Page 102 of Defiant
Me pushing her off the stage? Might’ve been a little much, but it wasn’t like I attacked her first. That bitch came at me.
I walked into Midpark High Monday morning holding my head high, no longer shying away from the stares the other students gave me. If they wanted to take me on, they were free to. It did kind of seem like everyone who went against me eventually got their comeuppance, whether it was from me or someone else.
As I headed to my locker, I heard voices talking about Ryan. I purposefully slowed myself down to try to overhear what they were saying. A group of girls, huddled together in front of a row of lockers, their heads bent as they whispered amongst themselves.
“I hear they don’t know what happened. The nurses just came back and he was dead,” a rather short red-headed girl was busy saying. “Mom said they tried to resuscitate him, but it was too late.”
“Wow, I can’t believe that,” one of her friends said, shaking her head.
I picked up my pace, walking past them to reach my locker, doing the combination while lost in my own head.
Ryan was dead. Hard to feel bad about it. The bastard kind of got what was coming to him.
Don’t get me wrong, I knew murder was bad, but…it was hard to see the side of the law when I knew he and his friends would’ve been gleeful to force themselves upon me.
As I shoved my bag into the locker, I wondered if Dante finished it off, or if it was Vaughn.
Vaughn had refused to be with me the night of the dance, assuring me he just wanted to be alone with me first. Maybe that was true. Who could say? Vaughn wasn’t exactly normal.
Doing it in the limo with Dante while Vaughn had watched was…not a moment I was super proud of, but it was also something I wouldn’t take back. I’d been so high off what happened at the dance, thrilled at getting the crown and upsetting Brittany, that I’d needed a release. Dante had been more than happy to give me that release, although I did wonder if he thought we were a thing now.
If he thought we were, would I tell him we weren’t? He wasn’t a good guy; the very opposite, actually. Did I want to date a psycho? I’d claimed him and Vaughn as mine, but going so far as to date him…
Oh, who was I kidding? I’d been weak for him since the beginning, since he’d threatened my mom and kidnapped me. Yes, I liked the psychos.
I headed to homeroom, my spirits higher than they should’ve been. Archer was in his seat, looking quite glum and morose, though his azure stare did lock with mine. I held his eyes, refusing to back down. Whatever he thought I did, I didn’t. The truth getting out was not my fault, regardless of what he thought.
Still, all that said, I did feel bad for him.
I slid into my seat, setting my books down. Silence stretched between us like a desert, barren and still, and yet I found myself tossing a look at him over my shoulder, wanting to talk to him.
He wasn’t even looking at me.
“Archer,” I started, even though I knew I shouldn’t.
“You got what you wanted,” he muttered, blue gaze turning icy. “Leave it at that. Don’t pick at the wound you created, Jaz. Just leave it be. Let me be. I’m done with you.”
I had three boyfriends—though it wasn’t like any of them had ever used the official label—so it wasn’t like I needed to go begging for dick. Somehow though, I found myself wanting to make things right with him.
Everything had gotten out of hand, out of control. Couldn’t we have a fresh start?
“I know you think everything is my fault,” I said, leaning over the aisle between us, “but it’s not. I really want to start over, Archer.”
He looked at me, and for just the quickest of moments, his expression softened, and he looked like the boy I’d fallen for in the beginning. The one who joked around and smiled all the time.
The one who lied to me, but that was beside the point.
But then that expression turned to stone, and he looked away, not saying a single thing.
I sighed, and I kept to myself as the announcements came on. More grief counselors would be available this week, and every student who wished to go to the funerals of the slain students would have a free pass to do so, without affecting their attendance. Then, strangely, a prayer was said over the speakers for Ryan’s untimely passing, even though this wasn’t a religious school.
All these people, praying for a rapist and his rapist friends. How wrong it was.
Thankfully the announcements were over soon enough, and class began not long after that. I had my textbook open and a notebook under my hand, trying to take notes, but it was not ten minutes into class when a knock echoed throughout the room.
The teacher abruptly stopped—though he did roll his eyes, as he hated interruptions, along with any type of technology that didn’t work one hundred percent of the time—and headed to the door. An office aid stood and handed him a slip.
Before the teacher turned to the class and said what he said next, I knew. I knew it was for me. “Jaz, the principal wants to see you.”
