Page 14 of Tis the Season to be Bullied

My intention had been to eat my lunch in my room—if I could find my way back there. But I’d barely gone a yard before someone emerges from the nearest stairwell. A stocky woman at least two decades older than Father Gabriel latches eyes with me.

I smile weakly.

She frowns—hard.

My smile wilts. I stop dead in my tracks. She picks up her pace, the skirt of her habit snapping around her thick-set ankles.

“Just what do you think you’re doing?” she demands as she storms up to me.

“Lunch?” is all I get out before the woman grabs my elbow, spins me around, and shoves me back the way I came.

I stumble into the dining hall amid a cacophony of sniggers and giggles and chuckles.

A second later, everyone’s mouth snaps shut.

“Move,” the woman snaps.

I start forward on instinct, but she catches me above my elbow. “Not you.”

She surges ahead, stabs out a finger at the boy seated closest to the door, and drags a line to the side. “Move it, Nelson!”

The boy shoots to his feet, grabs his tray, and almost trips over his own feet in his hurry to get out of the woman’s way as she drags me across the floor.

“Sit.”

My ass hits the bench so hard, my teeth click.

“Eat.”

The woman steps back and claps her hands. “Children, this is Trinity Malone. She is a new student here. Each and every one of you will make sure that she understands and obeys the rules of our school, or I shall punish each and every one of you. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Sister Miriam,”the school choruses.

I’m staring so hard at my food I’m surprised it’s not setting alight.

Sister Miriam lets out a huff, turns, and starts pacing the length of the hall. For a few minutes, there’s only the sound of her shoes hitting the tiles. Then, with another slap, she barks, “Eat!”

Plastic knives and forks scrape plastic plates.

No one says another word.

No one looks up from their plate except me. And I only risk peeking through my lashes.

My heart slows from a gallop to a trot, but I couldn’t eat if I’d crawled out of the desert having wandered forty days and forty damn nights.

One day at a time? I’m wondering if I could even get through the day at this rate.

Seriously, what else could possibly go wrong?

Chapter 5

Zach

CASSIUS

We have a problem.

I tap my finger against the side of my phone, stroking my bottom lip with the other hand.

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