I wish I was smart so at least the schoolwork could be a distraction, but my F in history is my top grade so far. I wish I had college applications and tests to focus on, so at least my days would have meaning. I struggle through the classes, barely understanding a word my teachers say. It’s like they’re speaking a foreign language. I’ve finally learned what’s come of not setting foot inside a learning institution since I was thirteen. Some days, I debate taking Gabriel up on his offer to tutor me, even though I know he’s barely a better student than I am.
There are only two bright spots in my days. Ms. Drysdale teaches history and political science. She’s young – mid-twenties I think, and with her short, trendy haircut and band tee shirts peeking out from beneath mens’ blazers with the sleeves rolled up, she has this punk rock pixie vibe that’s refreshing in this stuck-up school. She looks like someone I’d want to be friends with, in another life, when I could choose my friends.
She has a way of making history come alive. I lean forward on my elbows and listen with rapt attention as she talks about the Founding Fathers, or the Tudor Kings, or the Spanish Inquisition. I find myself nodding along with the familiar stories I’ve read, and devouring the extra reading lists she gives us.
The other bright spot is homeroom and chemistry class with Gabriel. He doesn’t seem to care that everyone else at this school hates me. He makes flirty conversation and fucks up every single assignment. But most importantly, he makes me laugh. I relish it, knowing that with him, at least, my laughter doesn’t come at a price.
After class Gabriel always offers to walk me to my locker, but I know Eli will be there, waiting with his kind smile and intense eyes, and I can’t deal with that remnant of the old Mackenzie, so I fake women’s problems and hide in the bathroom.
Too late, I realize Gabriel’s attention paints a target on my back.
Apart from shooting daggers at me with her eyes every time she sees Gabriel and me together, Cleo hasn’t been actively targeting me. Instead, she keeps her nose in the air whenever she passes me in the halls, as if I’m beneath her notice. Her minions do her bidding instead, stealing my things and spreading rumors about me that make me feel unsafe when I pass guys in the hall.
I believe that’s the best they’ve got, that rich bitches like Cleo are incapable of real cruelty.
I’m wrong.
I have gym last period on a Wednesday, which I surprise myself by enjoying. It might have something to do with sneaking glances at Eli in his tight-as-fuck shorts. Scratch that, it’s definitely because of Eli’s ass. But also it’s fun to run around, kick a soccer ball and pretend it’s Alec LeMarque’s stupid head.
This week we divide into guys and girls for fitness drills – seeing how many push-ups, chin-ups, burpees, and other tortures we can do. I’m surprised that most girls – even the fit ones on the cheerleading team – give up after a few half-assed attempts. I’m the only girl who can do a proper pushup, and I hold a chin-up for longer than anyone else.
“Mackenzie Malloy.” The gym teacher, Mrs. Anderson, waves me over after class. “You impressed me today. You’ll be getting an A on this unit.”
“Thanks.” An A in fuckinggym. I’ll take it.
“Cheerleading tryouts are next week,” she continues. “I expect you to be there.”
“Cheerleading?” I can barely hold back the sneer. The old Mackenzie would’ve bounced around in a short skirt and high ponytails, turning somersaults like it was nothing. But cheerleading is for girls with normal lives, who have boyfriends on the football team and futures worth cheering for. I have none of those things. It’s bad enough I have to go to school with Cleo – I don’t intend to be afflicted with her presence on my own time.
“I saw you out there today – you’re strong. We need someone to replace Candice as base since she broke her leg over the summer. Did you keep up your gymnastics training?”
“Gymnastics? No, I…” I remember all the trophies scattered around my old room. I must’ve been a gymnast before. “I haven’t been keeping up officially, but a lot of it is dance moves, right? I definitely dance.”
If twerking in my ballroom counts.
“Exactly – Cleo and Daphne are our flyers. They execute the more complex stunts.” She looks me up and down. “I remember you from junior prep, and you always had a perfect sense of rhythm. And if you’re interested in pulling up your grades – you just have to shake your booty and you get extra credit.”
Extra credit.Those magic words. I toss my hair over my shoulder. “I’ll think about it.”
Cheerleading. Antony’s going to laugh his ass off when I tell him, but I have to admit, I’m excited about tryouts. This is a normal thing normal teenage girls do. I want to be part of it.
Besides, if I end up on the team, Cleo’s head will explode, and I want to be there to watch the carnage.
When Mrs. Anderson dismisses me, I’m the last girl to enter the changing rooms. Steam rises from the showers as Cleo and Daphne step out. I strip off and drop my uniform and towel onto the bench, then shove my way into a cubicle as the warning bell rings. Outside, I can hear Cleo and her minions giggling. “Bye, Mackenzie,” Brandy yells as the gym door slams shut. Peels of laughter echo through the walls.
Since I’m already late and my last class is mathematics, which I don’t understand anyway, I take my time under the water, shampooing my hair with the fancy organic products the school supplies. When I reek of lavender and lemongrass, I step out of the water and reach for my towel and clothes.
They’re not there.
I left them in a pile on the bench in front of my locker. I know I did. Now they’re gone.
From outside, a fresh wave of laughter rises.
Those skank-ass bitches stole my clothes.
My head spins. Water droplets roll off the ends of my hair and cascade across my back. I debate my options – I could change back into my gym clothes… except I put them in my backpack, inside my gym locker, and the locker key was on top of the pile of clothes they stole. I slam my fist into the metal.
Fuck.Fuck.
