Page 7 of Bound to a Killer
“Let’s put our things away and talk in the cafeteria.”
“Sure,” I say, returning her warm smile. She skips down the corridor, her shoes squeaking sharply against the linoleum.
I draw a steadying breath and shift the weight of my school materials in my arms, pulling them closer to my chest as I head toward my locker in the opposite direction.
Kelsey’s new this semester, but she and Clara clicked quickly, their friendship forming almost overnight. Sharing side-by-side lockers made it easier. Since Clara’s close to both of us, that connection extended to me, though sometimes it feels like they fit together more naturally than I do with either of them.
I’ve never been good at making friends and probably wouldn’t have any if it weren’t for Clara’s persistence. Tall, beautiful, and from money, she could’ve chosen anyone. Yet somehow—she chose me.
Timid. Quiet. Always the one left on the edge.
But appearances aren’t what tie us together. It’s the quiet grief we carry—forged signatures on report cards, houses that echo with too much silence. The kind of silence that reminds you of just how unimportant you are to those who should care the most.
Our bond isn’t rooted in wealth and status. It comes from knowing what it’s like to feel invisible. Unwanted.
Lost in my own head, I don’t see the leg until I’m already pitching forward, my textbook and folders slipping from my arms, papers scattering as my palms smack hard against the floor.
Laughter cracks around me, sharp and cruel, somehow worse than the fall itself. For a second, I freeze, muscles locked. The cold floor stings beneath my hands and knees, my heart pounding in my ears, breath catching tight in my throat. I sit back on my heels, smoothing down my skirt with shaky fingers before gathering the mess—some pages crumpled, others damp from the stream of students who trample past, nobodystopping to help. My vision blurs before I blink it back, swallowing the burn in my eyes.
A pair of scuffed white Adidas’ stops in front of me. My gaze drags upward, past Levi's jeans and the hem of a blue varsity jacket, stopping short at his face.
“You okay?” he asks, his voice low and restrained. Then he crouches beside me, hand outstretched.
I hesitate for a beat, finally meeting Jayce’s uncharacteristically kind eyes before my hand finds his. His clasp is warm and oddly comforting as he helps me to my feet. Then I snatch my hand away, severing the connection once I remember he’s one of them. The jocks.
Behind him, the cluster of senior boys swarm the perimeter, doubled over like they’ve witnessed the peak of human comedy. At the center of it all is Hillside Academy’s golden boy, Hunter Davis, lounging against his locker, straightening his leg with a smile that makes my stomach twist.
“What’s the matter?” he mocks, his voice pitched high enough to garner more attention. “Didn’t mean to flash us?” He juts out his bottom lip in a fake pout, then turns back to his friends, soaking in their laughter the way weeds feed on sunlight.
“She was practically asking for it dressed like that!” one of them yells over his shoulder, setting the group off even louder.
Jayce flips his middle finger at them. “Oh, shut up, Gabe. Guys, don’t be assholes.”
I grit my teeth, grinding down whatever choice words are rising from deep inside me. I don’t want to cause an even bigger scene, my gaze glued to the floor to avoid the humiliation of onlookers.
There’s no point in going up against Hunter and his crew. They basically run this school. If I were Clara, maybe I would stay and say something witty back. Hold my head high. But I’m not her. I’m me. So, I gnaw at the inside of my cheek and bristlepast them, chin tucked to my chest, blood thundering in my ears.
Somewhere ahead, Hunter’s girlfriend, Maddie Thompson, spots me, her high-pitched voice spiking my nerves. I make the mistake of lifting my gaze and catch her striding straight toward me, the space too narrow to slip past her unnoticed.
She slows as she draws close, eyes flicking down my skirt like the sight alone offends her. Her lips curl, and she leans just near enough for her voice to cut through me. “Cheap little stunts like this won’t get you anywhere. If you think falling at Hunter’s feet is some way of making him notice you, you’re even more pathetic than I thought.”
Her caustic tone has my fingers digging into the spine of my textbook, jaw tight enough to keep anything I might say locked behind my thinly sealed lips.
Maddie scoffs at my silence, pausing long enough for the humiliation to sink in before ramming her shoulder into me on her way past. “Stay out of my way, loser.”
I don’t look back at her or anyone else, my gaze fixed on my locker at the end of the hall, laughter swirling behind me. The shell of my ears burns hot. I fumble my locker code twice, my mind still scrambled from what just happened, finally managing to click it open on the third try. I shove everything inside, my hands trembling.
They pick on you because you let them. Because you say nothing.
The locker door slams harder than I mean it to, frustration leaking into the motion. Clara won’t always be around to speak up for me. If I don’t find my own backbone, they’ll never stop. I’ll always be the perfect target for their vicious amusement, my silence feeding their cruelty.
Maybe that’s also why Mom thinks she can get away with stealing my clothes. Run off with my car. Why she always returns expecting forgiveness despite it all, tail between her legs, with the audacity to promise me she’ll change. Like afool, I give in to it every single time, fueling the horrible cycle.
I do.
Blinking away the moisture gathering in my eyes, I make a quick detour and stop by the girl’s restroom, needing a second to cool off some steam and pull myself together.
So what if I kept quiet again?
