Page 198 of Tis the Season to be Bullied

“Get off me!” she yells.

I grind her wrist bones together so hard, her face goes white.

“Briar!” Dylan this time.

But she doesn’t scream out in pain, or stop struggling.

“No one,no one, talks shit about me. Got it?”

“We both know what you tried to do,” she whispers through a grimace, finally relaxing under me.

A whistle blows.

I’d been so fixated on her, I hadn’t even seen Mr. Denard, the French teacher, walking up to us. As soon as I spot him, I let out a low growl and push up to a stand.

The girl scrambles up a second later, cheeks flushed and the whites of her eyes too bright in comparison. She points at me with a shaking hand. “Sir, this guy?—”

“Are you the new one?” Denard asks, arching a single eyebrow at her. His lip twitches as if the mere sight of her disgusts him. He’s dressed in black suit pants, a cream dress shirt, and a black suit vest.

“That she is,” I say, stepping up to Denard and holding out my hand for him to shake.

Denard turns his attention to me, and his expression softens a little, but not enough. Thank fuck it was him who came out here to investigate.

I let out a low chuckle, grab his hand, and give it a good pump. “Elle est tombée dans les pommes.But don’t worry, Sir, I have this under control.”

“Wh-what?” the girl demands. She hasn’t even bothered dusting herself off, or readjusting her clothes. Right now, itdoeslook like I tried to get lucky with her.

Denard glances at her, and this time his lips pull into a full sneer. “Perhaps if you ate more, child, then you wouldn’t be swooning all the time.”

The girl blinks, and then glances over her shoulder at Addison as if for support. Addison drops her eyes, her mouth going into a line, but she says nothing.

Denard clicks his fingers at her. “What was your name again? Virgin? Virgile?”

Immediately, the crowd surrounding us begins murmuring, “Virgin,” through a slowly building wave of giggles.

“Virgo!” The girl throws me a quick scowl, as if loathe to reveal any personal information in front of me. “IndiVirgo.”

“Best get yourself to homeroom, Miss Virgo,” Denard says. He’s been teaching French at Lavish for over two years, but he still has traces of an accent.

I know it’s on purpose.

“What?” Indi takes a step closer, her hands balling up as if she wants to attack the teacher next. “But, he just?—”

“Now.” Denard’s face sets into an expressionless mask.

Around us, students start gathering, anticipating an even bigger showdown. Indi glances around, and as if realizing that her audience just doubled in size, she murmurs. “Sir, you don’t understand. He tried to?—”

Denard tilts his head. “Keep going, Miss Virgo. My detention class could always use more students.”

Indi lets out a strangled sound. Her mouth opens and closes a few times, and then her shoulders slump.

“Is that all?” Denard asks, lowering his arm.

She nods, her mouth so tight it begins to tremble.

“Very well then.” Denard sniffs. “Now get to class.”

Indi manages a tiny nod, and her throat moves as she swallows.

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