The hallway erupts into laughter. I turn to see Sam standing just off to the side with a smile, a mile wide. Gone is my fun mood. I have only known this chick for a full twenty-four and I am already wishing for the hours back. I kid you not, at the end of my life when I want my breaths back, these are the ones I am going to be upset I lost.
“Oh look, the slut is prepared for all of the clients she has lined up for today,” her annoying voice permeates the air with its noxious energy. Her face is still slightly puffy from the slap, but concealed under some amazing makeup. You can’t even tell she was hit dead on.
I know she’s waiting for some reaction. My guess? She’s expecting anger or embarrassment. However, I’m not mad or embarrassed. Am I annoyed? Sure. I expected something, but nothing this boring and predictable.
Faking a yawn, I step over the condoms and push the rest out of my locker. This is so boring and unoriginal. I put my backpack in my locker and grab my tablet, then slam the door shut.
Turning, I look her directly in the eyes, and lift my lips into a Cheshire Cat smile and curtsy.
“Why thank you, one can never be too prepared,” I begin. “You never know when you might want to get a quick O.”
If the snickers and gasps in the hallway are anything to go by, I guess my reaction surpassed her prank. Guess this means Emma two, stupid stick-up-her-ass Samantha, zero.
I grab Shay’s hand and head in the direction of the main office to get the scanner wiped or something. Obviously, our high-tech establishment is not as secure as they think and they should know about it. I make sure to file that away.
One would think with all the money these rich snobs invested in this place that our lockers would be a little more tamper proof.
“Ahh, Emma?” Shay’s scrunched face expresses her confusion. “Are you just not going to say anything?”
“More than what I just said?” I question back.
“I mean, yeah. Wouldn’t you want to, I don’t know, yell at her or something?” she asks, even more perplexed by my anticlimactic response.
Turning slightly, I quip, “No. Why would I?”
Grabbing her arm, I pull my friend along, then reply, “I just told you this isn’t a nineties teen drama and Sam won’t get a rise out of me for something so lame. I mean condoms in my locker? Really? Even if I was having sex with every damn guy or girl in this school, it would be none of her damn business. I certainly wouldn’t feel ashamed. Slut-shaming is part of the bullshit patriarchy and I won’t participate in that bullshit. Oh, and there’s the added bonus of my response pissing her off.”
I’m sure she’s off to plan something more diabolical. For now, however, I am going to do just like I told her and stay in my lane. I don’t have time for the Sams of the world. Her condom stunt just reaffirms that she’s a waste of my collective energy.
Maybe I should give her some advice on better ways to get under people’s skin, I think, right as Shay pulls open the office door and says, “She needs two kicks.” Her accent is more prevalent because she’s annoyed.
We walk up to the office counter and wait for the administrative assistant to acknowledge our existence. I clear my throat and her head finally snaps up, a Stepford Wife smile firmly in place, accented by her white-blonde hair, baby pink stained lips, and pale green eyes.
“How can I help you?” she asks Shay, ignoring me. Her princess cut diamond engagement ring shines as she lifts her hand from typing.
Give me strength Lord. There really has to be elitism in the water here.
Plastering on my best placating smile, I engage the rude-ass assistant, “Hello, I need to know who to speak to in order to find out who accessed my locker and see what can be done in the future to prevent someone other than me from getting in?”
She stares at me, blinking like she can’t compute my words. When she speaks, her nasally voice is condescending, “No one has access to lockers, except the principal and the person assigned the locker. There is no way anyone was able to get into your locker without you giving them access.”
Her attitude makes me question if she’s related to Sam. They have the same bottom-of-the-barrel nose stuck in the air vibe. Biting the inside of my cheek, I hold my tongue, I want to get this situation handled and get to class. I try the reserved approach.
“Ma’am, I’m sure under normal circumstances the lockers here are secure, but the fact that at least one hundred condoms just fell out of my locker proves that, in this instance, more than the principal or I had access to my locker.”
Shay gives me a look that says my attempt to be polite didn’t truly land its mark. I tried, that has to count for something.
“Well, Miss Bishop. I assure you there’s no one to blame for someone gaining access to your locker but yourself. I’ll reset your locker, but outside of that there is nothing I can do for you. Might I suggest you be careful to whom you give access to your locker or not seek attention by placing condoms in your locker.”
Oh this bitch. Seeking attention? Who the hell seeks attention by putting condoms in their own locker? She’s certifiable. I open my mouth to say just that, when a tugging of my arm causes me to meet the subtle shake of Shay’s head. Arching my brow in question, but still heeding her warning, I take a bite of humble pie and rethink my response.
“Thank you for resetting my locker,” I mumble and turn and stomp out the door with Shay on my heels.
This school and the people in it are testing my soul. But I’m thankful Shay stopped me. I need to remember that we can’t leave. For once, my brothers and sister are happy and I will put up with the elitist bull for the sake of them. I just have to hope I’m not pushed too far. These people need to understand I’m not an easy target.
* * *
The day is flying by and I’m thankful for it. All anyone is talking about is the fight from yesterday or the condoms in my locker, not to mention all of the stupid slut-shaming comments I’ve been getting all day. I really feel like I’m stuck in some C-list bully movie. Condoms in someone’s locker is honestly the lamest attempt at trying to shame someone. In the era of polyamory and sexual freedoms, you’d think these idiots would refrain from calling girls sluts.
“Skanky whore,” some random boy says and his dumb friends laugh along with him.
Case in point. Rolling my eyes I walk by him and his friends, not giving him the time of day. Before this day is over my eyes are going to get stuck with the amount of rolling they’ve had to do.
The gurgling of my stomach has me heading to the kiosk to put my lunch order in before I find a lunch table to wait for Shay to arrive. I haven’t really met anyone else, but it’s to be expected. This school is obviously full of followers and Sam has determined that my stay here will be a miserable one.
Just as I’m about to sit down a pair of tan, muscled arms wrap around me. Shrieking, I’m lifted off the ground and carried out a set of double doors leading out of the cafeteria. My heart is thumping so hard I swear I can feel it beating in my teeth. I try to look for help, but everyone is just carrying on like I am not being abducted from the lunch room. Stupid fucking sheep. They definitely don’t follow the ‘see something, say something’ motto.
Before I can even get my bearings and begin to fight my captor speaks, “Well hello there, trash whore.” I would know the baritone rasp of that voice anywhere. Freaking Rowan! I should’ve figured it was him. He was too quiet and I was stepping all over his elite line.
“Trash whore, so original,” I snap, leaning forward.
“I’m just calling it like I see it,” he retorts, squeezing me tighter in his hold, halting my forward progress.
“What in the absolute fuck is wrong with you?” I shout as I throw my head back into his face, causing him to drop me to the floor of the dark room.
“Fuck,” he hisses.
Good. I hope I broke his nose or at least bruised it. It’s the least the assholian deserves for snatching and scaring the crap out of me like that.
While he’s in pain, I take time to let my eyes adjust to the dark. I’m in what looks like the janitor’s closet. I can make out buckets to mop the floor and smell the industrial cleaning supplies.
Now that I know where I am, I need to get the hell out of here. As soon as I try to get up to leave, his hand shoots out, wraps around my throat, and my body hits the wall of the room with a thud. I’m slammed so hard my breath stutters.
Rowan leans in so close his spearmint fresh breath caresses the skin of my cheek.
“Listen and listen good,” he grits out. “You’ve only been here for two days and you’re causing more problems than you’re worth, which isn’t very much to begin with.” His grip tightens and spots of black begin to dot my vision as he continues, “So, I am going to give you one final warning. Learn your place and stop causing trouble. If I have to talk to you again, the outcome will be far worse than a simple choking out in a closet. Are we clear, Emma?” He growls before adding, “For your sake, I hope we are because no selection can save you from me.”
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.