Page 1 of Their Obsession

ONE

Lilly

Ten Years Ago

Whoever said that high school is supposed to be the best time of your life was clearly not having the same experience as I am. For me, high school is a living hell. It’s been torture and torment for the last three years and six months–but who’s counting? I turned eighteen a few weeks ago and thought I’d feel more free, more grown up, less weighed down by petty drama. But sadly, the clock ticked down to the moment of my birth, and nothing happened. Same me, same high school drama, same life that I can’t wait to escape. With only three months left, soon I will leave this place and never look back.

“Hey, girl,” Emily says as she adjusts the strap of her bag and loops her arm through mine. We fall into step together as we walk down the hallway to first period.

Emily is my one true friend in this hellhole. There used to bea large group of us that had been friends since first grade, but then high school happened. It’s shitty to think that friendships can end in the blink of an eye, especially over stupid, petty crap, but that seems to be exactly what happened. I seem to have lost almost everyone as they all got prettier and taller, wore more makeup and shorter skirts, and figured out how to do their hair in those big loose waves. It was all more than what I was comfortable with. I guess I’m more of what some would call a tomboy. I think I’m just me. A few years later, I was further ostracized from the social hierarchy of the school when the popular boys realized I had no interest in putting out for them. That was the final nail in my coffin, so to speak. Now I’m labeled a loser and a freak. At least I have Emily. She doesn’t really belong in any one social circle, she just does her own thing. And I love her for that.

“Ready for the Stats test today?” I ask as we head through the hallways stuffed full of students.

Emily groans, her shimmering blonde hair falling across her face as she rolls her head. “Fuck! That class is literally going to be the death of me. Like seriously, who even needs this shit after high school?”

I don’t dare tell her that I actually kind of like statistics. The numbers and patterns are easy for me to follow. They just make sense to me. I probably have my father’s relentless talk of player statistics to thank for that. Hockey stats have been ingrained in me since birth.

“Yeah,” I chuckle, trying to play along. “And Ms. Clarke is a bitch, too.”

She’s not really. She’s actually pretty nice. But I know the other kids don’t like her.

“Right?” Emily says with exasperation as we weave through the busy hoards of students.

“Pettersen!” a deep timbre echoes off the red metal lockerssurrounding us.

Everyone stops. All conversations and shuffling come to a halt and silence fills the hall. Nervous eyes flit back and forth between predator and prey. And I’m the unlucky prey.

Turning slowly, I’m met with three pairs of angry eyes. In the middle, nearly a foot taller than me, is Chris O’Conner—chiseled, perfectly styled blonde hair, piercing blue eyes, captain of the hockey team. Oh, and a complete asshole. Leader, actually, of the pack of assholes that have helped to make my life miserable—Christopher O’Conner; Peter Fischer a mean, burly kid with tight brown curls dipped in bleach and brown as shit eyes; Michael Chesklov a too good for everyone and everything rich kid with dark hair and a perfect GPA; and Dom Volkkon who is conveniently missing currently. They call themselves the ‘Ice Devils.’ The seniors of our school’s varsity hockey team. Christoper, Dom and Michael already have offers from college teams. They’re untouchable. And complete douchebags.

Chris asked me out a few years ago. We went to a movie, and he spent the entire time trying to feel me up. He got mad when I pushed him away, and then he called me an uptight bitch. I found out later that the team all had a bet going on about who could bag the famous Paul Pettersen’s daughter first. Some type of bullshit game to see who was tough enough to bag the daughter of the starting center for the Northeastern Kings. They all lost, and I kept my fucking dignity.

Chris stares down at me with the same expression one has while looking at gum stuck to the bottom of their shoe. To his right is Peter. Big, dumb, mean as fuck, and notorious for ‘encouraging’ girls to sleep with him by getting them shitfaced first. He’s the team’s enforcer. Last season, he beat another kid so badly that he was suspended for the remainder of the season. But, like all the Ice Devils, he comes from money, a lot of money, and that seems to be more important than safety to theorganization that runs the junior league. Strolling up to join in on the fun and stopping on Peter’s left is Paige. Petite, skinny, bleached blonde and fake tanned Paige. The worst human that I’ve ever had the displeasure of knowing. And Chris’ girlfriend, because of course she is.

They all look down at me, drawing the attention of everyone in the crowded hall. “There’s a Stats test today,” Chris says to me.

They all stare as if I’m supposed to say something, but I have no idea how I’m supposed to respond. He simply stated a fact about a class we have in common. A class I didn’t even know he was aware I was in with him until this second.

“Yes,” I reply with no other inclination of what to say.

Paige rolls her eyes as if I’m too dumb to understand the subtleties of this conversation we’re having before informing me, “You’re going to give us the answers, dumb cunt.”

“Why would I do that?” The words escape my mouth before I can even think about them. The looks on their faces tell me that it was not the correct thing to say in this particular instance.

Peter grabs me roughly around the upper arm. His aggressive grip is so tight that I can feel the bruise beginning to form. I wince at the throbbing ache as he drags me across the hallway and throws me up against the lockers. My back hits the sharp metal with such force that it momentarily knocks the air from my lungs.

“Hey!” I hear Emily call from behind them but she is blocked from me by the looming forms of Chris and Michael, both of whom are over six feet.

“Look, bitch.” Peter brackets my much smaller form between his arms, caging me in. I look around desperately for someone to intervene, but everyone just stands watching and whispering. Tears prick the backs of my eyes as I realize no one cares enough to bother to do or say anything. “You’re going to let us cheat off you or else.”

“Or else what?” I counter defiantly, against my better judgement.

His hand flies to my throat, cutting off my airway and pinning me roughly to the cold metal locker. A tear breaks free, falling down my cheek as I try my best to gasp for air.

“If you don’t cooperate. I will fuck you up so badly that you won’t be able to walk right for weeks.” His face is so close to mine that spit flies from his mouth, landing against my skin. “Do I make myself clear?”

I don’t have any hope, or any choice for that matter, so I just nod in acknowledgement, praying that he’ll release me. I just want them to leave me alone.

“Good,” he snarls, loosening his grip around my throat and allowing me to suck in a desperate breath but not loose enough that I can wiggle free. “Chris and I need an A on this test to be eligible for the game this weekend, so you better not let us down. Understood?”

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