can’t believe…”