“You’re right. I’d rather be around someone who tells it like it is than have to second-guess everything coming out of their mouth. I think you are a refreshing change from the rest of the sheep at this school.”
Rachel smiled at me. “Ditto,” she said, reaching over and giving me a one-armed hug.
My friends were so cool and great for that needed self-esteem boost. There was a reason I kept them around.
My attention was suddenly pulled back to the table occupied by Clayton Reed. I heard a raised voice and groaned at seeing meathead Paul Delawder holding Clayton’s MP3 player. Paul was a raging douche bag. He made it his mission in life to taunt, terrorize, and humiliate most of the student body. He skipped school at least three days each week and failed most of his classes. He had already been kept back twice and he was the oldest senior in our class, being nineteen and all. He had a designated desk in the detention room and bragged about getting a plaque for it. He was a nasty moron with a taste for abuse and definitely not my favorite person. He and I had had multiple run-ins over the years and I also had been on the receiving end of his harassment a time or two. My hands clenched as I watched the school bully zero in on his new target.
Paul leaned across the table and got in Clayton’s face. Clayton wouldn’t look up, his hair still in his eyes, but I could see the tension in his shoulders. Clayton was not a small guy: his chest was wide and his arms were thick. I bet he could have taken Paul if he’d wanted to. But instead all he did was sit there and seem to shut down, refusing to engage.
“One day someone is going to punch that loser right in the face,” Rachel muttered, looking away from the scene. I wanted that person to be Clayton. I don’t know why I felt such a weird protectiveness for this guy who had been a total jerk to me. Maybe it was because there was something about Clayton Reed that seemed to broadcast vulnerability. The hunch in his shoulders, the refusal to look at anyone. It was as if he didn’t want anyone to see him, and that made me want to do just that.
I had never been drawn to someone the way I was finding myself drawn to Clayton. I didn’t even know him, had only shared a mouthful of words (and they weren’t nice), but I wanted to say more, to hear more. So seeing Paul make Clayton his new verbal punching bag set off my once-thought-nonexistent nurturing side.
When Paul threw the MP3 player on the floor and stomped on it, I couldn’t take it anymore. Without thinking, I got out of my seat and started moving toward the pair. I barely registered the “oh, crap” looks on my friends’ faces before I found myself behind Paul. The bully didn’t hear me approach; he was much too focused on his prey.
“Look at me, you little faggot. You are such a fucking pussy, can’t even say anything. Are you fucking retarded?” Paul snarled. Clayton continued to stare at the tabletop, but I noticed the fine tremors in his hands. I wasn’t sure how he could sit there and take this crap. But I, for one, wasn’t going to.
“Shut up, Paul. Don’t you have a toilet somewhere that you should be drinking out of?” I said, shoving the much bigger senior out of my way. Paul looked down at me in surprise. Then he laughed.
“You want some of this, bitch?” Paul made a threatening move toward me. I caught a movement out of the corner of my eye and saw Clayton get to his feet, his face red. He looked like he was about to kill someone. I shivered at his expression. Paul stepped forward and I instinctively kneed him in the groin, sending him to the floor like a bag of rocks.
I heard a collective gasp from the kids sitting at the tables around us. Typical sheep mentality. They will sit there and watch it all go down but won’t lift a finger to help. Refusing to rock the proverbial boat. Jerks.
Then I heard the sound of the assistant principal, Mr. Kane, approaching quickly. “What’s going on here?” Dear God, someone give this guy a tissue already! He was always stuffed up. Mr. Kane frowned at me and then at Paul, who was still on the floor with his hands cupped around a very specific part of his anatomy.
Paul struggled to his feet, his face purple with a barely suppressed rage. I gave my best innocent smile. “Nothing, Mr. Kane. I think Paul was about to get sick or something. I was just making sure he was all right.”
Paul gave me a look that could have knocked me dead. But he proved he wasn’t a complete moron by giving a tight nod and an even tighter smile. “I’m fine. This girl here”—he couldn’t even remember my name, asswipe—“was just making sure I was okay. It’s nothing.” Mr. Kane gave him a sharp look, and I was sure he wasn’t fooled by our barely concealed lie. “Well, if you’re sick, you’d best get checked out by the nurse.” Paul didn’t move right away, not wanting to leave the scene of his attempted crime.
Mr. Kane shooed him with his hands. “Go on, Mr. Delawder. I’ll walk you there, to make sure you get to where you are supposed to be.” The assistant principal turned back to me. “And you can get to class.” Paul met my eyes as he was being herded out of the cafeteria and mouthed a really nasty word. One for a female body part.
Finally, when things had settled and conversations around us had resumed, I turned to look at Clayton. I had fully intended to ask him if he was okay but was surprised to find him looking at me with full-on anger.
He picked up his ruined MP3 player and shoved it into his pocket. He slowly slung his bag over his shoulder and met my eyes with a gaze as cold as ice. “In the future, mind your own business,” he told me. I stared at him with my mouth hanging open; for once I had no comeback readily available.
Seriously? I had just stopped him from being bullied by the resident jerkwad, and this was the thanks I got? Before I could find my voice, Clayton Reed turned and walked away, leaving me dumbstruck and strangely intrigued by this mysterious new student. It was official: I had lost my flipping mind.
chapter
three
“you stepped all over his manhood with your sparkly flip-flops, Mags. No guy likes to be saved by a chick. It’sourjob to do the saving. It’s in the man code or something,” Daniel told me after school, four days after my disastrous run-in with Clayton Reed. Four days, and I was still venting about his attitude and lack of gratitude.
Okay, to be honest, I wasn’t really irritated by that anymore. I was more irritated by the fact that I hadn’t crossed paths with him since. Clayton seemed to be making it his mission to stay out of my and everyone else’s way. So I was still talking about our exchange in a desperate attempt to keep it all relevant, mostly because I couldn’t stop talking about him.Orthinking about him.
But Daniel’s words were just completely asinine. I frowned at best friend number 2. “That is so dumb. What was with the whole suffrage thing and the entire push for gender equality if we still have to bow down to gender stereotypes?” I asked in my best haughty tone.
Rachel, who stood beside me rummaging through her purse for her car keys, lifted a hand to pat me on the back.
“I know it’s stupid, but guys are still just cavemen deep down,” she mused as the three of us made our way toward the parking lot.
“Please don’t tell me you buy into this macho BS, Rache. My inner feminist can’t handle it,” I muttered, pulling my hair tie from my wrist and scraping my hair into a tight ponytail. Rachel only smiled and pulled on the hair tie, loosening it.
“You’re going to cut off the blood flow to your brain if you keep wearing your hair that tight,” she said. Rachel had been after me to let her cut my hair for years. But I liked it long. It was like my security blanket.
I grumbled under my breath, although I gave up on my irritation. It wasn’t directed at my friends anyway and they didn’t deserve my foul mood. Rachel, in her Psychic Friends Network way, nudged my shoulder with hers.
“I haven’t seen much of him either, you know. He sits in the back of class and doesn’t talk to a soul. So it’s not just you he’s rude to.”
