Julianne smiled triumphantly and lifted her chin to Macy. “Work smarter, not harder, darling,” she said in a low voice, before clearing her throat and lifting her voice even louder. “That’s something those Neanderthal Seymores are never going to understand.”
Gary, the youngest and meanest of the Seymores, spun around on his bench. “What the fuck did you call us, bitch?!”
Julianne grinned and turned around, meeting him eye to eye. “No, I didn’t call you a bitch. I could, though, if you’d like. You wanna be my bitch, Gary?”
His face bloomed bright red, his dark eyes flashing under his bleached-to-hell hair. He shot a look at Bradley, who gave him a cold smile.
It was permission, I gathered, because just as Julianne turned around smugly to finish her meal, a carton of milk exploded all over her back. Gasping, she whirled back around in time to get a face full of Jell-O.
“Knock it off you little punk!” Macy was out of her seat, her hands jerking forward to grab Gary by the ear.
Rudy shot up before Gary could react beyond wincing, and shoved Macy’s shoulder hard. “Don’t touch my brother,” he growled, his voice tinted by the gently Hispanic accent he got sometimes when he was really pissed.
Macy scoffed. “Your brother? You keep telling yourself that lie, wet—”
“Macy,” Joan said frantically, cutting off the insult that would have pushed all kinds of boundaries.
Joan caught Macy’s eye and jerked her head at the moderator who was making a beeline for the two of them. If she overheard Macy using a racial slur, Macy would be in deep shit. That was one of the few things clearly spelled out in the anti-bullying section of the student handbook—a book we all knew very well, at Julianne’s insistence. It had a lot to do with why we never ended up strictly on the wrong side of the letter of the law.
Macy grinned and blew Rudy a mocking kiss. “Wettle baby,” she said instead, sitting down before the moderator got close enough.
The speed with which she pasted an innocent look on her face was almost impossible to fathom.
The Seymores might have been Neanderthal’s, but this group within which I found myself, we were a whole new species, entirely. Not decked out in hardened muscles or iron jaws, but cruel right down to the very bone.
Rudy stood, tense with fury, eyes burning murderously.
“You,” the moderator said sourly. “All four of you, come with me. You can eat in the kitchen if you’re going to be causing trouble, and you’re lucky I don’t give you all detention.”
She was talking to the Seymores, because, of course she was.
A whip of guilt lashed through me, steaming through my veins.
Julianne had started it, all of it.
Doug wouldn’t have confronted Chris if she hadn’t spread that rumor.
Gary shouldn’t have thrown things, but she antagonized him. She didn’t even look upset as she wiped the Jell-O off of her face or when Macy was blotting the milk off of the back of her shirt. She looked pleased. Like she’d won something. Which, I guess, in a sense she had.
“They made the first strike,” she said quietly. “And everybody saw it. Anything that happens now is justified.”
My heart thundered in my chest. I was more scared of speaking up than I was angry about her manipulation. Especially now that it was all over, the details seemed murkier.
Maybe she hadn’t intentionally said that loud enough for them to hear, maybe it was an accident. And I would never be able to prove that she’d said what she did to Thomas in the food court, and I wouldn’t be able to remember exactly word-for-word what she said anyway, and if I got any part of it wrong she’d discredit me, and the whole thing, in some humiliating way.
My appetite decided that it was lost and not in the mood to be found.
Walking to the other end of the room, I dumped my untouched tray in the trash without a word to the girls.
As I left the lunch room, I caught Julianne watching me thoughtfully. I forced a smile and waved to her. She didn’t wave back. My stomach lurched painfully.
I was going to have to do a fair bit of groveling to get back in Julianne’s good graces.
I just wasn’t sure I wanted to.
Chapter Eight
I had automotive for third period and track for fourth. Both were subjects which Julianne would not be caught dead attending.
She was taking tennis and art for the same credits, which meant I didn’t have to face her or the others until later.
The Seymores were a different story, I realized with dismay as I donned a pair of ancient coveralls.
Chris and Bradley were both in this class—the pretty-boy blonde and the massive Viking. Fantastic.
I found a spot as far away from them as possible and started flipping through the laminated manual beside me. It was for a twenty-year-old Ford Taurus.
The table in front of me was big and sturdy enough to hold a car engine or two.
To my left, a big garage door opened onto a repair bay, which contained two cars.
I could only see the very tops of them through the garage door windows, but I assumed they were Ford Tauruses.
The Seymores were peeking through the windows and talking quietly. I could ask them, I supposed. Or I could walk over there and look for myself.
Both ideas left me with a knot of anxiety in my belly and nervous sweat trickling down my spine.
Nope, better to ignore their existence. It was easy at first—they didn’t even see me until the instructor walked in.
“What’s up guys—oh, guys and gal! Hey there. Anyway, today…” He kept going, but I stopped listening. As soon as he said “and gal” Chris had whirled around to find me, and was staring at me with narrowed eyes.
He stalked across the room toward me as soon as the instructor turned around to grab a tool off the shelf and curled his lip at me.
“What the hell are you doing here? Trying to cause more trouble?”
The knot in my belly tightened.
I wanted to say something snappy, but I wasn’t as confident in my words as I usually was. After all, we’d really started the war this year, hadn’t we?
Even if Chris didn’t know that, I did. So I kept my face blank and shrugged. “Getting my elective credit. What are you doing here?”
He scoffed and took a step closer, lowering his voice to a growl. “This is no place for thin-skinned girlies. Better run before you break a nail.”
God, he was irritating, and rude. And…whether or not my group started the fight, he was definitely stirring the pot right now.
“Back off, baby face, before I—” What? Kick his ass? Sick Julianne on him?
Fortunately I didn’t have to decide how to finish that thought, because the teacher finally noticed the confrontation.
“Seymore! Get back to your table,” Mr. Foster snapped. He shook his head, his long brown ponytail swinging across his broad, bulky shoulders. “This isn’t the dark ages, guys. Girls are more than welcome here. I don’t want you giving Kennedy any crap, all right?”
“Just don’t come crawling to me for help when you can’t lift something,” Chris snapped. “Oh, I’m a weak wittle female, pwease pick up my twansmission!”
He flounced back to his table, flapping his hands from loose wrists. Mr. Foster shot me an apologetic look.