Utterly alone.
Someone shuffles past me, knocking my notebooks from my hands as I’m jolted forward. I almost trip over my ratty tennis shoes and curse quietly at the loud slap of my belongings hitting the dirty floor.
The boy who did it, Mike, I believe, turns towards me. An apology sits on the tip of his tongue as he bends down to help me. Until his dark eyes connect with my green ones and he hisses.
“Oh, I thought you were someone else.” He draws back, leaving my books on the floor before shouting for his friends to wait up.
I stare at them, scattered and useless as they lie in the middle of the hallway. Even as the long corridor begins to clear and the first bell rings, I’m stuck.
Seeing my things scuffed and treated like I am daily is surreal. Like I’m watching my own life from the empty space above me—an out-of-body experience. It causes bitterness to churn in my stomach as I squat down and snatch my songnotebook first.
The bridge of my nose stings with unshed tears as I open it to the first page. Lines of music I wrote are neat and bleed my deepest, darkest secrets. Each song I’ve spent countless hours scribbling out is an ode to what no one will ever see. It’s what I keep locked away in the recesses of my mind.
Writing music is my only escape.
I’ve been in love with it since I first heard a pop song over a speaker in the local grocery store. I remember leaving the trailer just to walk to the mini mart down the street and sit near the registers as song after song flowed from the overhead speakers.
Aunt Kathy told me that my mom could have been a musician if she had wanted more from life. Her voice was beautiful, or so I’ve heard.
The most I’ve done is sing in my room, tucked away from anyone discovering my inherited talent. It’s the one thing I refuse to let anyone taint. They can destroy my dignity and strip me bare, but I won’t let them crush my dreams.
“What do we have here?”
My hackles rise, sending my flight response into overdrive as I slap my notebook closed and fumble to grab the other one.
Kairo Ridley is what nightmares are made of. He’s conniving cruelty all wrapped up in a pretty boy, blonde package. He has the most haunting eyes I’ve ever seen—the color of steel and almost as dull as Jordan’s. Pair it with the heart-stopping, half-smirk he usually sports, and he’s brimming with mischievous intent.
It doesn’t help that he’s followed closely by his two best friends, Roman Briggs, the tallest of the bunch, and far more cynical and scrutinizing than the loud blonde stands to his right. Maddox Campbell takes up the left wing of their entourage, his dead brown eyes searing into me from behind like they always do. He’s quiet, but just as horrible as his friends.
They’re my hell on Earth, and I should have known better than to linger behind.
“What’s the rush, Dirt?” Kairo croons as he leans over me. The smell of his cologne, something deep and rich, nearly makes me gag. Being conditioned to hate anything that smells remotely close to him hasn’t been hard. I can’t even walk near the men’s side of department stores because I feel like I’m going to vomit or have a panic attack.
I stay quiet, shuffling my things neatly before standing. Kairo moves back, cautious not to get too close to me as I trudge towards my first class.
Three pairs of footsteps follow closely behind, and I wince with every footfall. The fear is embedded in my bones, threatening to make me skip class altogether so I can hide out in the girls’ bathroom until the end of the day.
“She’s not talking,” Kairo chuckles bitterly.
“That’s new,” Roman jabs. “She usually can’t stop mumbling to herself. Do you hear voices, Dirt?”
Dirt.
The nickname these assholes gave me four years ago is a constant reminder of what I am. Dirt poor, and treated worse than the soil beneath one’s feet. I don’t think anyone has said my actual name since I started high school. I tried to convince myself that by senior year, the nickname would have fizzled out. But here I am, four years later, and it’s stronger than ever.
I ignore them, turning down the East wing of the school so I can get to trigonometry before Mrs. Adele locks me out of the classroom for being late again. None of them has first hour down this hall, but that doesn’t stop the three boys from trailing closely as they mock me.
“Do you think she’s crazy?” Maddox asks quietly.
Kairo’s distinctive, hearty laugh fills the hall. “Think? Iknowshe’s got a few screws loose. If my old man beat me half as hard as hers does, I wouldn’t be all there either.”
Something unpleasant and sharp pangs in my chest as my teeth grind. If they experienced half of what I dealt with,they would buckle under the pressure. Going to bed and not knowing if you’re going to wake up in the morning isn’t for the weak.
“Hey, Dirt!” Kairo calls as I begin to walk faster. “We’re fucking talking to you!”
He lunges forward and snatches my forearm, the grip unrelenting. Pain flares beneath the bruises hidden by my loose, long-sleeved shirt, and I suck in a sharp breath as his fingers dig into tender flesh. The ache shoots up my arm, tightening in my jaw until my teeth grind roughly.
My eyes connect with those lifeless ones, and he smirks viciously. “Oh, look at that shiner. Your old man has a hell of a right hook, doesn’t he?”
