My feet slap against the non-slip mats and I pace along the stalls, pressing the heels of my hands into my eyes until I see squiggles.
You’ve dealt with worse than this.
You’ve lived through a hell those princesses can’t even contemplate.
Get your shit together.
I scan every corner of the locker room for a possible solution – some discarded clothing or even a towel I can wrap around myself. My foot skims something. I bend down and pick it up – someone’s discarded Sharpie. I pull off the cap and test it against my palm. It still works.
Hmmm.
Maybe it’s time someone shows Cleo what happens when you mess with someone who has nothing to lose.
20
Mackenzie
The snickers hit the moment I step outside.
Cleo and her crew are waiting for me, and they’ve roped several guys into hanging around, forming a gauntlet of shame along the corridor.
The laughter lasts for three steps. Three agonizing steps where I relive a world of agony. Where I remember another sound – my scream echoing back on me inside the coffin – and the horror it seared into my soul. Even though I hold my chin high, my insides burn with all the rage and terror of that night.
Three steps, and the laughter dies.
Three steps, and they read the words scrawled across my skin.
WHORE.
BITCH.
ICE QUEEN.
GHOST SLUT.
YOU DON’T OWN ME.
I AM NOT MY BODY.
And down my arms and across my chest, in huge, loopy letters that circle my nipples between a lopsided doodle of a crown, the words:
I AM MACKENZIE MALLOY.
It is a total bitch to write legibly on yourself upside down, especially across my breasts, but I got the hang of it. Now my whole body is covered in graffiti – words of affirmation, words of rage. The words I’ve had to tell myself in the dark over and over and over again, until I believed them.
My words of war.
Cleo’s perfect lips freeze in this O-shape, like one of those bobbing clowns at a fairground. Behind her, Daphne’s hand flies to her mouth. At the end of the row, I can feel Alec LeMarque’s eyes sweep over my body, and it’s like something slimy sliding across my skin.
Noah stands beside Alec, his hands in his pockets. His eyes never leave mine, and although they still burn with that same seething hatred, there’s a respect there, too.
Eli elbows Alec in the side as he shoves his way to the front of the crowd. He starts to shrug off his blazer. “Mackenzie, here. Take this. I’ll—”
“What’s going on here?” A voice cuts through the chaos. A hard lump forms in my throat as Ms. Drysdale pushes her way through the crowd. She takes one look at me and throws up her arms in front of me. “All of you, get to class.”
No one moves. Eli stands there with both arms still trapped in his blazer.
“Go. You too, Mr. Hart. Or I’m hauling all your parents in here to explain why you’re being suspended for sexual misconduct.”
