Page 6 of Pieces Of You

Nothing.

Nothing was stopping me, and so in a last-ditch effort to save whatever I could of my future, I enrolled at Townsend High School. It was the only high school in my district. The only problem was my car was sitting unusable in the driveway, and I didn’t have the funds to fix it. So here I am—most likely the oldest person riding the school bus.

It’s a metaphoricalhell on wheels.

But, for a few minutes every morning, I have to be in the presence of two idiot jocks whose lockers just so happen to be right next to mine—those few minutes areliteralhell.

After the first three days of ignoring Dean, he finally got the message. G.I. Jock, on the other hand, greets me most mornings with a “’Sup, Grandma?” Clever, right? On Friday, I accidentally dropped a textbook as I was pulling out another one, and when I squatted down to collect it, the dumbass said, completely serious, “If you want to drop to your knees in front of me, you’ll have to get in line.”

Contrary to how I dress, I’m not a prude—not even close—but even that was too much. I physically gagged, and he smirked, of course, and I knew what stupid sexual innuendo-filled crack was coming next. So, I beat him to it. I told him I’d rather swallow razor blades than have his dick anywhere near me.

It was the second set of words I’d ever said to him, and it was about his penis.Nice.

His eyes had widened, and a second later, Dean was pulling him away.

In one week, I have made a total of zero friends.

Surprised?

Yeah, me neither.

The weird thing is that the lack of friends hasn’t come from a place of malice, like I’d expected the moment I realized Dean was now my classmate, and I assumed Bethany was likely to be, too. That assumption was proven the second I stepped foot into first-period English. We both gasped when we saw each other, then quickly looked away. Panicked, I could barely hear a word the teacher said over the thumping of my heart. It’s been four years since I stepped foot in a school, and I was suddenly preparing not only for my last year but also having to fight off or ignore the constant name-calling and accusations.

Strangely enough, no one seems to know who I am.

Either that, or they just don’t give a shit.

* * *

When I getto school on the second Wednesday of the school year, Tweedledee and Tweedledipshit are at their lockers like they are every morning. Dean’s the first to see me walking toward them, and he stops talking mid-sentence, his eyes catching mine. “Jamie,” he says, tone flat.

Like always, I ignore him, turning my back to open my locker.

“You’re not going to talk to me? Ever?”

I heave out a sigh. And then I let my shoulders drop, along with my facade. It’s so draining—trying to be this person I’m not whenever I’m around him now. And I’mtired. Physically spent. I got a total of two hours of sleep last night, and I don’t know if it’s my exhaustion or my weakness that has my walls dropping. Slowly, I face him, the dark-haired boy with big brown eyes… eyes I’d spent most of the summer getting lost in. “What do you want?”

His cheeks flush as his eyes widen, surprised I’m even acknowledging his existence. He steps forward, leavingThing 2behind. “To talk.” His hands are up between us, palms out in surrender. “That’s all.”

“I have nothing to say to you.”

“Well, I have a lot to say to you,” he replies.

I can feel my anger brewing—a reminder of the humiliation he’d caused. And because I can’t look at him anymore, I look over his shoulder. A mistake. Because I catch Holden watching our exchange with unabashed curiosity. The kid issmilingas if he’s privy to a secret. An inside joke. And that joke isme. His stupid grin widens when the warning bell sounds, and he slaps his friend on the shoulder, saying, “I love a good daytime drama. To be continued, right? Don’t hit play without me.”

Dean curses, and my gaze snaps to his. Shaking his head, he keeps his eyes on mine when he says, “I’ll see you after school.”

I scoff. “Un-fucking-likely.”

Welp. The last words I said to Dean come back to bite me in the ass. As part of this whole enrolment into public school plan, my guidance counselor suggested I join some clubs to help with college applications. It’s why I was here the day before school started—so Principal Hemmings could tell me what a good fit would be. He suggested the Outreach Club—a kind of community service program organized by a student and overseen by a faculty member. I didn’t have to think twice about it. I mean, how hard could it be? Take the elderly on walks? Read to a bunch of toddlers? Pick up trash on the side of the highway? I could do all that.

By the time I find the classroom where the meeting’s held and rush inside, I’m late—andpissed. Because the person holding the meeting, standing front and center, is none other than Dean Griffith.

Because,of course,heis.

And there’s no doubt he saw my name on the list of participating students, which is how he knew he’d see me here.Asshole.

The man standing beside Dean, dressed in a blue polo, khaki shorts, and whistle around his neck—obviously a coach of some kind—grunts at me, followed by “Take a seat, young lady.”

---