Prologue
Isabelle – 6 and a half years old
“Quick, get her!”
I run fast. I run as hard as I can. I breathe heavy and puff my chest up as big as it’ll go. I won’t go down easy. These stupid boys have nothing on me.
Every day this week, as soon as I leave school grounds, they chase me down and push me around. They laugh and call me names. Sometimes they kick me, other times they punch me.
I hate them!
My brothers are in big school, now. They can’t walk with me like last year. And Jimmy’s in detention; which means he hasn’t been able to walk me this week. The stupid boys know Jimmy’s in detention.
They know we walk home together. They know he’s my best friend.
They know I smile like a goofball when he smiles. And he smiles a lot. He has really nice teeth and hardly any gaps.
They picked on me last week, too. Which is how Jimmy got detention. These jerks deserved the pop in the nose for pulling my hair… But they did it on purpose. Get Jim in detention, get me alone.
Sprinting around the side of a large warehouse, I skid along the gravel and press my back against the hot steel wall. Bending and pressing my hands to my knees, I drag air into my tiny lungs and swipe away the angry tears.
I hate that I wore a dress today. I know why I did, but that was just me being stupid. I hate dresses – because they’re stupid for running.
“IzzyTart… come out, you little bitch.”
I roll my eyes. If I was trying to be sneaky, I’d be quieter.
“Izzy? Your brothers aren’t here to save you now.”
I hold my breath as Shaun’s voice comes closer. My chest screams for oxygen, but my survival instincts know better.
When you come from my family, if your last name is Hart, you learn to survive.
“Over here!”
I squeak and push off the wall at a dead sprint as Shaun and two of his idiot goons reach out for me. I feel fat fingers in the ends of my hair, but I run anyway. My heavy backpack bounces against my butt as I sprint past the mechanic shop.
I wish I could drop the bag and go. I’d be faster without it, but I have a brand-new karate Gi and red belt in the bottom. I worked hard for that belt. I can’t leave it behind.
I hate these boys.
I hate that they chose me to pick on.
And I hate Jim for getting into trouble and not being allowed to walk with me.
I miss him.
I run as hard as I can from these eight-year-old jerks, but the air in my lungs comes out on a painful whoosh when I stop suddenly and fly into the air.
Matty spins me around by my bag and sends me slamming against the wall. Elbows and knees slam painfully against the concrete ground and tears spring to my eyes.
I try my best not to cry. I don’t want to cry, but it really, really hurt and my knees bleed.
I want Jimmy.
“Yes!” Shaun claps Matty on the back and stands over me. They think they’re so big and badass. They think beating on a girl is something to smile about.
I don’t climb to my feet. They’ll only push me down again. We’ve done this a few times this week. My knees bleed worse, because the barely healed from yesterday scabs open up.