Then she grabs hold of my ponytail and twists me back around to face her. After being dragged from under the bed yesterday, my scalp already tingles with pain. Now it screams.
The milling students have disappeared, even the stragglers. Not that any of them would pitch in to help me and certainly not against Kari.
She uses the grip on my hair to manoeuvre me nearer, her eyes so close to mine my personal space beacon jammers at top volume inside my head.
For the first time it occurs to me that this unsettling girl, the one who stood up Lachlan on a whim, could present a larger danger to me than the rest of the McManus men put together.
“You knew I’m with Lachlan, but you still went out with him, didn’t you? Who does that?”
Someone who doesn’t have an option. What the hell else is she thinking? That I wanted to go? I pull her fingers off my hair and shove myself back, out of her clutches.
“I know how it happened,” she says in a quieter voice. “Youjust happened to be near when Lock decided he needed a date, so he grabbed hold of you. I understand what he’s like.”
Does she? The daggers of blame in her eyes tell me another thing entirely, but I react to her words. “I didn’t have a choice.”
Her answer is low and vicious, face pushing close to mine, so her breath puffs against my face. “You had a choice. You could do what Lock told you or turn him down and take the consequences.” The harsh glint in her eye captures my attention, mesmerising. “Next time, take the consequences. Understand me?”
I nod. The concept is straightforward. The application might prove a little more troublesome.
“This is your one free pass. If anything like this happens again, I’ll come after you.” Her enormous eyes blink, changing colour briefly in the sunlight before returning to their unsettling grey. “Whatever threat Lock issues, you’ll get double from me if you accept.”
I believe the traditional version is simpler.
Damned if I do. Damned if I don’t.
The moment classlets out for lunch, I scurry to hide in my favourite spot behind the gymnasium. There’s a bench back there, situated under the large fans connected to the air-conditioning unit for the enormous pavilion.
It’s loud, sometimes steamy, and smells like someone should think about changing the water because each breath probably contains a generous helping of Legionnaires’ disease.
The chief attraction for me is that those adverse effects mean no one else ever sits there. Except, as I round the corner, a boy is already occupying the bench seat.
My shoulders tense, expecting trouble, then relax as I recognise him from the day before. The person who finally deigned to speak to me (voluntarily, class doesn’t count) and whose presence made me smile on the way home. Before I got to the door. Before I saw the drops of blood.
I nod to him as I walk closer. He’s seated right in the middle of the bench so whichever side I choose, I’ll be close to him.
“Hey,” he calls out, shielding his face from the sun. As summer secedes to autumn, the lowering angle causes blindness even though the rays are growing weaker. “Glad to see you again. I worried that after saying hi yesterday, you’d never come back.”
I laugh nervously and take a seat to his right. It’s the side nearest to the fan but it’s also closest to the school if I need to jump and run. Not that this boy looks the slightest bit menacing.
The moment I’m seated, I don’t know what to say, so I take out my packed lunch. A sandwich, my drink bottle, an apple, a twin pack of biscuits. The same lunch I’ve packed for me and my father for years, except he gets double everything except the drink.
“Saw you had a fun time last night,” the boy says, waggling his phone as though that’s meant to mean something. “Your pictures are all over the socials.”
My throat clutches mid-bite and I stare at him in horror, packing away the rest of my lunch as my appetite flees the scene. “What p-pictures?”
The bruise on my thigh leaps into my mind first, followed by the strange marks on my neck, currently covered with a thin scarf that has me thanking the stars that it’s cold enough to go unremarked upon.
“Tell me your name and I’ll show you.”
His mouth curls in a teasing smile and my anxiety dissipates. The boy’s face looks ruddy cheeked and freckled, like hestepped off a farm this morning. His light brown hair is cut short at the back, but his fringe is long enough to fall over one eye, adding a level of tousled attractiveness that he doesn’t seem fully aware of.
Yesterday, I’d been looking forward to seeing him today. Before the disastrous arrival home to find my plans for the night had abruptly changed.
Now, I recall exactly why as his brown eyes turn as warm as hot cocoa. The rest of him looks equally good to curl up with on chilly nights.
“I’m George.”
He holds out a hand and I shake it, my fingers instantly lost in his huge grip. “I’m Keanen. Scoot over and I’ll show you.”
