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“I don’t have a cellphone, email, social media, or any of that kind of stuff. If you want to have a study session you need to tell me the day before so I can leave a note for my mother so she doesn’t hunt me down, wondering where I am. Also, can it just be us? I’m not used to being around people. I would greatly appreciate it,” I sign to him nervously.
Turning back around, I take a deep breath and shiver.
One day, Paisley. You just have to survive this year. Once that diploma hits your hand, you are out of here.
I hear hushed whispers around me, and it takes everything in me not to look, knowing what I will see if I do. I want to bask in this happiness for just a few more seconds. Even if it was just through a note, I had an actual personal conversation. I know it won’t last, though.
Eventually, class ends, and I am so thankful. Since I had already packed up my stuff earlier in the class, I head straight to Psychology.
“Why don’t we walk together, since we are going to the same class?” asks Atlas as he falls into step beside me.
I just look up at him and keep walking.
“Liar.”
“Whore.”
“Leave them alone for the rest of us.”
“Trash.”
I knew it would happen sooner or later. I’d just hoped it would be later rather than sooner. I blink away the tears that are forming, and I detour to the bathroom to escape Atlas. I need to get away from him. Being around the guys just gives everyone at school more ammunition.
I stay here crying until the lunch bell rings.
* * *
ATLAS
Getting to class, I save the seat beside me for Paisley. I know she had a different seat yesterday, but if I make it so it’s the only one left, she will have nowhere else to sit.
I’m sitting patiently, and I notice Mr. White at his desk shuffling through his papers. The bell rings and Paisley isn’t here yet. I’m worried about her, especially after she ran to the bathroom after those girls said something to her. She should be here. I don’t get the “ditch class” vibe from her.
Mr. White grabs those same papers and starts handing them out to everyone, and when he gets to me, I ask him for two copies.
“Why?” he asks.
“Paisley isn’t here and I don’t want her to miss anything,” I state.
“It’s her fault for not being in class.”
“Well, you can either give me a copy, which you obviously have enough of, or I will just make a copy of mine. You are making this more difficult than it needs to be, and I don’t understand why. It’s not like it’s a quiz or a test.”
“Then do that. I’m not in the habit of helping students who won’t help themselves,” he scoffs.
What is wrong with this teacher?
He walks away and hands out the papers to the rest of the students. All the while, some of the students look at me likeI’mthe bad guy.
“Hey, I’m Quinn. Who are you?” a person in class asks.
“Atlas,” I say, uninterested.
“Why are you worried about that slut?”
“Why do you care if I worry about her?” I ask, raising my eyebrow in question.
“I don’t, but you should stay away from her. She probably has every STD possible, the whore.”
