The veins in Sam’s arms pop as he tries to keep her upright. “What do I do?”
I can’t do this. I’ve moved on. I hardly notice her when she’s here, and yet she always seems to weasel her way back into my life when I think I’m finally in the clear. I was a sophomore when she first came to school as a freshman, and every time I saw her, anger bubbled inside of me because part of me wanted her to change. I wanted her to mellow out and apologize for what she’d done, but that never happened. If anything she acted out more, creating a reputation within days of starting school. To this day everyone knows Emma is the troublemaker and Mallory is the one who runs after her cleaning up the messes. That used to be me, and it can’t be me again.
“Drop her. She’ll wake up,” I say.
Sam gives me a disapproving look. “Since when are you so heartless, man? She needs to see the nurse.”
I stare at the dysfunctional duo in front of me, and I can’t ignore Sam’s puppy dog expression pleading for me to help as he struggles to keep Emma upright.
Sam is nice, probably too nice for his own good, which is why everyone likes him. He has the entire senior class eating out of the palm of his hand.
“Fine,” I say. “But I’m only doing this for you. Not her.”
“Okay, you hate her. I get it.” His face is turning redder with each passing moment, and he shifts his foot to keep his balance. “Now, help me carry her.”
I sigh and reach down to grab her feet. Sam holds on to her arms and her head falls back. Maybe she actually fainted since she doesn't flinch when I touch her.
Sam staggers forward. “Is she made of lead or something?”
“No, your arms are hollow.”
He gives me a disapproving look. “You think you’re so funny.”
I smile. “Let’s go.”
Emma’s body dips, barely off the ground, and I have to adjust her skirt every few feet to keep it from riding up.
We inch toward the stairs leading to the front doors, but right before Sam makes his first step up, his hand slips and Emma’s head hits the ground.
“Oh snap.” Sam’s hand flies to his mouth. Then he points a finger at me. “I only dropped her because you suggested it.”
I set her feet down. “Sure you did.”
We both creep closer and hover above her, waiting for any sign of life. I half expect her eyes to fly open and for her to attack me again.
She doesn’t move.
Sam waves his hand in front of her face, but again, no reaction. “Is she dead?” he whispers.
“I doubt it. She’s basically a roach. I don’t think it’s possible to kill her.” She might have a bump on her head tomorrow, but she’s done far more dangerous things and come out unscathed. “She can sleep through just about anything.”
“What do we do now?” Sam asks.
I shake my head and adjust my glasses. “Just grab her bag. I’ll carry her the rest of the way.”
“Like you can—”
I take her arm and wrap it around my neck, lifting her swiftly.
Sam clears his throat. “It appears your arms are in fact . . . not hollow.”
My arms are burning, but I don’t let it show. The sooner we get her to the nurse’s office, the sooner I can go back to ignoring her.
I step up, aiming for the doors.
Sam grabs the bag and then hurries in front of me to open the door. He bows. “After you, Sir Lifts-a-lot.”
“Shut up.”
