Page 22 of Knight

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My mood stays lifted on the way to my next class.

It’s P.E. but after talking with Clara, I don’t even care. Don’t care that Georgina’s there. Don’t care that her friends all whisper and point at me. I’m holding onto Clara’s words for dear life. That scholarship is my award for making it through hell and this class is not standing in my way.

Georgina bumps into me when I enter the girls’ locker room, “Oh look, it’s The American Horror Story.” Those comments aren’t getting to me either. At least I thought they weren’t until she says, “How long until you snap and kill one of us? Is that how your parents died? Did you kill them, Medusa?”

Turning around I push against her chest, Georgina stumbling back, “No. But I sure as hell will kill you if you mention my parents again.” I shouldn’t have said that. Shouldn’t have perpetuated the rumours flying around about me.

Georgina gives me her signature disgusted look, upper lip to her nose before she pushes back. With my mouth tight, my hands hit her chest harder and it’s not long before there’s a crowd of girls around us.

“Don’t let her get you, Georgina!” Someone calls from the group. “Like she got King’s dad!”

“Ladies!” Coach Richards pushes between us, her hands against our chests. I keep swinging but Coach huffs. “We’re not doing this again.” When I take another swing at Georgina, Coach looks at me. “Or you’ll be swinging down to the office.”

I already have one strike on me from Headmaster Shithead … I mean, Beckett. I don’t need another. Not when I’m trying to reign in this scholarship Clara’s talking about.

“I’m defending myself!” Georgina screams.

“Well then it’s a great day to revisit volleyball,” Coach says, dropping her arms when I stop swinging. “I expect a good defence.” She blows her whistle. “Now, get changed and let’s go, ladies! Save that energy for the courts!”

Georgina flips her shiny strands with a tight-lipped smile, heading to her locker. Muttering to mine, I remember the conversation with Clara as I get changed. You can do this. Before heading out into the field, I pull on my lock, double-checking my uniform is safe inside. Clara’s right. I can do this. As long as I stay out of trouble.

Once on the court, it’s clear Georgina’s all talk. Without Lea, she’s a pretty shit volleyball player. While it helps me get through class, it doesn’t stop my mind from wondering where the leader of the Trust Fund Trolls is.

A pang hits my chest. Is she with Damien?

Why do I even care?

Putting my frustrations into the game, I’m playing like I’m trying to win a medal. Every time I hit the ball I imagine it’s Lea’s face and with the team I have, we’re winning the game with ease. With one last spike over the net, Georgina’s team misses and we get the winning point.

Coach blows her whistle. “Good job, Rowland!” She turns to the rest of the class. “Ladies! Showers!” I’m pretty sweaty after throwing my emotions into that game and a fancy private school means I’m looking forward to it. The warm water should be soothing. Making sure to lock my clothes away again, and taking my towel inside the shower stall with me, I start the taps before Georgina can fire a snarky comment.

Warm water runs over my body, taking away the clamminess and sweat built up on my skin. Leaning my head back, I let the water go over my curls and face, warmth hitting the shaven side of my head. The water enters my mouth and when I move to pull my fingers through my strands, it starts to feel cold. Thick.

“The fuck …” When I open my eyes, it stings, my vision red and it’s not because there’s anger fuelling inside me. With one eye squinted open, I see red everywhere. On the white stall walls. On my sandy brown hands. All over my body.

There’s a bit of laughter that comes from outside the stall before the sound of shoes pattering away. Dark red liquid streams from the tap and … is that blood? Turning off the shower, I take a step back, stunned. Pulling my fingers to my nose I can’t make out the smell but when I bring it to my tongue … Paint?

Assholes.

My jaw clenches and I pull the shower curtain back with force, but no one’s there, the room empty. At least I have a towel.

Walking to my locker, I know I’m leaving a trail of red footprints behind me but when I see Georgina and her friends, I lift my head high. They have their backpacks on, leaning against a row of lockers. She smiles, letting out a laugh as she snaps a picture with her phone and now I’m getting deja vu. “She even looks like a murderer. You deserve to be back on the blacklist. Congratulations.” Georgina’s titter echoes as she makes her way out of the locker room with her friends and I’m left standing there. Drenched in red.

When Coach comes out of her office she looks at me, arms dropping before she shakes her head. A finger comes to the middle of her forehead but she doesn’t say a word when she walks away.

Of course.

With the locker room to myself, I take my time pulling on my clothes. The paint in my hair and on my skin leaves red all over my uniform and it looks like I’m ready for Halloween. At least I’ll be warm this time, but note to self: no more showers at school.

The bell rings when I leave the locker room and I head straight for the front doors. After the day I’ve had I’m not hanging around. I just want to get home.

I hear Isaac’s voice when I’m at the top of the stairs, “Speak of the devil. She looks like one too.” Damien and Christian stand next to him and seeing Damien standing there with that I-don’t-care look on his face boils my insides, heat in my cheeks. I can’t help but approach them, a bunch of red and black hair over my eye, paint still on my bony knee.

“Shit,” Christian’s voice is next, all three of their eyes moving around my body but my gaze is on Damien’s. He pulls his foot off the wall as I approach like he knows I’ve got something worth hearing.

“You’re pathetic,” I spit, the tip of my boots against his. I look up at his eyes and try to ignore the flutters in my stomach, the knot that tightens the longer I stare.

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