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He snaps a picture just as Ethan thrusts his crotch in my face.
And given the harsh angle, of course my mouth’s open. A denim bulge knocks me right in the tooth, and bile races up my throat.
“Hey!” he shouts, jerking back. As if I bit him on purpose. I wish…
Laughter bounces off the white walls surrounding us.
Before I can so much as even take a breath, I’m backhanded across the jaw, my head snapping to the side with so much force, for a moment I wonder if he broke my neck. Killed me.
Maybe that would be for the best.
“Dude, are you fucking retarded?” Clay says, but he’s still laughing as he drags Ethan away from me. “Now you’ve done it.”
I barely register their words under the ringing in my ears. I can feel my pulse in my face, right where he hit me. My mouth floods with the taste of iron, and tears sear my nose and eyes when the pain finally hits a second later.
By the time I catch my bearings, and lift my head, they’re already gone. Their laughter and cruel words nothing but an echo, haunting the empty hallway stretched out before me like an endless, darkening tunnel. One I’m not sure if I have any hope of ever finding my way out of.
The bell rings, signaling the beginning of fifth period.
Lunch…
Which for me, means the art room. Where I was headed when I got ambushed.
Fuck that. I’m out.
I quickly adjust my headphones, check to make sure my iPod screen wasn’t shattered when I fell—it’s not; the music’s still playing, as if nothing happened. Shoving everything back in my bag that had fallen out, I climb to an unsteady stand, and walk around, gathering my sketchbooks, easel, and roll-up bag of pencils, grimacing every time I have to bend over as all the blood rushes to my injured jaw, making it throb.
I can already feel it swelling. But at least I didn’t lose a tooth. A quick run of my tongue over my teeth confirmed as much. Everything’s accounted for. Except for my dignity, that is.
Small blessings.
At the water fountain just up ahead, I lean over and spit a wad of spit and blood into it. Using my knee, I give the push bar a nudge, and watch the water swirl it all down the drain.
Rather than risk running into anyone—least of all Ethan, Clay, or any one of their asshole friends—I make a beeline for the doors to the courtyard, and shoulder my way outside, cutting across the yard to the north side of the school where my locker is.
I brace for a teacher or student to see me, but so far no one.
It’s a blessing and a curse that our school is so small. Not the building so much as how many people occupy the space at a given time. My graduating class alone is made up of only fifty. There’s probably four-hundred people max, and that’s including six grades’ worth of students and faculty. And the school’s short-staffed at that.
As nice as it is to slip by unnoticed when I need to, say, dip out early…
Such empty, quiet, unchaperoned halls make breeding grounds for shit like what just happened.
Inside, I head straight for my locker. The music is still playing from my headphones, muffled against my throat. I vaguely register one song fading out, and giving way to the opening chords of “My Heroine” by Silverstein, one of my favorite bands.
“Jeremy?”
At the sound of Mason’s voice calling my name, I still.
Eyes falling shut, I hang my head, and mutter a curse.
Of course. Of fucking course.
Out of all four-hundred people in the school I could run into at what’s probably the lowest point of my life, it just had to be him.
I zip up my bag, and shuck it over my shoulder just as footsteps draw near. Keeping my head low, I let my blond hair fall all around my face, praying that, by some miracle, he just doesn’t look too closely.
I can still taste blood in my mouth, but hopefully it hasn’t swelled or bruised too noticeably yet. I haven’t even had a chance to look at my face to check.
