Page 3 of Wild Card

A second later, the cute waiter from before exited the room, carrying a tray of empty glasses. He twisted around and slid the door shut once again.

I snapped my head around, my face burning like I’d done something wrong. Why was I curious? It wasn’t like I had to write any more stories. I was done, completely finished; I didn’t need to be curious about the Devils. I smiled, returning my thoughts and mind to the conversation at hand as my friends planned more celebratory activities for us.

“Cheers, bitches. We did it!” We all raised our glasses, clinking them together joyously. I smiled and relished the glowing feeling that burned inside me.

I’d done it.

Tears nearly fell as I considered how proud my mom would have been that I’d achieved this step, small as it was. But steps led places, no matter how big or small they were, and this one felt monumental. I couldn’t wait to see that email pop into my inbox, notifying me that I’d been chosen.

Now, it was just a matter of time.

Chapter Two

“This is total garbage.”The loud thwack echoed through the room.

My editor had just slammed someone’s assignment down and was about to cause a scene. Gaping mouths, wide eyes, and a few gasps met my gaze as I searched for the victim. I was a little confused as to why every eyeline I seemed to meet was already aimed toward me. My brain was moving too slow, like walking in mud. I registered that Trevor was standing over me, but I didn’t register that his presence had anything to dowithme.

“I expected more from you, Shaw.” The cold words dripped down my spine like tiny beads of acid, burning and destroying one inch at a time.

I finally understood the expressions on my fellow classmates’ faces.

Trevor was talking to me.

Oh my god.

“What…?” I blinked.

“Garbage. Complete bullshit,” Trevor snapped, adding in a little more flavor for everyone in the room. I winced and felt my throat close. I didn’t even know how to respond, because how could he be talking tome?

“Surely it’s no—”

Trevor interrupted me with a heavy exhale. “When I say something is garbage, I’m not trying to spare your feelings. Trust me.”

I watched with wide eyes as he pushed his blue light glasses up with his pointer finger.

I was dreaming.

I had to be dreaming. I focused on the yellow smear on his shirt. That’s what dancers do, right, when they’re spinning? Pick something to focus on so each spin around the room doesn’t make them dizzy. I was feeling really dizzy at the moment, so I focused on the yellow stain with all my strength.

Trevor Gage was our senior editor, but the guy hated my guts. I didn’t really know why, but he’d made all four years in this class completely miserable for me. I’d pushed and pushed and pushed through it, but now that we were so close to graduation, I was losing my patience.

“I don’t understand…” I slowly stood, wiping my hands on my distressed jeans. There was a worn hole near my inner thigh, where my legs rubbed together. I liked to pretend it didn’t exist, because I considered them my lucky pair. Suddenly I was feeling a little betrayed. I tugged my beloved red hoodie around my body, pulling from its comfort while hoping this wasn’t what it sounded like. Maybe he was confused and had mixed up my article with someone else’s.

The man who was breathing fire down my neck narrowed his watery brown eyes and scoffed. “This”—he swung a stapled stack of pages around, presumably my article—“is. Total. Garbage.” He slowed his words, getting closer to my personal bubble.

Most people knew to give me space, because I didn’t do well with being touched without giving distinct permission. I had weird reactions to people in my space. My therapist said it had to do with the accident I’d been in with my mother when I was ten. She hadn’t made it out, and I was broken for a while from it. I didn’t think that had anything to do with hating people in my space, but she was the professional, not me.

“But the deadline for the article…” I pressed on, my tongue feeling too thick for my mouth. I needed him to realize that, garbage or not, my article would make it into the showcase and fill the slot allocated in the school paper.

“The deadline will be met.” Trevor stepped closer. I could smell his lunch, and my breathing grew shallow. Heat from his body slammed into me, and while any normal person wouldn’t consider it a slam or even pick up on the heat, I did. I felt it, like a furnace burning me up, tiny bugs filled with fire crawling along my skin, daring me to run.

“Please,” I whispered, needing him to back up and reconsider featuring my article.

“You’re lucky I’m not kicking you off the paper, Shaw. That shit was something I’d find in a middle school paper.” He leaned even closer.

I counted to ten in my head. Closed my eyes. Breathed through my nose. Still he lingered, breathing in my space, heating up the inadequate amount of distance between us.

“Please back up,” I whispered.

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