Jordan elbows Sierra’s side, making the brunette’s eyes fall on me in the bleachers.
“I pick Dirt—I mean, Rosalie.” Sierra smirks.
A few snickers follow from the crowd as I stand.
“Remember what I said,” Charlie encourages. “Don’t—”
“Don’t block with my face. Yes, I know.” I grumble as I step down.
“Knock ‘em dead!” My friend shouts, completely unaware that this is Jordan’s plot of revenge for getting her blonde boy toy detention when Mrs. Hurst reviewed the tapes on the milk incident.
It wasn’t my fault he did it, but for some reason, that won’t click in her pretty head. She’s been after me for weeks, only slightly deterred by Charlie’s presence when we’re in the same room together. This is her way of getting me alone.
I step beside Sierra, careful not to get too close as the captains take their time picking out their teams. Jordan ends up with all three of her boyfriends, Kairo, Roman, and Maddox, standing proudly around her like her watchdogs before Coach blows his whistle, and it’s do or die.
I shove to the back of the court, careful not to bump into anyone as I try to put space between and the three boys who have sick intent swirling in their irises. They aren’t even worried about the other players as they dodge balls in an attempt to get as close to me as possible.
I’m so worried about evading them that I totally forget about their girlfriend, who’s also cornering me. I’ve just dodged a slapping hit that bounces off the back wall of the gymnasium when I turn with triumph on my face.
Only to have rubber smack me so hard in the nosethat I practically feel it burst. Specks dance across my vision as a piercing ringing drowns out everything around me. Something warm and wet trickles down my face, and I lift a shaky hand just as the first drop of blood hits the floor.
It’s stark in appearance, contrasting with the white floor so horribly that it makes my head spin. Or it could be the fact that seeing my own blood makes me violently ill.
“Jordan!” Coach shouts as the sound returns, rising to an unbearable level. “That’s the bench for the next hour!”
“She’s bleeding!” Charlie shouts with urgency as she jogs across the court.
I only stare at my essence, unable to move as traumatic memories are dredged up—the echoing wails of my own voice as I beg and plead for Dad to stop, the bits of torn flesh that never healed properly, the agony of bearing it all and waking up to do it again and again.
It all comes crashing down on me. I can feel my heart slow and the room tilt. The last image I see is Kairo smirking across the gym as Charlie reaches a desperate hand out to catch me.
But she isn’t fast enough.
Waking up in the nurse’s office is disorienting. The fluorescent lights are too bright, searing my retinas as I blink myself awake.
“She’s coming to,” a voice says to my right before a peace sign is thrust in front of my face. “How many fingers?”
“Eleven,” I lizard blink, shooing the hand away.
There’s the sound of scribbling on a clipboard that makes me wince. “Seems you’re well enough to be sarcastic, Ms. Beckett. You have a slight concussion, but nothing major. You took quite the tumble there.”
Nurse Nancy.
The voice is the nurse.
“What?” I can’t even think beyond the woman’s name asshe comes into view. Her short hair hangs over her shoulders and dangerously close to my face as I realize she’s examining my pupils.
“You’re staying here until your guardian shows up,” she decides.
That has me rising from the dead.
I nearly throw myself off the table as I startle her. She holds an aghast hand over her pink scrubs, frowning at me as I scramble up.
“I’m fine!” I say quickly. “Please don’t call my dad—”
“I already have,” she interrupts softly. “He’s on his way.”
My hands fall to my sides, every ounce of hope at stopping this situation fizzling out before my very eyes. I stare at the nurse unblinkingly, and it isn’t until she waves a hand close to my face that I finally yank myself back to the present.
