I used to be bullied a lot in elementary school and junior high because of where I lived and who my mother was. Cam tried his best to protect me, but he couldn’t be with me every second of every day.
Things settled down once we got to high school and Cam was on the football team. No one messed with the football players or their friends. It didn’t matter anyway. By the time I hit second grade, I had developed a thick skin and an almost impenetrable wall around my heart.
I became hardened to the stupid name-calling and daily taunts that greeted me as soon as I walked into the school building. I developed survival skills and learned how to defend myself. A shove into a locker while walking down the school hallway didn’t faze me. I had it so much worse at home from both my mother and my sister. The immature crap flung at me at school was nothing compared to what I had to live through at home every day of the week.
Over the years, I also got particularly good at blending into the background and sticking to the shadows. So just imagine the scandal I created an hour ago in the student parking lot at school, when seemingly meek, quiet me punched JD Hallstead in his too-gorgeous-for-his-own-good face.
Chapter 2
“I’m sorry.” – JD
I ball the piece of lined notebook paper up in my left fist and slam my locker shut, then decide better of it and flatten the paper back out. Taking my black ballpoint pen between my teeth, I rip the cap off and scribble a response.
“I’m not.” – Aurora
The first warning bell rang a few minutes ago, so I have two minutes to get to my next class before the tardy bell rings. Hefting my frayed canvas bag that I use as a backpack over my shoulder, I walk down the hall at a fast clip, careful to avoid the other students loitering in the hallway. Joke’s on me because I can feel their stares and it’s making me uncomfortable.
After what I did yesterday to JD in the student parking lot, I only have myself to blame for the unwanted attention I’m receiving now. Might as well go for broke, I decide, as I round the corner and come face-to-face with JD and his crew of football cronies.
JD slows down when he sees me. He’s wearing a black Randy’s Custom Auto logo T-shirt and jeans that hang loose around his tapered waist. His muscular six-foot three-inch frame exudes the strength and fitness he trains hard to maintain as quarterback for the Highland Raiders, our school’s football team. The light, golden brown of his hair contrasts with the puffy bruise under his right eye; the color of the bruise matches the deep blue of his irises.I can’t believe I did that. Then I remember why I punched him in the face to begin with, and I don’t feel sorry one bit.
He opens his mouth to say something, but I slap the crinkled piece of paper flat on his chest as I walk past. He catches it before it falls to the floor.
“Aurora,” his deep voice calls after me.
The fact that he uses my first name just ticks me off. Only Cam ever called me that. Everyone else usually calls me Rory, and honestly, I hate that nickname. I prefer Aurora.Bastard.
I do another thing I have never done before—I lift my middle finger high in the air when he calls my name again. As I walk into the classroom, I hear the roaring laughter from his friends out in the hallway. Ignoring it, I take my usual seat in the front row and get out my spiral notebook from my bag.
Why did you just do that? All you’re doing is painting a larger target on your back like a big-assed blinking neon sign. Are you trying to geteveryone’sattention now?
Maybe I am. Maybe Cam’s death changed me. My best friend is gone, and I miss him like crazy every single day. Perhaps my behavior of late is one of the five stages of grief, and I skipped over the first stage of denial and got stuck at anger. Because Iamangry. Angry that Cam left me. Angry that my mother’s addiction took away the one person who mattered most in the world to me. Angry that I’m left with an older sister who couldn’t give a crap about me. Angry at a father I don’t remember who left me to grow up in that hellhole. Angry at the world for dumping so much responsibility on my small shoulders at such a young age. Angry at myself for not stopping Cam from going to that party. If he never went, he wouldn’t have been drinking and then driving home that night.
“You can’t avoid me forever.” - JD
Oh, for fuck’s sake. I take the torn piece of paper that drops out of my spiral notebook and strangle it to death with my good hand. If I wasn’t so irritated at JD right now, I would find his attempt at getting me to talk to him amusing. Not today, however. Probably never. Maybe.
Someone taps me on the shoulder from behind with the eraser-end of a pencil. Glowering, I turn in my seat to see Shelby, one of the head cheerleaders, holding something out to me.
“I was told to give this to you,” she says, wagging another piece of paper at me.
“Thank you, but you can keep it,” I tell her politely, even though I’m seething inside at JD’s persistence.
Shelby is a good person. Typical cheerleader skinny, long dark hair pulled up in a high ponytail, nails artfully painted blue and yellow to match our school colors. She has always been nice to me, unlike the other cheerleaders in this school. There must be a rule somewhere that I never read that says non-cheerleaders can’t be friends with football players even if said football player had been her best friend since elementary school.
“JD said you would say that and to give it to you anyway.”
She shakes the note at me more vigorously. I reluctantly accept it and turn back around in my seat as our teacher, Mrs. Pender, walks in.
“I miss him too. Please let me explain.” – JD
I have a feeling JD will keep writing me notes indefinitely until I talk to him. Cam used to tell me how stubborn he could be. If JD knew my phone number, I’m pretty sure it would be lighting up constantly with text messages from him. Luckily, I have a pay-as-you-go phone which I never use except for work, and Cam and my boss were the only people who had my number. I hastily scratch out a reply on the piece of paper that Shelby handed me.
“Please leave me alone, JD. I don’t want to talk to you.” – Aurora
As soon as the teacher turns her back, I pass the note to Shelby. She frowns but accepts it. I jerk forward in my seat when Mrs. Pender says my name.
“Miss St. Claire.”
