Page 437 of Tis the Season to be Bullied

Shit, the whole team’s here! It’s quiet, but I guess that’s because they’re going to throw the music full blast when I come in, like my own personal walk-up song. I’m grinning ear to ear like an idiot...and then I see Harper.

She’s standing closest to the passageway, her back to me. Her sleek dark hair glistens, and as if she senses eyes on her, she glances at me over her shoulder. She’s wearing makeup that makes her blue eyes pop. Lipstick plumps out her mouth. She’s in dark gray skinny jeans, biker boots, and a short leather jacket with a neon pink crop top underneath.

She looks good enough to eat, and that’s exactly what I plan to do to her the next time I get her alone. In fact, once the festivities have simmered down, I’m going to drag her behind the bleachers again and?—

“Jude.”

I reluctantly wrench my eyes away from my stepsister. Coach holds out an arm, beckoning me inside with a wave. Fuck, he’s always so grim, even now. What does it take to get him to crack a smile?

Harper steps back, sidling behind one of the fullbacks without touching him, and disappears into the shadows.

I suppose it’s better that way. I really shouldn’t be staring at her like a piece of meat where anyone could see. People would ask questions. And I don’t needanythingcasting shade on my scholarship.

Members of the team glance back when Coach calls me forward, and step aside to let me pass through. They look perplexed, wary even, and I don’t blame them. They’re probably wondering what the fuck is going on, why they allhadto be at practice, especially the night after another win.

My heart is pumping so hard, I taste blood in my mouth. Then I realize I’m biting down too hard on my lip, so I quickly let it go and lick my lips. God, why am I so nervous? I own this shit.

Except, when I step into the circle created by the team and I see Principal Heller’s grim face, it all falls apart. Suddenly, everything that’s wrong with this picture rushes at me, all at once.

We’re not gathered in the empty space where Coach Perez normally calls our huddle. We’re standing near the row of lockers. One of them is already open.

It’s mine.

My pulse beats fast and hard in my ears. I try to swallow, but my mouth is too dry. “What are you doing?” I croak.

Heller’s lips thin. “Mr. Dearth, can you confirm this is your locker?”

I rake fingers through my hair and glance around the room. Everyone is staring at me, and it’s with the type of expression where they’re waiting to see just how bad this shit gets before they react.

“Well, yeah, but...it’s, like, anyone could—” I don’t know what the fuck I’m blabbering for. I have nothing to hide. There’s nothing in there but a spare towel, some hair gel I don’t even use anymore, maybe a protein bar. Suddenly I’m scrambling,wracking my mind to figure out what the hell everyone’s doing gathered around my fucking locker.

“So then this—” Heller reaches in and picks up something “—is yours?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “What is it?”

The principal silently holds out a small plastic bag with two orange pills inside.

“No!” My voice is too loud, too frantic. I stab a finger at the pills as I step closer. “That isnotmine.”

Dad intercepts me with a hand on my shoulder. “It’s in your locker. Jude, I was here when they cut off the lock. No one’s been in there since last night.”

“But it’s not mine!” I slap his hand away from my shoulder before I can stop myself. “Someone must have put it in there.”

“Jude, calm—” Dad says.

But he doesn’t get any further, because months of suppressed rage and resentment suddenly flood through me. I spin on my heel, my fist already flying. Dad barely has time to widen his eyes before my blow snaps his head to the side.

He staggers back, caught by Sean and Eric, who looks as shocked as I feel.

“Dude, what the fuck?” Sean yells. “That’s your dad, man.”

So I punch him too. But he’s not a pushover like my dad. He spits out blood and charges me, shoving me into the nearest wall. In an instant, the locker room explodes into chaos. But all I’m aware of is Sean’s ugly mug, and I’m desperate to ram my fists into it over and over again, until it’s misshapen, until the brains inside his skull look like chopped up Jell-O.

I don’t get the chance. Someone puts me in a chokehold until I blackout.

I come to with a high-pitched whine in my ears and something stinging in the crook of my arm. I blink hard, forcing my blurry eyes to focus on the syringe someone just plucked out of my skin.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I try to sit forward. But I’m held back by a thick arm which a quick sideways glance reveals as belonging to Coach Perez. “Coach?”

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