Page 132 of Finish Line

He shows me the roster for serving and cleaning duty in the cafeteria and tells me my name won’t be added until the day after tomorrow.

“Hey, guys, this is Shelby. Shelby, this is Zayn, Van, Laurie, and Holly.” Ed sits down, and I follow him.

I stare down at my tray. “How’s the food here?”

It doesn’t look that bad. I’ve had a lot worse.

Zayn shrugs. “Depends on who’s working.”

Ed begins talking about some assignments, and the rest join in.

Honestly, I’m not really in the mood for chit-chat, and after only a few bites, I just push my food around.

Ed elbows me and points at the roll on my plate. “You going to eat that?”

I shake my head.

His eyes go wide like the roll is a piece of gold. “Can I have it?”

“Go for it.” I push my plate toward him.

Holly leans closer eagerly. “Can I have your Jell-O?”

“Sure.” I glance at the others. “Anyone else want something?”

Laurie keeps her head lowered as she shakes it.

“I’m good.” Zayn laughs at Ed’s reaction.

After dinner, I go to the room they assigned me and meet the rest of my roommates.

Laurie’s on my bottom bunk. She doesn’t say much, like at dinner. She sits on her bed, doing her homework. The other two didn’t talk to me, either. They looked me over, then returned to talking to each other.

I’m okay with that.

I pick up the book I grabbed from the library and start reading.

By eleven, I can’t keep my eyes open, which is strange. I’ve always been a night person. But a lot happened today.

I yawn, my eyes closing yet again.

Right before I crash, someone says, “Lights out.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

SHELBY

Ijolt awake when a hand covers my mouth. It’s dark, and my eyes haven’t adjusted yet. Shuffling comes from somewhere in the room, so more than one person is up.

The hand on my mouth moves to my neck, gripping tight, cutting off my airflow. This person is strong. They use their grip on my neck to drag me off my top bunk, slamming me onto the floor. My back screams in pain, and it’s hard to breathe. What little oxygen I have left in my lungs is knocked out upon impact.

The hand releases me, and I lie still, gasping in air. The shadowy figure on the right is too big to be any of my roommates. I recover enough to kick out, hitting them in their thigh, causing them to stumble back.

The person who slammed me to the ground darts back in to straddle me, punching me in the stomach. I roll my top half to the side, fighting not to vomit from the hit but also using the move as a feint.

If they expected that hit to keep me down and let them beat me, they’re nuts.

With all my strength, I bring my elbow up and jam it into the big one’s jaw. Big Guy—as I’ve decided to call him—moves enough so my legs can bend against my chest and under him. I use the leverage to push him off me. It gives me enough time for me to stand.

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