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“You just want the attention.”
“You asked for it.”
“It’s your fault.”
“You let it happen.”
“How could you say that?”
“You are lying.”
The guy—Atlas, I think—touches my shoulder. I shiver and whimper, being brought back to the present. He backs away and holds both hands up like he did something wrong. He didn’t, but I’m in a fragile state and anything will be wrong right now.
I need to run to the gym and take a shower and try to get this paint out of my hair before it dries. I know I’m going to be late to fourth period, but if I don’t take this shower, I’m going to get asked about it at home. I don’t need to worry about missing anything in ASL. I’m pretty advanced, though no one knows.
Rushing into the gym showers, I pull my clothes off and grab my spare set from my backpack. I know I’m going to have to throw this set away. They are so shabby that trying to rub out the paint and running them through the washer multiple times will just make them see-through, and then it’ll be pointless anyway.
* * *
MATEO
Watching her run out of class after having had paint dumped on her is excruciating. I may not know this person very well, but I want to. My past makes me despise bullying, and that is exactly what happened.
“What the hell did you do that for? She did absolutely nothing to you—or me, for that matter.”
“What she did was be in the same class as me and ruin my day. She even tried to talk to you,” he retorts.
“All we did was ask her for her name. So her even attempting to answer us gets paint on her? What kind of sick and twisted game is that?!” I yell at him.
“You just moved here, so you don’t get to judge our actions. Paisley is a good-for-nothing liar and a downright whore who needs to crawl back into the hole she came from.”
Seeing red, I ball my fist up, getting ready to punch him in the face, but before I can rear back, Atlas grabs my shoulder and shakes his head.
“He isn’t worth it,” he whispers to me. “Think about the ’rents, okay?”
I close my eyes and take a deep breath.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Paisley. I run the name on my tongue a few times.
Paisley. Paisley. Pais-ley.
It really feels good on my tongue. I wonder how it will sound coming out of my mouth.
I turn to face Atlas, in the now empty room and ask, “Why do you think they said those things about her?”
“I don’t know, man. She is always quiet. I haven’t heard a single thing from her today at all, and I’ve been observing her every chance I get. I’ve had every period with her so far.”
Hmph.
That’s not surprising. He and Luca are the most observant ones. I wonder what else he has caught on to that he isn’t giving up.
I know there is more. There always is with him.
Shrugging, both of us head to our last period. Spanish. I know I’m going to hate this class. It’s utter fucking bullshit. I don’t need to take this class. But because ASL was full—or so they say—they split us up and threw me and Atlas in Spanish, away from Luca and Kade. I think it's because they didn’t want us to be in the same class together or because I’m Latino and they are basing their decision on that. But they claim it's some lame excuse about having language credits for graduation.
