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So far, no one has said anything, but even if they had, it’s not the crude comments or vicious remarks that get under my skin. I can handle those. It’s the way people look at me that I can’t stand. Like all they see is weakness. A weakness they can exploit to their advantage.

People are cruel that way. Their self-preservation instinct tells them that the only way to survive in hostile territory is to prey on and step all over those who can’t properly defend themselves. And if that’s how we’re wired, then this whole blue ball in the sky is so completely fucked that I have to wonder if there’s any human decency still alive out there. It sure as shit isn’t living and breathing at Fairhope High.

Unable to stomach any more stares, I get up from my seat and try to pull a Sienna, keeping my head held high as I cross the large room. Unfortunately for me, I don’t get far. Not when I’ve made myself such an easy target.

Dean appears in front of me in his letterman’s jacket and designer jeans, wearing a smile that curdles my blood.

“There she is,” he says, stepping forward, his voice loud enough to make sure everyone within earshot knows he’s cornered me. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you for a while now, but you’re always with your trusty sidekicks, so it’s hard to get you alone.”

“And why would you need to talk to me alone? We aren’t friends,” I snark.

“But don’t you want to be?” he says, grabbing my tray and placing it on a nearby table where a group of sophomores sits watching us with rapt attention, like a pack of hyenas waiting for Dean to make the kill so they can feast on whatever he leaves behind.

“I don’t need friends like you.”

“Like me?” His laugh booms across the cafeteria, drawing even more attention our way. “Are you saying I’m beneath you? Now, now, Maxine, we both know that if there’s anyone in this school beneath anyone else, it’s the daughter of a junkie whore.”

Heat floods my cheeks, but I refuse to look away. If looks could kill, Dean would be dropping dead at my feet.

“Is that why you stopped me? Just to insult me? Then congrats. You can tick that off your to-do list for the day. Now let me pass.”

His sickening smile only widens. “Not until I get what I paid for.”

“Excuse me?” My eyebrows shoot up to my scalp. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Dean throws his head back with another barking laugh, making damn sure he has everyone’s attention now.

“By my count, I’ve paid you over a hundred bucks these past months and haven’t gotten anything in return. Not sure what kind of business you’re running, but everyone knows that when you pay for a service, you’re supposed to get it. And today, I’m in the mood to collect.”

So he’s the one who’s been dropping bills into my locker. Three hundred and fifty-six dollars, to be exact. Not only is Dean a brute, but apparently math isn’t his strong suit either. Well, tough shit. That money is long gone, spent on food and whatever else I needed for the house.

“It’s only fair, right?” He shrugs with a mocking grin. “You got paid, and now I want my money’s worth.”

This fucker.

“How about it, Max? We can find an empty classroom, and you can get on your knees there, or why not just drop to them right here where everyone can see? Who knows, maybe you’ll get lucky and drum up some more clientele.”

It’s the laugh that kills me. Not the words. The laugh echoing through the cafeteria, quickly joined by others. Half the room is laughing at my expense, while the other sits frozen, waiting to see what I’ll do next. To them, this is just a show, and Dean has handed them front-row seats.

There’s no point in looking around for help. The cafeteria staff isn’t paid enough to step in, and most of the teachers prefer to eat their meals in the teachers’ lounge rather than spend their lunch around students.

I’m what I always am—alone. And if I’m getting out of this with what little self-respect I have left, I’m going to have to do it myself.

“I don’t know what’s more pathetic. You trying to get your dick sucked in front of everyone just to prove you’re the man or thinking anyone would enjoy watching you pull out your little pecker while they’re eating.”

Dean’s nostrils flare for a split second before his gaze flicks past me, as if waiting for further instructions.

Then it dawns on me. This little show was never for all the freshmen and sophomores around here. It was for the Reds’ table.

Or, more specifically, for Peyton.

She’s watching us like a hawk, a malicious smile splitting her face in two.

Apparently, once you make it onto Peyton Crawford’s shitlist, there’s no getting your name crossed off.

In other words, Dean won’t back down until his puppet master instructs him to, and by the way Peyton’s smiling, it doesn’t look like that will be anytime soon.

Sensing that he has to step it up a notch, Dean gets up all in my face, so close that I can smell the hot dog he had for lunch on his breath.