Rhett and all the other Crysta-followers spun around, laughing.
Leave me alone. Leave me alone.
Crysta’s face twisted with a malicious smirk. “Rightfatass?”
More cackling erupted, shooting like bullets through the air.
“Good morning, class! Sit, sit! Let’s get started!” Mr. Morris loudly announced, pulling the projector down.
A waste of space,my mind assaulted me.
Anger—there was so much anger in me. And hurt. Humiliation.
The heat in my cheeks became a full-blown rash.
Stop. Calm down. Ignore her. Ignore them.
I tried to fight the stinging behind my eyes.
Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.
“Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.”My foster mom’s words repeated in my head. Useless.
I tried to will the bullets to deteriorate before finding their mark in me, but it was a struggle.
Only then—something stirred. Deep within me, I felt it. Not anger. Ten shades deeper,darker.
Crysta playfully tapped the end of her pencil to her mouth. Her face scrunched in disgust, glaring at me.
“Gross,”she whispered.
I hated her. I hated her so much.
I sensed it again. That strange, unsettling feeling, like an ancient creature stretching awake. It cracked its neck to the left, then right.
Hope she gets what she deserves,my intrusive thought murmured.
My chest suddenly tightened with a foreign sensation.
Movement in the corner of the classroom caught my attention. A faint inky shadow swept across the floor. No one else seemed to notice as it slid to the heel of Crysta’s foot, disappearing.
Was my vision playing tricks?
Crysta’s hand suddenly halted midair. The other laid flat on the desk, fingers splayed open.
Whack!
With emotionless eyes, she forcefully slammed the pencil down, impaling her hand.
Everyone turned.
Her eyes shifted, spotting the protruding piece of wood. An agonizing scream tore from her throat.
Chaos erupted.
“What the hell!” one student cried.
“Holy shit!” Rhett leapt out of his desk, eyes wide. “What did you do, Crysta?”
