“Sorry about that, I didn’t get the memo. You’ve been moved to a private building beside the staff quarters. I haven’t been given all of the details, but hopefully there’s more info in here.” Handing over the envelope, I purse my lips in an effort to hold back my sigh. Harriett may not have gotten the memo, but I’m receiving it loud and clear.
Private building by the staff quarters, which happens to be the furthest point from the student dorms? Sounds like special treatment for the whack-job who was just released from rehab. Just perfect. As if I don’t feel isolated enough already.
I force out a clipped, “Thanks,” taking the envelope from Harriett’s outstretched hand. She gives me a thumbs-up and awarm smile that I don’t have the energy to return. Instead, I turn, shoving the envelope into my bag without bothering to open it yet.
Dodging around the freshmen, I head for the rear exit, content to disappear into the crowd. The connecting building gives me an escape towards the east of campus, via the art department. The scent of paint thinner and charcoal lingers in the air, causing my nose to twitch. I should get used to it, considering I’ll be spending most of my time here from now on. Lockers line the hallways and students cluster around them, catching up on their summer break and adjusting their schedules. After this weekend, academy life starts again, whether we’re ready for it or not.
I walk quickly, keeping my head down, letting the noise of chatter and slamming locker doors blur into the background. Conversations dip in volume as I pass, a few people nudging their friends and whispering behind cupped hands. Actually, I’ve changed my mind. The sooner I can barricade myself in whatever hole they’ve decided to shove me into, the better.
The main path outside splits in two directions, one leading toward the student dorms and the other curving toward the staff quarters and faculty offices. I’m about to turn towards the off-beaten route, avoiding the main quad at all costs, when a public bulletin board catches my eye. Something about the bright flyers tacked haphazardly across its surface forces my feet to change direction, bypassing stone benches where students balance textbooks and disposable coffee cups.
I get closer, ignoring the announcement for club meetings, a tutoring sign-up sheet, and a lost-and-found notice featuring a sad-looking scarf, because in the center, the bold capital letters make my stomach drop.
LACROSSE TRYOUTS – TODAY
Unisex team led by Team Captain Everest Calloway
The words hit me like a slap.Everest. Fucking. Calloway.
I shouldn’t be surprised. I don’t know why I didn’t expect it.Everest was always circling, waiting for an opportunity to get one over on me. When the sports budget was cut, only the teams which proved profitable to the university were kept going. His male lacrosse team was scrapped, given that us ladies were wiping the pitch with any opponents we faced.
And yeah, maybe I rubbed it in his face at every opportunity, but so would anyone in my position. Mr. Privilege, aka. Golden Balls, needed to be knocked down from his pedestal, and I was only too happy to be the one to do it.
So in hindsight, I might have deserved this cruel trick of karma, but that doesn’t stop the rage from simmering beneath my skin. I bet he didn’t wait more than five minutes after I’d disappeared to swoop in, slipping into my spot like he’d been planning it all along.
I become lost in my thoughts, revenge plans and scenes of beating the shit out of Everest filling my mind, until my shoulder is brushed. At first, I think someone is trying to see how far I can be pushed before murder is an option, but in reality, it’s just a fellow student who is interested in the lacrosse flyer. My jaw ticks. Tearing the flyer down, I scrunch it in my palm.
“Freshman, right?” I ask with a heavy dose of accusation. The girl nods, her eyes wide and slender shoulders trembling slightly. I wish I could reassure her that I’m not an absolute raging lunatic, but I can’t even convince myself of that these days. Fishing the envelope out of my pocket, I hold it up for her to look at. “I’ll give you twenty bucks to take my bag to the room on this envelope.”
Her head nods slightly, the fear in her expression subsiding at the mention of money. I quickly remove the key from the envelope and then give it to her.
“Wait for me there. This won’t take long.” I walk away, leaving a stranger with all of the belongings I have left to my name. Relentless fury tends to hinder logical thinking. Whipping out my phone, I place a quick call to Thiago.
“Hey Thi, do me a favor?”
“Name it,”the response comes instantly. His lack of hesitation almost falters my own steps.
Thi is someone I met at my lowest point, and who has decided he likes me enough to pick up my calls on the first ring. Not even the girls I used to call friends do that. There is someone who would be overjoyed to hear from me, but I can’t bring myself to talk to her yet. My biological twin, my bestie, and the reason I was kidnapped.
“Meg? You there?”Thiago asks. I blink, finding myself halfway across the quad I was trying to avoid. The glances and whispers don’t bother me now. My face is flaming hot for another reason.
“Yeah, sorry. Can you watch the cameras for a girl with black hair and thick eyeliner? She’s got my bag.”
“Wait, what? Did she steal it?”
“No, no.” I shake my head, pinching the bridge of my nose. “I’m paying her to take it to my room. I’ll explain later. I’ve got some business to take care of first.”
“Business, huh? Something I can help with?”
“It’s fine, I’ve got a handle on this. Catch you up later.” I hang up before he can argue, tucking my phone into my pocket. Glancing at the stadium up ahead, I take a deep breath, steeling myself for the shitstorm I’m about to unleash.
I haven’t been back here since the night I was taken. Blinking against the images that assault me, I push forward but mystubborn resolve flees. Phantom pain returns, my scalp aching where fists tore through my ponytail, dragging me backward. I can still taste the copper tang of my own blood in my mouth. How my voice felt raw and wasted on the wind. How my body folded, limbs becoming heavy and thoughts slurring.
They cornered me on the pitch, running late-night drills alone, using a gun to get me onto my knees and then the butt of it to split my temple. Dazed and confused, I only caught flashes of the hallways, the blood that streaked the floor, the car and the rest is lost to me.
I stop just short of the door, my fingers shaking slightly around the handle. But then I remember I’m the daughter of a therapist. I’m the master of suppressing my pain and filling the void with something else. In this instance, rage.
The stadium lights glare down like spotlights on center stage, a sea of unknown faces in the bleachers as I step onto the field. Nervous energy surrounds the pitch, bodies fidgeting as they wait their turn in front of a table of judges. Amongst those trying out, I recognize some of my old team members. My best players, in fact, now going head to head for the chance to stay on the squad. I set my jaw, turning my eyes to the guy in the middle of the judges, not bothering to suppress a yawn and barely watching the tryout happening before him.
