I just stare at him, not sure what to say. “Don’t you play football?” I ask at last, though it’s obvious he does, since he’s wearing his jersey.
He shuffles his feet and looks down, his cheeks going a little pink. “I know what you did.”
“What did I do?” I ask carefully. My heart is beating so hard I can hear it thundering in my ears, and I think I’ll miss his softspoken words if he answers. I don’t want to hear them, anyway. I don’t want to know if it’s finally out, if Baron has started spreading the rumor that I took the team.
“Lindsey’s my cousin,” Gideon says, finally meeting my eyes. “Thank you.”
“Well, what are you waiting for, an official invitation?” Josie asks. “Have a seat, little dude.”
Gideon nods and quickly pulls out the chair and sits like he’s afraid we might change our minds before he gets settled. He glances at us nervously, taking in the fact that he’s the only one with food.
“Y’all want some of this?” he asks, pushing his plate toward the middle of the table. He’s so adorably shy and earnest that I can only hope there are more like him coming up in the other grades. Once the Dolces graduate, maybe their perverted version of leadership will at least die down at little, even if it never goes away.
Magnolia gives him a shy smile and takes a sweet potato fry from his plate.
“Go on, Katniss,” she says. “Make this worth skipping lunch.”
“Okay,” I say, pushing back from the table. Everyone’s gone back to their food after the Dolce tables were taken, but there’s an edge of excitement. They’re all hoping there’s more.
So, I need to deliver.
I climb up in my chair and clear my throat.
“Hey, y’all,” I say, giving a little wave. A few people at nearby tables elbow each other and lean in to whisper before twisting around to watch. God, this is fucking torture. I have zero interest in being a leader or anyone’s focus. I just wanted friends.
Or maybe that’s not true.
Maybe I want more. I want freedom from the bullshit. And not just for me.
For everyone.
Not because I like attention, but because they need a leader—a real one, not a tyrant. And even if I don’t want to be a leader, I have a voice, and for the first time in a long time, I want to use it. Because I know that there are more girls in this school who are afraid to use theirs, to speak up, to risk themselves. But the Dolces already took everything from me, so there’s no risk left. I have nothing to lose.
If I’m going to be queen, this is how I can help others. I can be the voice for those who still have something left to lose, something they can’t risk, so they can’t speak up.
I can’t do that by hiding in the shadows and avoiding attention, by being quiet and obedient, like the Dolces want me to be. I can’t do it by pretending I’m Baron’s girlfriend. I have to take a stand as my own person, one who represents something besides social status.
“Let’s get you up here,” Colt says. He stands and grabs my hips, lifting me onto the table.
I want to jump down and run because I feel like there’s a spotlight on me, and more than that, a target. But I force myself to keep my head up. I plant my feet and start speaking, but after a few words, Magnolia gives a huff. She climbs into her chair and then onto the table, her pink Doc Martens clomping loudly as she stamps her foot.
“Hey!” she yells. Her voice is surprisingly loud and bossy. “Listen up! We’re not silent protesting over here for nothing. So shut up and hear what this girl has to say.”
I give her an impressed smile, and she grins and hops down, flouncing into her seat, pigtails bouncing.
“Hey,” I say again, forcing myself not to glance at the tables beside ours, where the Dolce boys sit with their crew. “So, most of y’all know me as Royal’s girlfriend, or plaything, or whatever.”
No one says anything. A hundred blank faces stare up at me, and my hands get all clammy, and I wonder why I give a single fuck what happens to any of these people. They didn’t give a fuck about me last year. They didn’t help me. They didn’t protect me. Most of them never even talked to me. They quenched their thirst for gossip with the columns about me in Dixie’s blog.
But that’s not fair.
They didn’t know me. And I was so consumed by my ambition that I didn’t bother getting to know them, either. They don’t owe me anything.
“A few of you might know that I’m a scholarship student—and yes, I know we’re not supposed to talk about that—or that I can throw a punch.”
A few people laugh quietly, and someone whistles. It’s something.
“But a lot of you know me from Dixie’s blog,” I say, gesturing to the girl sitting behind me. “You know I fought against the hierarchy last year before I joined it. But I don’t think you should have to join it.”