Her lips part then close, her forehead creasing as she retrieves her phone from her pocket. She reads a message then curses. “Shit. I forgot I was supposed to meet the counselor at lunchtime.” She stuffs her phone into her pocket. “I gotta go, but if you want, you can sit by my friends at lunch. They sit at the table near the far back doors.” She backs away from me, moving down the hallway. “Most of them will have sketchbooks out, ’cause we’re all art nerds. But we’re cool. I promise.” She throws me a wave then spins around, her shoes squeaking against the linoleum as she hurries off.
Sighing, I wander down the hallway, trying to decide whether or not I want to endeavor the cafeteria or just skip lunch and pick something up on the walk home waiting for me at the end of the day. Normally, I skip lunch, mostly because of an incident in seventh grade when I got a tray of spaghetti dumped onto my head, then everyone started cracking jokes about how I must’ve killed someone again, that the spaghetti sauce was really blood. After that, I made a point to bring my lunch and eat it in the bathroom. Then, eventually, I started walking to food places to get something to eat. But I don’t know my way around town yet, so I’m unsure if I have time to make it to any fast food places in time.
I could take up Katy’s offer and try to sit by her friends, but without her around, it just seems weird. And who knows if rumors have been spreading about me yet? I haven’t heard anything, so maybe Dixie May is waiting to spill the gossip about me. Why she’s waiting, I have no damn clue.
And what about this Zay guy? He warned me that he was going to show me my place in this town. Before, I wasn’t that worried, but after what Katy told me, I feel slightly apprehensive. I’d probably be scared shitless if I hadn’t spent the last six years of my life living in bullied hell every day.
Slut.
Freak.
Murderer.
Just as I’m about to arrive at the cafeteria, I receive a text message, which is weird. No one ever texts me. Like ever. Well, except for on the rare occurrence when my aunt notifies me of a chore that she wants me to do while she’s out. It’s really the only reason I have a phone. And it’s a really shitty phone. Like, I’m talking one that flips open.
I dig my phone out of my pocket, and my guard instantly goes up when I see Bitchy Bitch of the West has texted me. Aka, Dixie May.
Bitchy Bitch of the West: My mom says you have my makeup case. You better give it to me ASAP before I get pissed. And you better not touch any of my makeup. The last thing I want is to get like herpes or something from you.
I roll my eyes as I type back.
Me: Yes, I have it. And no, I didn’t touch it. I have no desire to look like Bobo the Clown on my first day of school.
Bitchy Bitch of the West: Nah, you just prefer to look like a hobo, which, FYI, you’re doing a stellar job at.
Me: Well, at least I can do a stellar job at something. You can’t even work your clown look.
Bitchy Bitch of the West: You know what? I was trying to be nice to you, but since you’ve decided to be such a bitch, I think I’m going to let everyone know who you really are. I’ve already obtained the phone numbers of some very popular people in the school, and I think I’m going to send them a link to that article about your parents’ deaths.
I grit my teeth so hard my jaw aches.
Me: You can, but then I just might dump your makeup case in the trash.
Bitchy Bitch of the West: Don’t be a freakin’ idiot. There’s like hundreds of dollars’ worth of makeup in that case. And the case is designer!
Me: Yeah, so? Like you’ve pointed out a ton of times, I don’t really care about that sort of stuff.
Bitchy Bitch of the West: Raven, I swear to God, if you don’t give me my makeup case, I’m gonna make your life a living hell.
I’m about to type back how I’ll hold her makeup case as collateral until I can be certain she won’t send that link to everyone when a guy steps out from one of the alcoves and right in front of me. I slam to a stop but not quickly enough and end up slamming into him.
“Sorry,” I apologize, stepping back. Then I frown.
Zay is standing in front of me, his eyes dark, his face just a shadow beneath the hood of his jacket. He has his arms crossed and a ghost of what some might consider a smile on his face. Me? I know better. Know that the twist of his lips is a warning of what’s to come. My uncle’s lips do the exact same thing right before he’s about to beat my ass.
Instead of freaking out, I calmly move to step around him, but he darts his hand out, wrapping his fingers around my arm.
“You’re not going anywhere,” he whispers in a low tone.
“Fuck off.” I try to jerk my arm back, but his grip tightens. My gaze slides to him. Though his lips are twisted in that frightening way, I keep myself composed, knowing that, if I panic, this’ll go down a lot worse. “Let go of my arm,” I warn.
“Or what?” he challenges.
I rack my brain for a good comeback. Usually, I’m better at this, but Katy’s warnings are screaming loudly in my brain. “Or I’ll slam my foot into your balls.”
He lets out a low laugh. “Go ahead and try. I’ll knock you out before you even come close.”
Goosebumps sprout across my flesh, yet I manage to hold his gaze. “Go ahead and try,” I taunt back. “My bet is my foot will come into contact with your balls before you get your swing in.” I smirk. “I can kick pretty damn quickly.”
His lips curl into the eeriest smile I've ever seen. "Yeah, but can you kick fast enough to get all three of us before I knock your ass out?"
Three of us …
I scan the hallway, and that awesome buzz I had earlier dissolves.
Standing just a ways back and leaning against a locker with his arms cross is Jax. Other than that, no one else appears to be in the hallway.
Where did everyone go?
Did they make everyone leave?
Why?
And why did he say the three of us?
I look back at Zay, who’s grinning, but not in a happy sort of way. No, his grin is all sorts of sinister.
“Still think you can get that kick in?” he questions with a smirk.
Despite the nervousness bubbling inside me, I shrug. “Jax is far enough away that I’m sure I could still get one good kick in before he reached me. And FYI, three comes after two, not the other way around. It’s okay, though. Not everyone can learn to count past two. My nephew always gets two and five mixed up. Then again, he’s two, so …” I smirk.
His smirk broadens. “You should pay more attention before you start smarting off. Because, in about three seconds, you’re gonna feel very stupid.”
“Three seconds? Or two?” I throw back at him, my stomach churning.
He shakes his head, his jaw ticking. “Stupid girl. You do have a death wish.”
My lips part, about to fire a comeback, even though, deep down, I know I should keep my mouth shut. If I had any self-preservation, I would. But I already established that I don’t. That I’m stubborn and have a temper that often makes my mouth do stupid things. It’s gotten me in trouble many times. I used to try to break the habit, but at this point, I’ve given up.
Give up, Raven.
Just give up.
God, how I’ve wanted to many times, and honestly, I’m not sure why I haven’t yet.